Relapse (Doctor Dom Volume 4) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) (3 page)

“Yes, Dr. Anderson.” I winced. Take a hard spanking in silence. Easier said than done.

But as his palm made steady, stinging contact with my throbbing ass, all my worries retreated to the background. Everything faded, except the way I felt lying on his lap, open and vulnerable, trusting him to give me what I needed.

I whispered my thanks after each spank.
My ass was aflame and throbbing, and I’d never felt safer or more content. Subspace. I’d only been in that blissful state once with Nick. I’d been too nervous, too on edge, too afraid to make a mistake and have his icy disapproval rain down on me. With Patrick though, it felt fitting that I reached that peaceful, floating state with him.

At the start, I had trusted that
Patrick wasn’t a serial killer when I’d come home with him from the bar. But slowly, my trust had deepened. Now, I trusted Patrick with everything. I trusted him to keep me safe, to take me all the way to the edge of what I could take, and then to pull me back to safety.

His fingers caressed my painfully engorged clitoris, and I groaned and arched. “No coming,” he said sternly. I whined, and he reached over and wound my hair in his hand, and his grip tightened painfully. My pussy gushed, and I groaned.

“Do I need to punish my kitten?”

I shook my head. “No, Dr. Anderson,” I whimpered.
How long was he going to make me wait?

His hand stayed in my hair, his other hand stroked my throbbing ass, slipping between my legs and tracing the outline of my dripping slit
through the panties. I stayed very still and I moaned softly. His fingers pushed the scrap of lace aside and plunged into my slit, and moved the wetness there to my puckered ass, and I clenched automatically, and regretted it when two bruising spanks followed.

“You know, Lisa, you are making this quite difficult on yourself,” he observed. His tone was hard. I’d never heard him sound more in charge, and it was a massive turn-on.

One finger slid into my ass, pushing in as I willed each muscle to relaxation. “I think I’ll take your ass tonight, kitten,” he said.

I winced. Last night, I’d been fucked by twin dildos in my pussy and ass. I was going to be so sore
. But I found I really wanted it. I wanted to feel thoroughly fucked by Patrick. Tomorrow, I wanted to feel every ache as a gift from him.

“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said, from my position leaning over the side of the bed. “Please…” In my tone was stark, naked longing to be so overwhelmed with lust that I felt almost as if I were drowning.

His thumb hooked into my ass, and two fingers thrust into my pussy. My clitoris felt painfully neglected, and I groaned and whimpered a plea for him to touch me. A hard spank followed.

“Do not tell me how to touch you, Lisa,” he warned. His hands left my body, and I almost cried. But my torment was brief; his hands were on my waist, lifting me up and positioning me on the bed on my hands and knees.
I kicked off my panties, and he chuckled. I still had my bra on, and the fact that I was partially clothed made this feel even more sinful.

Patrick
reached over the side table to grab some lube, and I could feel him trickle it on my ass. Then I felt the head of his cock at my puckered opening, and I sighed with mingled pleasure and slight fear as I waited for him to take me. I stayed still in anticipation. His hands stroked my flaming ass cheeks, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “Push back against me, Lisa.”

I bit my lip
and complied, forcing myself past that slight burn as his head stretched my tight ass. His hands were on my hips, and I groaned as his body came in contact with my stinging butt.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Fuck yes,” I hissed. “Please, Patrick, fuck me. Please don’t make me wait.”

He growled and slammed into me. I screamed, and he smacked my ass in displeasure. “If you can’t keep it down, I’m going to have to gag you, Lisa,” he chided. I felt him flick my panties towards me. “Wad them up and put them in your mouth.”

Oh fuck. This skirted on embarrassment and humiliation, and I was dripping wet in response. I moved one hand and breathed in the damp crotch of the panties, and I heard him chuckle. “In your mouth, kitten,” he said warmly. Ah, but his warmth felt good. He created a safe space for me to be whoever I wanted to be. Nothing I wanted would be held against me; I would not be judged for my desires. It was an incredible aphrodisiac.

I pushed the panties in my mouth, and he pounded into me in response. I whimpered into my gag and arched my hips towards him. It was fast and a little painful and so very pleasurable. His fingers raked my flaming ass as he thrust, and my skin was hot and oh-so-sensitive. His thumbs grazed at my clitoris, keeping me at the very edge of desire, but refusing yet to let me fall into my orgasm. I whimpered and pushed and moaned, and he
thrust into me steadily in response.

“Please,” I tried begging through the gag. The words came out as indecipherable grunting. I was almost sobbing in desperation as I arched, so close to release. One firm circling stroke on my clitoris; that was all it would take.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore; just when I was so close to the edge that everything was just painful longing, he finally strummed my clitoris firmly with his fingers, and increased the pace of his thrusts. I heard him groan as he released, and I was so close behind him, our orgasms might have blended into one.

