Chapter 17

“Fuckin’ hell, professor,” he said as he gripped my head and pounded my throat through his release.

I got to my knees with a pop or two and pointed to the bed. “On your stomach, Detective.” When he was settled, I placed a couple pillows beneath his hips and grabbed a condom and lube from the bedside table.

Simms didn’t bottom often, but he loved it whenever I took control. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” he said, turning his head to smile at me.

“I punched you in the face. That’s one hell of a story to tell our friends when we get older.” Something I hoped was true.

“You have a great right hook, you know.” He grinned at me and then moaned when one of my fingers breached his hole with lube.

“I had lots of practice as a kid. My dad taught me how to defend myself.” I had two fingers in his ass now, and though the sadness of my dad’s loss threatened, I kept it together. Simms knew, though.