Recovery (Doctor Dom Volume 5) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) (12 page)

Ah. It was the trust piece that was a turn-on for him. Well, in that case, he should have been walking around with a hard-on all the time, because I trusted him implicitly.

“
Are you going to take care of me soon?” I asked him, a slight plea in my voice. Oh, I wanted him to touch my pussy so badly. I needed his hard dick inside me, filling me, taking me. Using me. Owning me.

“
Eventually,” he said. “And the more you plead, the longer you wait, so consider that before speaking next time.”

I flashed him a look of complete irritation which he thankfully didn’t see.

“Now, the vaginal examination,” he said. The speculum slid into me, and I bit my lip as Patrick cranked it open, slowly spreading the walls of my vagina. “Ouch,” I gasped.

He looked at me
with quick concern. “Is that a
yellow
?” he asked me.

I shook my head.
“Just ouch,” I replied. Already, the pain was receding, and pleasure was rushing in to take its place. Waves of arousal lapped at me, and I closed my eyes briefly. I felt so open. So exposed. So vulnerable, yet so protected.

“In that case, I’d like
silence from you, Ms. Preston,” he snapped.

“
Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said meekly, and he bent forward and brushed his lips against mine.

“
Now, Ms. Preston, let’s test your responses, shall we?” His voice was rough with anticipation, and lust coiled tight within me.

He h
ad a thin vibrator in his hand, not much thicker than my little finger. He grinned a smile of pure evil, as he slid the vibrator in my ass. He inserted an identical vibrator in my pussy, and then stood back and watched me as I reacted to the two vibrators.

Oh, but the sensation. It
pushed me, alarmingly fast to the edge of extreme frustration. It vibrated just enough to keep me simmering in arousal, but not enough to get me off. “Patrick,” I whined, my eyes pleading. “I can’t.”

“
You can,” he said, his voice even. He shrugged aside his lab coat and unzipped his pants, then stepped out of them, pushed his boxers down his hips. His erection jumped out, proud and hard, and he stepped close to my mouth. I opened automatically. Sucking Patrick off, the feeling of satisfying my Dom, would push me closer to my climax. Perhaps even let me tip over into it.

“
Ah fuck, Lisa,” he said, his eyes clenching shut as I took him into my mouth.

I
focused on bringing him pleasure. I sucked and licked, and I gripped the base of his cock with my fingers, moving my hand up and down in rhythm with my mouth. My other hand moved to his balls, cupping them, and he groaned and pushed further down my throat. But as I felt my body edge closer to climax, he groaned and pulled away.

I
whimpered in protest, and he ran his fingers up my jaw, inclining my head up so I would look into his eyes. “I want to come in your beautiful pussy,” he told me.

“T
hen stop teasing me and do it,” I growled back and he laughed.

“M
ore jumping jacks as punishment?” he asked rhetorically, and I winced. He was fully capable of making me do jumping jacks, watching my face twist with mingled pain and pleasure as my nipples hurt from the ache of the clamps. But I didn’t want jumping jacks now.

I wanted him. At this particular moment, I didn’t care about my orgasm.
My climax was a by-product of pleasing my Dominant. What I wanted in that moment, more than anything in the world, was to bring Patrick pleasure. His calm control was the safety line that I held on to as I surrendered my own, and I ached to find a way to express my gratitude for that.

“W
hatever you’d like, Dr. Anderson,” I said. “Let me please you.”

He looked at me very intently, his eyes utterly serious.
“You please me every day, love, just by being who you are,” he said. For a brief moment that stretched on forever, our eyes met, and in his expression, I saw only love.

Tears rose unbidden in mine. Serious emotion
always made me cry, and I felt foolish crying in front of Patrick. I was a grown woman, damn it. But Patrick’s lips kissed each falling tear, and his fingers laced in mine. Finally, his hands squeezed mine, and he moved a step back.

“
Ms. Preston,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“
Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said, squeezing his fingers back.

He pulled the vibrator out of my pussy, and put it in my ass.
Both speculums were pulled out. My ass closed around the two vibrators as he gripped my hips and slid into my slightly sore pussy.