I slumped on the bed, and I felt him pull out. “You okay?” he asked me,
his hands reaching to remove the panties from my mouth and I nodded, unable to form words. My limbs were limp, my brain was mush, and I felt utterly, thoroughly fucked. It was an incredible feeling.

He walked away towards the bathroom, and I heard the sound of water running, and then he came back to bed and slid next to me.
I unhooked my bra and tossed it across the room, then I curled up around him, lying on my side, my head resting on his shoulder, my leg twined with his.

“Not too much?” he asked me with slight concern.

I shook my head. “If you’d done that to me the first day, I would have run,” I said. “But I trust you. That was incredible.”

He kissed my forehead. “
What about calling you my sub?”

I
looked into his eyes. This was important, and I wanted to see his face as I spoke. “I haven’t wanted anyone to call me that in a really long time,” I started. Twelve years since Nick O’Malley drove a plow truck through that particular desire. “But I’m ready. I want this.”

He smiled at me. “You will always be my girlfriend first,” he said. “I have my own issues about this after Andrea. But I trust you to play safely with me. I t
rust you to tell me to stop if you need me to. I trust you to be responsible for yourself. Knowing all that, I find I really want this too.”

I trust you to tell me to stop if I need to.
The words were like nails scratching on a blackboard. Because once, the night my mother had been taken to the hospital, and Patrick had been there for me when I needed him most, I had violated his trust. I hadn’t thought it through then. But that night, I wouldn’t have used my safe word. The guilt from that day was already eating away at me. At some point, it would bubble to a point where I’d have to tell him.

“So, calling you a slut,” he asked. His voice was thoughtful. 

I was distracted from my thoughts and instantly mortified at what I’d asked him to call me during sex. “Is that okay?” I asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about whether I’d make you feel awkward.”

He reached over with his spare hand, the one that wasn’t trapped by my head, and laced his fingers in mine. “You do know that that’s not how I think of you at all?”

I squeezed his fingers. “If I thought for even a second that you’d use that word outside of sex, I wouldn’t be here,” I replied.

He smiled. “In that case, I’m good.
While we are having this conversation, in that context, are there any words that are off-limits?”

Slut. Whore. Bitch. All of them, uttered by Patrick in his quiet, intent tone, as his heated eyes rested on my body. The idea made my insides clench with arousal and anticipation. “I don’t think so,” I said. “I’ll tell you if something bothers me.”

“Okay,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Baby, you are going to have to move in a bit,” he told me. “I’ll be too hot to sleep with you draped all over me.”

“How quickly the romance fades,” I said, my voice wry.

He chuckled. “You want romance, try me before I come,” he quipped. I reached hopefully for his dick, but he swatted away my hand. “I’m a guy, Lisa, and I’ve been drinking. Even finishing once was a minor miracle.”

I laughed out aloud and kissed his cheek, then rolled over, carefully tucking the blankets under my toes, making myself a little warm cocoon, and I fell asleep with him next to me.

Lisa:

When I woke up in the morning, Patrick wasn’t next to me, but I could hear him downstairs, and I could smell coffee. I slipped on his shirt from last night, and headed downstairs.

He smiled at me in greeting when I entered the kitchen. “Pancakes for breakfast?” he asked me, handing me a cup of coffee.

“You spoil me, you know,” I replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever cooked breakfast for you.”

He shrugged. “Well, we do tend to spend more nights here than at your place,” he said. “I’m pretty sure when the renovation starts, and my kitchen is torn down, I’ll be begging you to feed me.”

I laughed. “The permit should come through in the next few weeks,” I said. “I spoke to my guy at the planning office. He didn’t think there will be any problems.”

“Good. What time are we due at your mother’s?” He poured a ladleful of batter on the
griddle, and turned to me.

“One,” I said. “The
Prestons are not early risers.”

He grinned, slid a pancake on a plate and pushed it in front of me at the kitchen table. “Eat,” he said. “Syrup’s in the refrigerator.” I got up to get it.

“So, what were you upset about yesterday?” he asked casually, flipping the pancake he had on the griddle.

I winced. “Let me have a full cup of coffee first,” I complained.
I took a deep breath, wondering if he would be angry at me for forgetting about Andrea’s bruise. “I ran into Andrea when my mom was in hospital, and she had a bruise on her face. She’d worn a ton of makeup to conceal it. It had totally slipped my mind, but then, I remembered when you were called to the hospital, and I felt really guilty.” I sipped my coffee, and my voice was bleak when I spoke again. “Had I mentioned it to you, perhaps the whole thing wouldn’t have happened.”

“Hey, hey,” Patrick’s voice was soothing. “No. The only person who caused this was the asshole who beat her up. In any case, you weren’t the only person who thought something was wrong. When she was here, I thought something was off as well. I called her father to have him look into it.”

