The Trouble With Tony (3 page)

“Feelings and goals?” Tony said with horror. “Isn’t that what we just did? You need me to talk about it some
more
?”

“Well, I might need to dig just a little deeper,” Halloran said. There were amused crinkles around his eyes.

The comment about digging deeper suddenly brought back to Tony what it was he was actually doing here. Marilyn White. He blinked innocently. “But you guys do sexual surrogacy stuff here. Right?”

“When it would be a useful part of a patient’s treatment, yes,” Jack said carefully. “It’s often valuable for a patient to become more comfortable with sex in a safe setting, with a professional who understands their challenges and is nonjudgmental.”

“Must be rough,” Tony said in a teasing tone. “I suppose you don’t mind doing that sort of thing with your female patients, especially if they’re young and attractive, huh, Doc?”

He was fishing. He had to. But Halloran got defensive again. Tony could see the warmth on his face shut off as if someone, namely Tony, had flipped the “asshole” switch. “As a matter of fact, I don’t do surrogacy work myself. I work with my patients through counseling and diagnosis. If their case warrants it, I can recommend them to one of our excellent surrogates.”

That was interesting. So Jack Halloran did not personally sleep with his patients? Did that mean he had not had intimate relations with Marilyn White? Or did it just mean he wasn’t
supposed
to?

“And in the interests of disclosure, Tony, I can tell you that I, myself, am gay. So, even if I did do surrogacy work, it wouldn’t be with my female patients.”

His voice was cold, but Tony couldn’t help but feel a little happy to hear that. He told himself it was only because a gay doctor was more likely to understand his issues.

“Didn’t mean to offend you, Doc, just trying to get the lay of the land.”

Jack said nothing, and he didn’t shift out of his defensive posture either.

Tony chuckled. “You’re a major badass, do you know that, Dr. Halloran?” And God, he was. For a moment, looking into those steely eyes, Tony actually found it kinda sexy.

Jack relaxed a little. “I’ve been told,” he said dryly, but there was a sparkle in his eye. He looked at his watch. “We have fifteen minutes left. Loretta will give you a slip on your way out so you can get some blood work drawn down the street. But we can get the physical exam out of the way right now, if you don’t mind. That way we can start counseling next week.”

“Exam?” Tony said, his voice coming out in a squeak.

Jack stood up and went to the door of his office, where a white doctor’s coat hung on a hook. He started putting it on. “As I mentioned, before we can start treatment, I need to do an exam. I have to rule out any obvious physical issues first.”

“I can assure you, Doc, the plumbing is fine down there,” Tony said, now definitely panicking.

“Oh? When was your last physical?”

Tony tried to joke. “Me? I’m Italian, I’m male, and I’m under fifty. I wouldn’t go to a doctor unless my eyeball was hanging out so far I could floss with it, or my piss was the color of pink lemonade, maybe even Bloody Mary mix.”

Jack turned to him with a raised brow, blocking the door and folding his arms, his feet slightly apart. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. Do you want me to treat you or not, Mr. DeMarco? Because if you’re not serious about this, I’d rather you not waste both our time.”

His posture, his voice…. Tony had an odd sense of déjà vu. It was as if his mother had suddenly inhabited the body of a slim blond doctor.

“I… I am serious, Doc. But—”

Halloran pointed to an exam table set against the back wall of the office. His voice was so cold it could have sunk the Titanic. “Then go over to that table and drop ’em.”

Tony tried to think of a way out, but Halloran’s face was set in a
give-me-ten-soldier
mask that would make babies cry, plus he was blocking the door. Tony figured he could get past him if he had to. Well, maybe. Halloran was obviously tougher than he looked. How much military training did they give combat doctors, anyway? But even if he could force his way out, Halloran would be done treating him, and Tony wouldn’t have a way into the clinic.

Besides, what if Halloran could really help with his little trouble?

Five minutes, it’ll be over. Five minutes, it’ll be over.
His face burning with shame, Tony stood and slunk to the exam table like he was going to his doom.
God, please just let me die, quickly and painlessly. In the next ten seconds would be good.

“How do you want me to…?” Tony started lamely.

