In the Custody of the Dom (Hideaway Book 1) (2 page)

A glove.
Things were about to get more invasive. It was interesting to see how he was working in the elements she’d mentioned on the phone.

“Open your mouth.”

As a woman on the run, she wouldn’t want any DNA collected. She kept her mouth firmly closed.

His expression darkened. “Sam, I won’t ask you again. Open your mouth, or I’ll call security in here. We’ll put you on your stomach, and I’ll do a rectal swab instead. Now, which is it to be?”

Her eyes widened, and her heart began to pound at his sudden shift in tone. She felt herself grow wet, trying on the idea of many hands holding her down, watching her struggle as a swab was forcibly inserted into her rectum. He watched her closely, reading her response. He looked... intrigued? She hovered for a moment, on the verge of making him follow through on his threat, but just couldn’t do it.

Slowly, she opened her mouth.

His look was questioning, but only for a second. “Keep it open,” he said. “If you bite me, you’ll regret it.”

His gloved finger pushed in with clinical authority, sweeping around her mouth, over her teeth, under her tongue, making her gag a little.

“Sorry. Keep it open.” He put the swab in her mouth and rubbed it up and down inside her cheek for a few moments before taking it out and putting it back in the bottle. He stripped off the glove, took a marker from the bag, wrote her name on the label, and put it all away.

He reached for the sheet and blanket across her chest. She got there first, tightening her hold as he tried to pull them down. Their eyes met in silent conflict.

“Sam.”

She swallowed. “Look, I’m... not...”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not...”

“As young or as...,” she tried to couch her many body image issues in as kind a phrase as possible, “
well defined
... as...”

He smiled, kindness and amusement in his eyes as he shook his head. He cupped her face in his warm, strong hands, and leaned down to silence her with a kiss. She’d been around the block a few times and was as sceptical as anyone who’d been damaged by something she’d thought was real but had turned out not to be, but God help her, this felt... sincere. Not aggressively sexual, but...reassuring. Friendly. Organic. Maybe he was testing her. Perhaps this could be the start of an actual relationship with a dom. Someone she could turn to when she needed to. She hardly dared hope.

Still, disbelief and anger rose up and warred with the new optimism. How dare he try to placate her when her issues ran so deep, were so well-ingrained, were –

“Sam.”

“Yes… Sir.”

“I don’t lie to my clients.” He smiled. “You’re beautiful, and that’s the God honest truth. Curves, scars, and whatever else you might perceive as imperfections are what makes us interesting. We all have them, and they tell the story of our lives. Now just relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” He tugged again at the covers, and she let them slide from her fingers, tensing as he folded them down as far as her waist.

He undid the ties on her paper gown, but left the edges more or less together. He took a stethoscope from the bag, and put the eartips in his ears. He reached in under the gown and pressed the cool metal disc to her chest. Her heart was hammering so violently, she was amazed he needed the stethoscope to hear it.

He glanced up, obviously very much aware of how nervous and excited she was, but remaining clinical and cop-like.

She squirmed at the odd intimacy of this, and he put a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Keep still.” He looked her dead in the eyes, while keeping the stethoscope in place. “Sam, have you been engaging in any unlawful activities?”

She blinked. He was using the stethoscope as a lie detector. “No.”

He looked at her levelly, as though she’d lied and he knew it. “I’ll ask you again. Have you been engaging in any unlawful activities?”

She swallowed. “No.”

He didn’t attempt to question her further, but moved the stethoscope around her chest and abdomen without exposing her body unduly. Then he made her sit up so that he could listen at her back.

He fastened a blood pressure cuff around her arm, pumped it up until she winced, then pressed the stethoscope to the inside of her elbow as it deflated. She always hated feeling her pulse throbbing in her arm like that, and made a face. She could see amusement in his eyes. He took a clipboard from the cart and made a few notes, then put it back.

“Good,” he said, quietly. He put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Lie back down for me.”

“I don’t...” She let the tangle of nerves and embarrassment hang in the air, unexpressed.

“I’m going to examine your breasts now.” He pulled the left side of her gown wide open, and then the right, fully exposing her chest. She swallowed, and fixed her eyes on the ceiling. She didn’t know what to do with her hands; they fluttered over her ribs as she resisted the urge to shield herself.

“Put your left arm up over your head, please.”

When she hesitated, he grasped her wrist and guided her arm up so that her hand was touching the headboard.

He examined her breast in a completely professional, clinical manner. Even though his touches weren’t designed to arouse, the fact that he had exposed her, was touching her where only medical practitioners and lovers had touched her, and was taking his time to allow her to become more comfortable with him, and for him to get to know her body and to read her, was incredibly sexy.