I grunted.
“Sore?” he asked.

“
A little,” I said. He slammed into me. “But don’t stop,” I gasped.

“
Ah, I had no intention of stopping, baby,” he said. He pounded in me, his face contorted with pleasure. His fingers found my clitoris as he pumped, and I reached forward and gripped his forearms as he slammed into my body, and I held back my orgasm until he was close, and we both exploded within seconds of each other.

“Fuck me,”
he groaned, freeing my legs from the stirrups. “Bed?”

“
Do guys lose some magic ability to talk after they come?” I asked him, a grin on my face.

“Yes,”
he said dryly. “Our conversational ability resides in our semen. Once we ejaculate, we can’t actually speak. Do keep that in mind the next time you want to cuddle and talk after sex, okay Lisa?”

I giggled. Patrick was hilarious. I
rose, stretching. “Bed,” I agreed lazily.

It
really had been the best kind of distraction.

Lisa:

“Okay,” I told Patrick. “Close your eyes.”

You know those reality TV shows where the designers banish the homeowners the last two days of the project, and then bring them in for the big reveal? Yeah. That wasn’t quite the way it worked in real life. Clients paid designers, not the other way round, and we danced to their tune.

That being said, Patrick was my boyfriend, and I had wanted to surprise him wit
h a beautiful, finished house. I had asked him to stay away for the last three days. He had rolled his eyes at my request, but truth be told, I think he was quite happy to stay away from the chaos.

He’d been spending a lot more time at my condo as the project ran over schedule, and
as bad as I felt about the delays, I loved having him at my place all the time. I’d never lived with someone, and I wasn’t sure how things would work being in such close quarters with Patrick.

Things had been great. And living with him, I noticed things about him I really liked, things that boded well for a long-term relationship. Patrick participated in chores without complaint. He respected my need for quiet time, and had similar needs himself.
He was tidier than I was, and teased me unmercifully about my habit of leaving my coffee mug all over my condo, but he was good-natured about it, and not judgemental.

I was going to miss his presence in my condo. I was going to miss seeing him tangled up in my bed.
And I sure as hell was going to miss the fact that he woke up before me and made me coffee in the mornings.

“Ready?” I asked him.

“It’s a week until Christmas, Lisa,” he said to me. “This should have been done two weeks ago? I’m pretty sure I’m ready.”

I grinned at him. He was rarely irritable, and I secretly found it adorable when he was crabby. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. Taking advantage of his closed eyes, I just leaned forward and kissed his lips.

“Oh, is this a make-out session?” he asked. “Because if it is, I’m totally and fully in support of it.”

“Patrick,” I chided. “Your house. I’m doing the big unveiling right now.”

“I can think of many things I’d like unveiled,” he laughed. “Can I open my eyes now?”

I moved him forward and positioned him in the middle of his foyer. “Okay,” I said. “Open them.”

***

The project had originally been about the kitchen, but it had grown to where I was basically redesigning his entire ho
use. That had been his idea; once he had some idea how disruptive a renovation was going to be, he decided it would be a lot easier if the entire house was done at the same time. Every room got redesigned. The bathrooms were retiled and new showers and bathtubs put in. Every single room was painted. Windows were replaced. It had been five weeks of frantic activity. And though Patrick was grouchy about the delay, he didn’t know how much work had been done. Homeowners never did.

He opened his eyes. “Walk me through the house,” he ordered, and I smiled to myself at the tone of command in his voice.

“Okay,” I waved at the floor. “New Moroccan floor tiles here, new light fixture.”

“And new paint colour,” he said. “I like it.”

We walked through the house, and I watched him as he took it all in, and I saw my work through his eyes. His house had been a bit devoid of personality when I’d started, but it sparkled right now. Better lighting, cleaner layout, and lots and lots of warmth and colour.

I grew
edgy though as we walked through, and he kept silent. He’d seen enough of the work in progress. Things shouldn’t have been a complete surprise. Shit. Did he not like it?