“You can just lean against the table and take down your trousers and underwear, please. It’s best if you’re standing.”

Halloran went to a cabinet and turned his back. He washed his hands and started taking out a few supplies, giving Tony a moment of privacy. Tony undid his belt buckle and pushed his black pants and briefs to his thighs. He leaned back against the table, grateful for the support. Fortunately, the tails of his shirt gave him a little modesty.

Five minutes, it’ll be over. Five minutes, it’ll be over.

Yeah, but during those five minutes, a murder suspect is going to be looking at my dick. How did
that
happen?

Jack walked over. As he drew close, Tony felt a nauseous flutter in his stomach. He closed his eyes.

“That’s fine, Tony. Close your eyes and relax.”

It sounded suspiciously like something a serial killer would say. Tony bit his lip as he felt hands unbutton the lower buttons on his shirt and tuck the ends to either side. A cool breeze wafting over his dick let him know he was exposed. Nice.

There was absolute silence for a moment and then Jack chuckled. “You’re going to make your lip bleed. It’s not all that bad, is it? Didn’t you play sports in school?”

A warm, latex-covered hand rested on his left thigh while another gently, but confidently, lifted his flaccid flesh. He felt Halloran check his slit carefully with the brush of a fingertip, probably looking for discharge.

“Wrestling,” Tony said with a sharp exhale. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

“Yeah? High school freestyle wrestling?” Halloran’s gentle fingers prodded along the length of his penis, felt around the base of it, then palpitated along the top of his groin. A hand nudged him to spread further.

“Yeah,” Tony managed in a strangled voice. “Freshman year through Senior. Letter jacket and everything.”

“That right? Did you win a lot of matches?”

A gentle hand cupped him and felt carefully around his scrotum and the space underneath, pressing with sure, confident, clinical fingers.

“Better than average,” Tony managed. “My ranking was 80.90.”

Tony knew Halloran was just trying to distract him, but he was grateful to have a reason to think about something, anything, else. “It ran in the family. I had four older brothers and they all wrestled. I guess it kept us from killing each other. When we’d get in a fight, my dad would make us wrestle on the living room floor, college rules.”

The hands vanished. For a moment, Tony felt joyfully relieved. He’d survived it.

“Turn around, please,” Halloran said.

Tony’s eyes popped open. “Oh hell no! Please, Doc. Say you’re joking.”

Halloran managed not to smile. Much. But his eyes were dancing like it was a fucking jolly holiday. “Don’t be a baby, DeMarco. It’ll be over before you know it. Think of it as a wrestling match.”

“I hate you,” Tony said sincerely. But he turned. He felt like a doofus with his pants around his knees and his bare ass hanging out.

“Lean forward,” Jack said softly. He placed a hand on the middle of Tony’s back and lightly urged him down over the table. Tony went. Halloran pushed the tail of his shirt up to the middle of his back. Then Tony heard him squeezing something, no doubt some medical lube, onto his hand. The edge of Halloran’s thigh pressed into his left leg, and one hand returned to his back as if to hold him steady.

And that’s when it happened. Tony felt a hot rush explode from every place where Halloran was touching him—along the length of the leg that pinned him and the latex-covered hand that was cupped on the small of his back. A rush of lust surged through his body like an express train. His dick went from zero to sixty in about three seconds, and it pushed, hard and heavy, against the edge of the exam table. And just about the time Tony, in total shock, had registered what was going on, Halloran went in for the kill.

The hand on Tony’s back slid down to pull one cheek slightly open and then Halloran’s finger, covered in latex and lube, slid home.

“
Fuck!
” Tony cursed, loud and long.

Halloran twisted his finger a bit, as if to loosen him. The hand not busy plowing Tony’s ass slid back up and spread out over the center of his back. Perhaps that was meant to be comforting, but it smacked of being held down to be fucked and, damn, Tony suddenly wanted that.
That.
More than he’d wanted a Dean Martin jacket for Christmas at age twelve or for Aaron to say he was joking the night he’d announced his move to LA.

“Relax,” Halloran said calmly. “It’ll be over in a moment. So is 80.90 high? How good were you, DeMarco?” It was his index finger; Tony could feel that now, feel the palm of Halloran’s hand pressed against him as that finger stroked and prodded for….

