He let out a long sigh, dragged a hand down his face, and stood.
Muttering under his breath, he made his way to the bathroom. The medicine closet was a well organised mix of ointments, plasters and a vial of perfume.
Finally, his fingers closed around a small white jar of anti-inflammatory cream.
He padded back into the living room and crouched beside Chay again. She was out cold, but the tattoo peeked through her bra. He stared at it, the perfectly drawn dick etched on the swell of her breast. What in the actual fuck.
He stared a moment longer than necessary. And then… steeled himself.
"Okay. You're doing this as a friend," he muttered aloud, trying to shame his body into behaving. "As a professional. A gentleman."
