Page 3 of Private Exhibit (Gentleman Hackers #4)

DEVON ROUNDED the corner and slumped back against the building.

Gods damn it! The night had turned out so amazing—way better than he could have possibly imagined—and then his stupid body had to betray him again.

He'd barely arrived at the club when he ran into Hayden Ross purely by chance. The two of them had only recently met, but they had history that stretched all the way back to their shared birthday. Coincidence or fate? Devon still wasn't sure.

Hayden had explained what they were doing there at the club, then happily agreed to let Devon watch. It was almost perfect. Not exactly what Devon had wanted, but far better than nothing. The scene had been ridiculously hot.

And then there was the man.

Devon bit back a moan as he inwardly cursed.

He looked down at his right arm, hanging uselessly at his side. Devon tried to move it, but it wouldn't budge. He reached across with his left hand and prodded his skin. There was still sensation there, but his muscles refused to cooperate.

Devon sighed. That wasn't even the worst of it. He squirmed where he stood, feeling the wet diaper between his legs.

Just get home , he told himself. You made it outside. Now you just have to get home. That's all you have to think about right now.

But he didn't want to leave. He wanted to go back inside.

Right back downstairs, to that cushion on the floor, with the insanely hot man who'd chosen him.

Him! Nobody ever chose him. Devon wasn't sexy like Hayden Ross, the boy who'd just married Thomas Pennington in the most unusual—and awesome— way ever.

Any time Devon had gone to the club—had gone anywhere, really—people barely spared him a glance.

It was worse once they found out about his condition.

Devon squirmed again. Speaking of that . He risked a glance down at himself. His pants looked dry, so the diaper was holding up. Now, he had to get home before the attacks got worse.

Alright. You can do this. It's only a few blocks. You can make it. Just get home. You don't have to do anything else but that .

Devon took a deep breath, bracing himself, then headed for the intersection.

The walk home went by in a blur, the streetlamps and headlights all streaming together as Devon hurried along, keeping himself focused on his goal.

He wanted to be inside, away from traffic and people. He wanted out of his wet diaper. He desperately wanted a shower, though that was going to be a pain with only one good arm.

One thing at a time , he reminded himself. Just get home. Everything else can wait .

Devon heaved a sigh of relief when he spotted his building. He hurried inside, got on the elevator, and stared at the numbers, watching them count their way up as the car ascended to his floor.

The moment he stepped inside his apartment, he shoved the door shut behind himself and collapsed.

“Holy shit,” Oliver gasped. “Dev?”

Rapid footsteps thundered across the apartment. Devon looked up just in time to see Oliver sliding to a stop before crouching down over him.

“Dev?” Oliver repeated.

“I'm alright,” Devon gasped as he flopped over onto his back. He was tempted to brace his shoes against the door, keeping the rest of the world at bay, but that would leave dirty prints behind that he'd have to clean off. Devon grumbled. “I'm alright.”

“Where is it now?” Oliver asked.

Devon gestured. “My arm. And…” He knew he wouldn't have to say it for Oliver to understand.

Oliver gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You need help?”

Devon shook his head. “I just need a minute.”

Oliver nodded, then got up to lock the door before stretching out beside him.

They lay like that for several minutes, staring up at the plain, white ceiling in silence. Devon could just hear Oliver breathing, plus the soft whir of their ancient computers over on the dining table, but the apartment was otherwise silent.

“What do you need?” Oliver eventually asked. “Give me a list.”

Devon almost smiled. Thanks to their time living together, Oliver knew him too well. Still, he had to think about it, trying to decide what was most pressing. “I need a shower,” he decided, growing increasingly desperate to get out of the wet diaper. “And I need my shoes off. And I'm hungry again.”

Oliver chuckled. “No surprise there.” He sat up and unlaced Devon's shoes, then pried them off and set them on the mat, making sure they were lined up straight. “Socks?”

Devon grimaced. “Yes, please.” Oliver yanked off Devon's socks, and Devon felt a wave of relief wash through his body. He wriggled and fanned out his toes, his whole body seeming less confined.

“You sure you don't need help in the shower?”

Devon tested his right arm, but it still wouldn't budge. He shook his head with a sigh. “I'll manage.”

“Right-o. I'll reheat that chicken casserole while you're in there.”

“Thanks, Oli.”

Oliver nodded. “Ready?”

“Yep.” Devon hesitated, then slowly got up off the floor. Oliver moved with him, looking braced to catch him at any moment.

But Devon managed to regain his feet without incident once again.

He gave Oliver a nod, grabbed his socks, and headed to the washroom.

Devon closed the door and awkwardly stripped out of his clothes, dumping them in the hamper.

The diaper felt even more uncomfortable now, being the only thing touching his body.

Devon wriggled out of it and flung it into the tub to wash, then cranked on the hot water and stepped in after it.

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, standing still under the spray. The heat felt good on his skin, rushing down his body and washing away all the icky, lingering sensations. He slipped a hand between his legs, helping to clean off the urine.

Devon gasped.

He wasn't just wet. He was wet . A shudder of pleasure ran through his body, and he immediately started thinking of the hot guy at the club.

Gods . He'd never seen anyone sexier in his life. There was something familiar about the man, but Devon couldn't place him. Usually, when that happened, it was someone he'd taken an interest in and been rejected. But this man certainly hadn't rejected him.

Devon could picture him so easily. Thick, brown hair. A short, scruffy beard. A white tank top that showed off the man's broad shoulders and just a hint of chest hair. Tight jeans that highlighted strong thighs and an impressive ass.

And that cock. Holy hells . Straight. Thick.

