By Sorbus
“Hello, Rowan,” Dr. Travers’ bright, British accent carried a concerned note. “Jason was right. You really must not be feeling well. You look a tad feverish. Are you running a temperature?”
I bit my lip and quickly shook my head. I also took a reflexive backstep, because Dr. Travers was a touchy-feely kind of guy. Nothing ever inappropriate, but I wouldn’t have put it past his paternal instincts to kick in, and do the ‘forehead check.’
Unfortunately, by stepping back, I was no longer blocking Sir’s presence from being visible.
“Oh, hello there, Derek. What brings you up here?” Dr. Travers seemed genuinely surprised and confused at first, but then he looked back and me. . . and then I watched as his nose twitched ever so slightly. Yeah. . . small enclosed space with poor ventilation? Even with his load having been shot directly down my throat. . . even the most discrete oral sex is going to leave a certain . . . odor.
