“You have to say something,” I said nervously.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you this anxious when you walk other clients through?” he asked me.

I nodded. “I hide it better though,” I said.

He put an arm around my waist, and pulled me in. “I love it,” he said, kissing my nose. “But I’m taking it in. Let me walk through and see it all, please?”

“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said
with a pout, and he laughed.

We ended up in the kitchen, and I watched Patrick look around with pleasure. The screen doors led to his backyard, and I’d turned the light on
so he could see the patio through the doors. “Ah, Lisa,” he said finally. “This is lovely. The entire house is amazing, but this is absolutely my favourite room.” He drew me into his body, and I stood there leaning against his chest.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said finally.

“Oh, I love it all. You are very talented,” he said, his voice serious, and I felt a flush of pleasure run through me. “Hey. Want to throw a party?”

“A party?” I asked.

He nodded. “New Years’ Eve? We can throw a party here? You should show off your work, it’s brilliant.”

I looked at him quizzically. “A party with your friends?” I asked.

“And yours, if they don’t already have prior plans,” he said. “Together?”

I linked my fingers in his. “Together. That sounds good.”

***

In the last few months, I’d become much better at asking for what I wanted. At having the difficult conversations. Well, not the truly difficult conversations – I still avoided those. For example, Patrick and I had been dating for four months. By all accounts, we were in a serious relationship, but though he had
met my parents, I still hadn’t met his and I wasn’t brave enough to ask him why. I was afraid that in some subconscious way, he believed that I didn’t really fit in in the world his parents lived in, not the way Andrea had done. Okay, I didn’t actually think that Patrick was ashamed of me. I knew him. He was just too honest, too straightforward for something like that. But I still found myself reticent to broach the topic.

But I
’d grown trusting enough in our relationship to ask about the smaller stuff, and as we discussed throwing a party, the topic we hadn’t discussed was like an elephant in the room. We hadn’t talked about Christmas plans.

So I brought it up. Once we’d finished discussing our plans to throw a party New Years’ Eve, I turned to him. “
Are you going to your parents for Christmas?” I asked.

He shook his head.
“I think they are going to be in the south of France,” he said. “They are on a cruise through the Mediterranean. I was going to spend Christmas with Doug’s family.”

I looked at him sternly, and this time, when
I spoke, I was a little irritated. It was one thing if he didn’t want to bring me home to meet his parents at Christmas, but making plans with Doug’s family? Oh, a fight was in the offing. “You are going to spend Christmas with Doug’s family? Why wouldn’t you spend it with me and my family?”

“
You didn’t ask,” he replied. “It’s Christmas. Loaded with symbolism. I didn’t want to push it or rush our relationship to that level if you didn’t feel comfortable with it.”

“
Oh for fuck’s sake,” I mumbled. This was what having a past did. Everything was coloured through the lens of our past experiences. Through Patrick’s childhood, his parents had more or less made him feel unwanted. Of course he would be hesitant to invite himself into my Christmas plans, though he would have logically known that he would be welcome.

T
here was a tentativeness there that he would have never exhibited had he been unblemished and unwounded. And there was the exact same tentativeness in me as well. But it was time we both got over our pasts and trusted in each other. Patrick was one of the most important person in my life, if not the most important, and I’d be damned if he spent his Christmas with someone other than me.

“W
ould Doug be massively offended if I insisted you come and spend Christmas with me and my parents instead?” I asked him.

“
I think Doug will manage,” he replied, his lips quirking. I went to lean against his chest, and I put my arms around him.

“You should have asked,” I chided softly.

“I know,” he replied. “I did know I’d be welcome, if that helps.” He rested his chin on my head, and I snuggled into his body. “Though I do not relish the idea of going to a store anywhere near the Christmas holidays.”

“You don’t have to,” I replied. “We don’t do presents in my family. Just stuff that can be consumed. Bring wine, and the Prestons will love you forever.”

“Will they?” He kissed my lips. “Good to know, baby.”