Uncut. Devon licked his lips, just thinking about it.

He'd never gotten to touch a cock in his life, let alone have one inside him.

Hells, he didn't even have one of his own, having been born with female genitalia.

But just getting to see that one was like a dream come true.

Especially the way the man had handled himself.

Devon bit back a moan, picturing it. Those strong, sexy, confident hands stroking up and down, dragging the foreskin back and forth, fondling those huge balls.

Devon slapped a hand over his mouth as he came.

He gasped for breath. Holy shit . Devon snatched down the soap and quickly washed himself, feeling guilty for wasting the hot water.

He never indulged in shower masturbation.

That was something he reserved for the privacy of his bedroom, and sometimes not even there.

When his entire body could go paralyzed at any moment, it was simply too awkward to think about having Oliver catch him while his hand was stuck uselessly down his underwear.

Then again, Oliver had wiped his ass for him more times than he could count, and it didn't get much more awkward than that.

Devon shuddered and grabbed the showerhead to rinse himself off, then paused when he realized he'd used his right hand. He breathed a laugh. Just like that, the attack was over. His right arm wasn't useless anymore.

Once his diaper was washed out and hung up to dry, Devon got out of the shower.

He quickly dried off and padded into his bedroom.

Just in case, he pulled on a clean diaper even though regular underwear sounded so much more comfortable, then got dressed in his pajamas.

The soft fabric, thin and worn though it was, felt soothing on his skin.

He closed his eyes and let himself experience it for a few minutes before he went to hang up his towel and rejoin Oliver at the dining table.

Devon sat down in his chair, thanked Oliver for the steaming bowl resting on the table, and reached for his keyboard.

“Nope,” Oliver teased. “Food first.”

Devon's fingers paused halfway through typing in his credentials for the Gentleman Hackers chatroom. He grumbled under his breath, but Oliver was right. One thing at a time . Devon took a bite, chewed, and swallowed, then said, “You know me too well.”

Oliver chuckled.

Devon ate a few more bites, waiting until the food began to settle his system, leaving him more clearheaded and calm, then finished logging in.

He couldn't help smiling as the chatroom loaded.

This really was his second home. The one and only place where he felt even slightly wanted. The only family he'd ever known.

Which was weird, considering he didn't know a damned thing about any of the members. They were all complete strangers. Utterly anonymous.

Except for Oliver, of course.

Devon checked the user list and found only two of the seven members logged in this time: himself and Rogue . He clicked on the latter, opening a private chat window.

Voy(ag)eur : Hi.

Across the table, Oliver chuckled. A moment later, a reply appeared on the screen.

Rogue : Hi.

Devon grinned, minimizing the chat window. It would flash to alert him if Oliver sent him a message. He took another bite of his dinner and glanced at the task list.

Damn. Still nothing . Devon sighed. He desperately needed a distraction.

And an income. Until and unless he got a new job, hacking on the side was his only way to make money.

Devon eyed the user list again, noting Grim wasn't online.

Huh. The mysterious man was almost always there.

Maybe, with any luck, the next time Grim appeared, he'd post a new job for them.

The moment Devon had that thought, Grim 's username suddenly lit up as logged in. Devon barely had a second to register that fact before a new private chat window popped up on his screen.

Grim : Good. You're back home.

Devon frowned. That was weird. Grim had specifically mentioned home , not online . How did Grim know he'd gone out? Before Devon could ask, another message came through.

Grim : Have you checked your email yet?

Voy(ag)eur : No. Why?

Grim : Go check.

“Really weird,” Devon whispered. Still, he turned to another monitor and logged into his email.

He gasped at the sight of a new message from University Hospital. The subject line read, Invitation to interview . Devon moved to click on it so fast, he almost knocked his bowl off the table.

“Whoa there,” Oliver said with a laugh. “What's up?”

Devon didn't answer right away, too busy scanning the message with wide eyes. He jumped back over to the chatroom and sent Grim a message.

Voy(ag)eur : How'd you know?

Grim : I know everything. ;)

Devon breathed a laugh. He thought he should be creeped out, but he wasn't. For whatever reason, he trusted Grim . They all did. He looked back at the email and read it again.

“Holy shit,” Devon gasped.

“What?”

Devon tore his gaze away from the screen and looked at Oliver instead. “I got an interview!”

“Yus!” Oliver cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “Where at?”

“U.H.”

“Whoa. Doing what?”

Devon paused. “Morgue Assistant.”

Oliver blinked. “Seriously?” He stared at Devon between their monitors. “You sure you're up for that?”

Devon shrugged. “I need something . I'm running out of restaurants to get fired from.”

“Yeah, but…” Oliver trailed off and shuddered.

“It sounds like it's all data entry,” Devon explained. “Like, I wouldn't have to actually work in the morgue itself. Just the office.”

“Oh. I guess that's not so bad. But still.”

“Yeah. But it's within walking distance, which helps. And the pay sounds great. And it's not like I can break anything,” he added, thinking of the countless trays full of hot dishes he'd dropped over the years, thanks to his disease. “And they specifically wanted someone with Tanasian ancestry.”

Oliver's eyebrows went up. “That's a weird preference.”

“Right?”

They stared at one another until, at the same moment, they both whispered, “Ghosts?”

Devon slowly nodded. That had to be it. There were bound to be ghosts all over the hospital, but especially down in the morgue. He supposed it made sense to have staff who could actually see them. Maybe even communicate with them. Help ease their passing.

Of course, if that were the case, Devon was screwed. He couldn't see ghosts anymore. He'd had that ability taken away years ago.

It was part of the reason he was still alive.