“When she was here?” I asked him.

“Oh.” He looked a little awkward. “It was the day she commented about your wrist. She was here that evening.”

I remembered well the incident he was referring to. Andrea had told me that she’d been Patrick’s fulltime submissive. I’d run from him in fear at that, scarred by my own demons from the past, and wondering if 24/7 submission was what Patrick wanted from me. There was something in his tone though. A slight reticence.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah. Well.” He cleared his throat, and slid another pancake in front of me. “She was here when I got home. Naked. Wanting to get back together.”

I looked up at him. “Were you going to tell me?” I asked outright.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Look, there’s nothing between Andrea and me. I’m in love with you. I want you. But I also know you are a bit insecure where Andrea is concerned. I didn’t want to rock the boat.”

Well, that was honest.
If I was being perfectly fair, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same thing in that situation. I was pointlessly insecure about Andrea. But Patrick couldn’t conceal things from me based on my potential reaction. He needed to treat me like an adult.

He was watching me warily. “
Patrick,” I started. “I’m not saying I don’t have a thing about Andrea. But you can’t keep shit like this from me. I’m not a child. Call me on it if I’m acting like an idiot, but I don’t want you hiding these things from me.”

He nodded. “You are right, of course. I’m sorry.” He came and sat across from me at the table, with a cup of coffee in his hand. “On a more serious note, there’s something else I need to tell you. And before I do, I do want to clarify that this has nothing to do with the conversation we just had. I would have always told you this.”

His tone was slightly grim. I just waited, taking a fortifying sip of my coffee as he searched for the right words.

“Andrea’s boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, whatever. Liam. He’s got a troubling history with violence. Domestic assault, restraining orders, you name it. John had a couple of detectives do some searching and then he told Andrea
what the detectives had found. We aren’t sure if Andrea didn’t mention to Liam that I was the person who’d let John know something seemed off.”

“You are in danger,” I said. I fought to keep the fear out of my
voice when I said that.

He nodded. “
There’s a very slight possibility that yes, I might be in danger. There’s an even slighter possibility that you might be in danger as well, because we are dating. However, I’ve arranged for both of us to have security around the clock. The security people won’t approach you, and you won’t know they are around. But I’ll feel a lot better if I know that I’ve done something to protect you.”

“Were you going to tell me?” I asked him openly.

“Of course,” he said without any hesitation. “I was bone-weary yesterday, and we were both drinking. I didn’t want to bring it up last night. But it was always my intention to tell you. You have a right to know about the things that affect your life.”

“Wait, someone’s going to be following me around without me knowing? What if it’s really this Liam guy, and I think it’s the security?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll call them and ask. Honestly, I’ve never had round-the-clock security before either. It’s all a little bit insane.”

“For how long?” I was actually surprised about how calm I was. Part of it was that I knew I’d be useless
at defending myself in a crisis. I lived in one of the safest cities in North America. I didn’t even carry mace in my purse. I had no survival skills worth mentioning. Security would be welcome.

But the
other part was that as careful as Patrick was being, and as much as I appreciated his concern, any harm befalling me was a pretty long shot. This guy, Liam – he was on the run from the police. I assumed he had other things to do than worry about harming his ex-girlfriend’s ex-husband’s new girlfriend.

“Till the guy is caught.” Patrick’s voice was grim. “I know I’m being a bit cautious. But you didn’t see the condition Andrea was in, Lisa. This guy is dangerous. I’d feel a lot better to know someone’s keeping an eye on you.”

“Okay,” I said. “Hey, you haven’t eaten any pancakes, do you want to make you some?”

He grinned at me. “I had some earlier,” he said. “I’ve been up for a while. That was what was bothering you then, yesterday? Andrea’s bruise?”

Damn honesty. “Okay,” I groaned. “If you must know, I also sort of felt like you gave me a key to your house under false pretences, or something. The situation kind of demanded it, right? And I think you are too polite to ask for it back.”

He laughed openly. “That’s quite a theory,” he said dryly. “It also isn’t true. I very much want you to have a key to my place.”

“Oh,” I said. I could tell I was blushing, and I felt like an utter idiot. Seriously. The guy was a brain surgeon; his ex-wife was in a coma, fighting for her life, and I was being all kinds of melodramatic. “Sorry. I feel like an idiot.”

His lips twitched. “
Give it back,” he said. “The key.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “It’s in my bag,” I said. He got up and went into the living room, where I’d tossed my bag carelessly the previous night. In a moment, he returned with my bag in his hand, and I dug for the key, wondering what he was up to.

“Here,” I said, holding it out. He took it from me, and then smiled at me.