***

We had a lovely Christmas with my parents. Patrick had followed my advice and brought three bottles of wine. We’d gone over early to help my mom cook dinner, and Patrick earned the everlasting admiration of my mother by donning an apron and helping her chop vegetables. I smirked and took photos with my phone, and he shook his head at me. “Later, baby,” he mouthed at me, and I laughed aloud. Oh, I was looking forward to my punishment.

When we got back home, he handed me a small square box. “Wait, no presents,” I said. “You aren’t following the rules.”

“I followed some of them,” he replied. “But honestly, if you think I’m going to do exactly as you tell me all the time, you really need to reassess your expectations.”

I laughed. “Indeed,” I said wryly. “But I now feel like a bad girlfriend because I didn’t get you anything.”

He shook his head. “Ah sweetie,” he said, his voice serious. “What you do for me is so much more involved than going into a store and buying something. You stayed with me while I dealt with my bullshit. You were kind and patient, honest and open. You’ve welcomed me into your life. You’ve created a beautiful home for me. Trust me, you are perfect.”

“
Well, I billed you for the work on your home,” I muttered, embarrassed by the compliment. I hadn’t wanted to bill him. He’d insisted, pointing out that I had turned away other work while I worked on his place.

He rolled his eyes at me.
“Open the damn box, Lisa,” he said. I bit back my smile and obeyed.

The box contained a beautiful pair of
earrings. Two large, pear-shaped yellow diamonds, with smaller diamonds twinkling from the setting. “Patrick, this is too much,” I protested.

“Do you like them?” he asked directly.

“Yes,” I said. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them. They were beautiful.

“In that case, I’m not sure what the problem is,” he responded, and I glared at him. He smiled at me. “Merry Christmas, Lisa,” he said, kissing my pout away.

“Merry Christmas, Patrick,” I whispered. The earrings were lovely, and he’d clearly chosen them with some thought. But at the end of the day, earrings were just earrings. What mattered was that my boyfriend had spent Christmas with me, and when we were stuffed to the gills with the turkey and sides that my mom plied us with, we had gone home together and wedged out on the couch in perfect, companionable silence.

***

The party was a blast. I’d worried that our plans were too last-minute, that his friends would already have plans for New Years’ Eve. My friends I knew well. One of us would always offer to host a house-party, but we’d all wait until the last possible minute, hoping that someone else would capitulate first. It wasn’t that we weren’t hospitable – but having people over always involved a thorough cleaning of our homes, and Monica and Mandy avoided cleaning with the same shuddering horror that I did.

“This is a nice place, Lisa,” Monica smiled at me, Jimmy fast asleep in her arms. “Listen, is there a bed I can let Jimmy sleep on?”

She’d warned me she was bringing Jimmy, baby sitters being near impossible to find on New Years’ Eve. Patrick had made a bed for him in the guest room upstairs.

“Guest room upstairs,” I told her. “First door on your right.”

She smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “He’s a heavy little pumpkin.”

I rolled my eyes. Monica had returned to work, and
when I talked to her, she was both loving her job, and missing Jimmy like crazy. I was pretty sure she’d linger upstairs, tucking her precious little pumpkin in and enjoying a few quiet moments with her baby.

“Nice party, Lisa,”
Doug smiled at me as he wandered up. “Can I get you a drink refill?”

“I should alternate my drinks with water,” I said. “I hate when I’m hung over on the first of
January, you know? It feels like I’m setting a pattern for the year.”

He laughed. “Water it shall be,” he said, and returned in a minute with a glass of water. “You’ve done a great job in this space. We’ve been ribbing Patrick for a while now about his bare walls. And the kitchen doors are a great idea.”

“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t know Doug very well. I’d only hung out with Patrick’s friends a few times, but from what I could tell, Doug seemed like a great guy. Charming and relaxed, and he obviously doted on Sara. “Patrick had a ton of input as well, of course,” I added. “Most of it really came from him.”

Doug looked at me. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he said. “You did great work.” He took a sip of his drink, and looked at Patrick,
who was laughing and talking with Mandy and Jason at the other end of the room. “I’m really happy you are a part of his life,” he said.