By the time The Rocks was a year old, Devon had expanded it to take in a second storefront next door. He now had more volunteers than he had ever imagined and was able to take his choice of the best ones instead of accepting everyone out of sheer need. There were big articles in all the Sydney papers, with pictures, all praising to the skies the man who had overcome his own sordid past to reach out and help others. It was embarrassing, yes, but it also brought in more donations, and Devon was able to plan for a third storefront - this one in another neighborhood, a kind of annex center to reach other groups.

"I guess I'm a success," he told Libby, not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Well, you could look happier about it," she teased, taking in his uncertain expression.

He laughed, "It's just that for so long, I looked at anyone who was a success at anything like that as a sell-out, pandering to the mongrels of the world - you know, the usual Neo Nazi crap. I thought I had all of that out of my system, but I guess some of it is still roiling around in there."

Libby got up from behind her desk in the study and walked around to him. "Come here, you big hunk of uncertainty - let me hug you."

Devon laughed softly and let her play mommy for a few moments. "This is nice," he remarked after she'd hugged and patted him for a bit. "There's only one problem with it."

"And that would be?" Libby rubbed her cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt, listening to his heart beat right under her ear.

"I don't feel like I need a mum - and certainly not you as my mum." He reached down and pinched her butt.

Libby squealed playfully and swatted him before retreating to her side of the desk. She sat down, laughing, straightened her hair and grinned up at Devon, who stood on the opposite side of her desk with a wicked gleam in his eye. "No," she said, not waiting for him to suggest anything.

"Now, how do you know what I was going to ask you?" he wanted to know. He started around the desk at a slow pace, stalking her.

"Devon," she warned, backing her chair up. "I've got work to do."

"You don't have any patients - if you did, you'd be in Sydney at your office." He began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it free of the waistband of his jeans. His leather jeans. Libby stared, licking her lips in spite of herself. The jeans fit him like a second skin, and even when he wasn't aroused, left little to the imagination. Now, he was positively indecent. "Libbyyyyyyyy," he crooned, moving to stand right over her. "I have something for you, luvvy."

Oh, shit, she thought - when he used the Hando voice, she just melted. "That's not fair," she told him, firing the last of her defensive weapons. His crotch was at eye level. "Oh, God," she muttered, and pulled the zipper down.

"That's it, luv," he purred, shoving his hips even closer to her wide eyes. "Take it out now, be a good girl."

She didn't really have to, once she spread the opening of the pants apart, his cock sprang free on its own. It seemed to radiate heat. She moaned, unable to help herself, rubbing her cheek against the velvet tip before turning her head and kissing it. He jerked and quivered in her hands, as much her slave in that moment as she was his. "May I suck it?" she asked him, gazing up at him.

He could drown in those eyes, he thought, even as he drowned in the sensations of what she was doing to him, stroking, licking, kissing. "Do it," he ordered, hoping his knees weren't just going to buckle when her mouth closed around his most sensitive flesh. "Oh, God!" he bit out, gasping in ragged breaths as she sucked him. He slid his fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp in time with her movements. He couldn't resist thrusting into her mouth and throat, but fought to keep it gentle and not just ravage her as Hando once might have. His reward for such effort was that she brought him to an orgasm so intense he almost fell to the floor. Only the fact that she had a grip on his hips that left fingermark bruises later kept him from it. He leaned over, hands on her shoulders, panting. "Jesus, Libby," he finally managed.

She looked up at him, licking her lips like the cat who'd got the cream, a slow, sensual smile curving her mouth. "Did you like that?"

"You know I did," he answered. He dropped to his knees in front of her, looking up into her eyes. "What do you want?"

"You," she said honestly.

He took her legs, one in each hand, and parted them, pushing her skirt up until she was bared almost to the waist. He just looked for a long time, driving her crazy with the need to be touched. When she shifted in her chair in spite of her efforts not to do just that, his satisfied grunt told her she was doing exactly what he wanted.

"Bastard," she said in a soft voice that conveyed exactly the opposite meaning.

His chuckle tickled her thighs because by then he was right down between them, breathing his warm breath onto her. He pulled the beige silk panties aside and blew directly onto her swollen clit. When she quivered and gasped, he darted his head forward and licked her. He circled the place where she most wanted him to touch her, just the gusts of his hot breath enough to keep her trembling in his grasp. When she lifted her hips toward his mouth, wordlessly begging for what she needed, he just calmly stopped what he was doing and sat back on his heels, looking up at her.

"Devon," she rasped. "I'm going to kill you!"

"No, you're not," he answered smugly, "but you have to tell me what you want."

He drove her crazy when he did that! She had the fleeting idea of not answering, but that would have meant no more of his mouth driving her wild, so she leaned forward and spoke in a low, throaty voice that she knew got to him right at the base of his spine. "Devon, I want you to suck my clit and make me come so hard I faint, and then I want you to shove that big cock into my cunt and fuck me until I come again."

He grinned wickedly. "No," he answered calmly, got to his feet, stuffed himself back into the leather jeans and zipped up. Without another word, he turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

She stared at the door, frowning, flipped her skirt down and got up, furious with him. At the same time, she was highly aroused, and she knew the only way to take care of that problem was to follow him. She flung the door open, almost tripping over Mrs. Wallace, who just laughed and stepped aside, having come face to face with her grandson only moments before.

"Catch him quick," Mrs. Wallace called after Libby's retreating back. Lord, she remembered times like this with her late husband, also named Devon. They'd run each other ragged - then do it all over again. "Enjoy it while you can, dears," she said in a barely audible whisper, "it doesn't last nearly long enough."

Libby was already out the side door, Devon's usual route down to the far end of the garden and the shelter that was one of their favorite places for sporting around. She heard Dilly bark, and a smile showed, "Ah, I've got you now, you devil," she said to herself, and hurried her footsteps.

Dilly's bark sounded again, then - very odd for him - a strange sort of strangled howl that ended abruptly. She stopped dead in her tracks, then she began to run. Something very odd was happening. Panic sped her steps. She found Dilly in a large golden heap by the stone walkway. There was a bloody wound on his head and he was glassy-eyed, still as a stone. "Oh, Dilly," she mourned. There was no doubt in her mind he was dead. What was going on?

"Devon?" she called out, her voice weak from shock and emotion. She called again and again, the panic taking her over, sending her back to the house to the telephone. She ran in the side door, holding off hysteria, but just barely.

Mrs. Wallace - having just heard her come in, took one look at her face and sat down abruptly. "No," was all she said.

Libby picked up the phone and dialed the Sydney police. While she waited to be connected, she looked at Devon's grandmother. "He's gone," she said, and burst into sobs.

 

The End
 

Continued as part of "White Knight" Featuring Devon's cousin, Terry Thorne