“Lisa,” he said, looking amused, “I think you are pretty damn awesome. Here’s a key to my house, but if you take it, there are rules.”

“Rules?” I asked, my lips curving into a smile in response to the laughter in his eyes.

“Rules. I get to cop a feel every time you use it.”
His voice was deadpan.

“Cop a feel?” My voice was mock-outraged. “
I’m overwhelmed by the romance.” I was trying hard not to giggle. Cop a feel. Patrick was hilarious.

He shook his head. “This is as good as it gets with the romance, I’m afraid.” He was
holding back his laughter. “No grand gestures.”

I rolled my eyes. “Really? No grand gestures? May I remind you about a
certain coffeemaker?” I was referring to the coffee-maker he’d sent to my office a couple of weeks ago.

“It was a coffee maker,” he protested. “Are those romantic?”

“Fancy ass Italian coffee-maker? It was a bit of a grand gesture. But one I appreciate.”

He laughed, then he looked at me with a serious look. “I’m not actually very romantic, if I’m being honest. I’m not the wine and roses kind of guy. But I will tell you that the first time you came over here and lay over my lap, my heart sto
pped at how beautiful you were. How open and honest and expressive. Last night, when you lay there again, in my lap, sweet and trusting, I just paused and went, holy fucking shit, Anderson, this woman is your girlfriend. I almost couldn’t continue.”

My heart was in my mouth at the sweetness of that statement. Grand romantic gestures? I didn’t need
them. This – the utter certainty in his voice, this was worth far more than any fancy gestures he could make.

I took the offered key from his hand. “Do you want to cop a feel now, then?” I asked hopefully.

He laughed at me. “Always,” he said. “Come sit down on my lap.” I did as I was told, and he fed me little bits of pancake, while playing with my breasts, and I struggled to stay still, and not to rip his pants off his body and sink on his dick.

“Hey.” A thought struck me. “Let’s not mention this Liam thing to my parents.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he said promptly. “Now, want to join me in the shower?”

***

Shower was code for amazingly hot sex. Eventually though, we did shower, and I wrinkled my nose at the jeans and t-shirt that I’d worn the previous night. “Can we stop at my place for a change of clothes?” I asked him. “You are going to make me look bad.” He’d worn a pair of casually beautiful grey woolen pants, and a black ribbed sweater. He looked good enough to eat.

“Sure,” he said easily. “I need to stop at the florist in any case.”

“Flowers for my mother? You don’t need to,” I replied. “She likes you already, you know.”

“I am quite nervous,” he admitted. I stared at him. “What?” he asked defensively. “It is nerve-wracking having lunch with your girlfriend’s parents for the first time.”

I laughed, then quickly apologized when I saw his slightly irritated expression. “Sorry, Patrick, you just seem so pulled-together all the time. I can’t actually imagine you being nervous about lunch. Besides, you have met them before.”

“In the hospital,” he said. “Things are different there. Your dad is hardly going to ask me what my intentions are towards his little girl in the emergency waiting room.”

“I doubt he’s going to ask you that in any case,” I giggled. “Come on, let’s go.”

***

I had been dreading lunch a little. Not because I thought that either Patrick or my parents would do anything weird. They had all already met under the most difficult of circumstances, when my mom had been in surgery. Compared to that, lunch would be like a walk in the park. But he was still the first guy I had ever brought home.

But my fears had been in vain. We had a lovely, relaxed lunch. Patrick had asked my mom how she was doing when we’d walked in the door, and my parents and Patrick had had a five minute conversation about medical stuff until my mother suddenly caught herself.

“Patrick,” she yelped, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with my concerns; Dr. Janokovic is perfectly happy to answer all my questions.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “Well,” he grinned, “you are bribing me with food, Claire, so I’m pretty sure I can spend a couple of minutes answering questions.”

I smirked to myself. He was charming the pants off them. I had no idea why he had been nervous.

Patrick had brought an Indian rice pudding for dessert, redolent with nuts and raisins. Creamy and sweet and tasty, with a slight hints of cinnamon and cardamom.
We had gone out for curry a couple of times in the city as well. “You really like Indian food,” I observed as we staggered to the living room, and crashed on the couch with our dessert.

He smiled. “Just what you grow up eating, I think,” he responded. “My nanny was Indian.”

Nanny?
I wanted to pry, but my parents were sitting there, and they would think it odd that I didn’t know anything about his family. A lot of our relationship had been sexual to this point, and I didn’t actually know very much about the way he had grown up. But I knew the important things. I trusted him implicitly. He would never hurt me. He would be there for me when I needed him.

Once we’d left though, I turned towards him in the car. “You know, it occurs to me I know nothing about you,” I said. The couple of times we’d talked about our backgrounds, he’d always been somewhat reticent in talking about himself.

“Nothing?” His voice was amused.

“Nanny. Explain.”