She shifted a little under the sheet, her breathing deepening as he repeated the procedure with her right breast.

“Good, Sam. You can put your arm back down at your side. Your breasts are nice and healthy. Now, I’m going to do something a little unusual. As part of the intake procedure for a high-risk person of interest, I need to check if you’re lactating, and the only way to do that is to suckle you.”

“Suckle
me?” Just the word sent a bolt of excitement through her.

“Are you going to be difficult about this?”

Torn between laughter and arousal, she simply shook her head.

He leaned across her, and ducked his head to her breast. The weight of his left arm lay heavily across her belly and hips, effectively holding her down.

Well, this was something the doctor didn’t usually do.

Her right hand trembled slightly as she guided her erect nipple to his lips. She wasn’t even sure if this was what she was supposed to do, but he smiled and murmured, “Very good. Well done, Sam.” He latched on and began to suckle, gently at first, and then more strongly. It was as though her nipple was directly connected to her core, and a tingling jolt of pleasure made her thrust her hips. She moaned, and felt a fresh spurt of wetness between her legs.

His warm, wet tongue circled the tip, swirling and probing. He sucked hard, drawing her nipple in, holding it there with his teeth while he teased it. She moved to slip her hand under the sheet and between her legs, but his strong hand encircled her wrist and kept it at her side. She made an unmistakable noise of frustration, and he laughed softly against her breast.

Too soon, he pulled back, and wiped her breast with a soft white cleansing pad. Then he repeated the process with her right breast.

“Good,” he said. “Keep those hands at your sides.”

She obeyed, and he spread her gown wide to expose her entire chest and abdominal area, then began palpating her abdomen. He took his time, pressing and thumping her abdominal wall almost, but not quite, to the point of pain; just deeply enough to let her know that he was serious about finding anything amiss. He pushed the covers further down so that they barely covered her pubic hair, then undid the next couple of ties on her gown. He concentrated his examination quite a bit low down on one side, and finally looked up. “When did you last eat?”

“I’ve been eating.”

“As evidenced by the fact that you’re still alive, but
when?
”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. A little. On the plane.” Of course, the motion sickness had made her throw it right back up again.

“Have you been moving your bowels?”

She blushed. “Yes,” she lied.

A furrow appeared above his right eyebrow. “Regularly?”

“Yes.” Well, when she’d had a chance, but having to hold on until she could hurriedly attempt to relieve herself in a far corner of the bombed-out building when it didn’t seem likely that someone would suddenly burst in and rape or shoot her, hadn’t helped in that regard. More often than not, she just couldn’t relax enough to go, and feared that if she took too long, well-intentioned colleagues would come to check she hadn’t been taken hostage.

His fingertips pressed firmly into a tender spot. She winced, and grabbed his hand. He shook his head, seized both of her wrists in one hand, and continued to probe her with expert fingers.

“So you’re telling me that what I’m feeling here in your abdomen isn’t impacted stool?”

Heat rushed to her face. He could actually feel that? How embarrassing. “No.”

“Then it must be something else. Are you aware that smuggling is one of the charges that may be brought against you?”

“I’m not smuggling anything!”

He stood up and went into the corner of the room, where he retrieved an IV stand and a medical cart, and rolled them over to the rubber-covered examination table. An array of bulky objects on the cart were hidden beneath a blue sterile drape. He went to another corner and brought over a large medical lamp.

He patted the examination table. “Go ahead and hop up here, please.”

She really didn’t want to.

“Now, Sam.”

Slowly, she pushed the covers off and got out of the bed. She walked to the table and clambered onto it, the rubber mattress squeaking as she swivelled around to lie down. He had her push herself up off the mattress while he placed a wedge-shaped pillow under her backside, tilting her up off the table, giving him complete access to her most private areas.

He reached down, and pulled up a pair of stirrups that were set into the end of the table. “Feet in here, please.”

Once her feet were up, the flimsy paper gown gaped open all the way down her front. She might as well not be wearing anything at all. She knew her face had to be scarlet with embarrassment, though they both knew he was only giving her what she’d asked for. But then, as she well knew, fantasizing about something and actually experiencing it were very different things. He positioned the lamp and she felt the heat of it on her ass and thighs. He pulled on a new pair of gloves, and she heard a cap pop open.

He looked her in the eyes. “Anything you want to tell me, before we begin? If you speak up now, it could reduce your sentence, should you be convicted.”