“Oh fucking
hell
!” Tony cursed again, his body shaking.

“Just a few more seconds. Hang on,” Halloran said soothingly. His voice sounded concerned and clinical. Christ, he had no clue what he was doing to Tony. It took everything Tony had not to grind back into him, not to beg him to replace that finger with something else. Want coursed through his body with the petulant rage of the routinely denied. His dick pressed against the exam table ruthlessly as Halloran gently prodded his prostate.

“All done,” Halloran said, pulling out his finger. “Everything looks fine. You can get dressed.”

Tony, panting, heard the snap of latex. Halloran handed him some paper towels, which Tony took without turning. Then Halloran was crossing the room. Tony dared a glance over his shoulder. The doctor went back to the counter, keeping his back turned as he tossed the gloves and started running water in the sink. He acted perfectly relaxed, as if this was routine, as if the world had not just shifted.

Tony quickly wiped some lube off his ass, tossed the lot, and did up his trousers. He left his shirt strategically untucked and headed for the door. At the sound of it opening, Halloran looked around, a confused frown between his eyes.

“I’m running late, Doc. So next Tuesday, right? I’ll make an appointment. Nice meeting you.”

Before Halloran could answer, Tony fled.

~4~

A
LONE
in his car, Tony looked down at the raging hard-on straining at his pants and yelled at it.

“Not now, you fucking lunatic! Not this one!”

Tony’s dick pulsed rebelliously.

Oh God, that felt fucking
fantastic
. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this horny.

Tony looked around the parking garage in a brief moment of temptation, but no. There were probably cameras and it was daylight and… no. He gritted his teeth and started the car.

It just couldn’t be. Tony’s picky dick, which usually refused to be stirred by tongue or tail, could not have latched onto Dr. Jack Halloran as an object of lust. The guy was a suspect, for God’s sake. And his doctor. And then there was the whole I-can’t-get-it-up thing, which Halloran was supposed to treat him for, and which, of course, his dick was going to completely belie by saluting every time Halloran got near him. It was kind of like when you took your car to the mechanic because it was making this noise, only when you got it there it purred like a sleeping goddamn kitten. He was screwed.

But maybe this was a temporary aberration triggered by the rather rude exam. Maybe it wasn’t about Halloran at all.

His dick pulsed hopefully.

Then again, Halloran was the kind of guy Tony could really go for physically. And the way he got all hard-assed and steely-eyed, that was hot. As Mark had said, the guy had some major cojones. He’d been a
combat surgeon
. Damn. Tony couldn’t imagine the guts that took, or the compassion.

Hell. He was in trouble.

On the good side, Tony thought the odds were low that Halloran had actually killed Marilyn White. He seemed like a good doctor, firm but compassionate. And if what he’d said about being gay was true (please God, let it be true), he hadn’t had any intimacy with Marilyn and no reason to be particularly jealous or passionate enough about her to get homicidal.

But the sex therapy had to fit into it somehow. It was too unusual a thing to just coincidentally crop up months before Marilyn’s death. Tony had to figure out exactly what she was being treated for, if she was seeing someone else at the clinic, like a surrogate, and who knew about it.

But first he had to take care of the roaring beast in his trousers.

Tony drove back to his condo on Capitol Hill and allowed himself to enjoy a fully charged libido for the first time in way too long. He lay on his bed and replayed the look of Halloran’s steely eyes, the way he’d challenged Tony, the way his whole face had changed when he grinned. He relived every moment of the doctor’s hands on him, from the first warm touch on his thigh to the gentle, probing, latex fingers along his length, to the smooth, slick thrust of his finger. Over and over. It was so incredibly arousing that he came hard three times before his dick would relent and stay down. By that time he was a panting mess, and he knew for certain.

Derry, Martin, Jason, Aaron,
Jack
. Dr. Jack Halloran was his dick’s big number five.

And it was slightly possible he’d picked up a medical kink to go with it.

Merry fucking Christmas.

~5~

“J
UST
wanted to catch up, Jack.” Dr. Trudy Kaplan held a red-dripping french fry in front of her face and looked at it meaningfully.