Recovery (Doctor Dom Volume 5) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) (13 page)

I looked at him, astonished
and pleased. Doug was one of Patrick’s best friends, and it made me glad to know his friends were happy we were dating.

I circulated around the room, talking to our guests and keeping a discreet eye on the dining table, to make sure there was plenty of food and drink. We’d done appetizers – cheese plates, fruit, veggies, hummus, that kind of thing. Nothing that required fussing. I thought we looked a little low on wine, so I hurried to the kitchen, only to bump into Patrick there.

“We are low on wine,” I said to him, my brows furrowed.

“We are,” he said. “I’ll grab a bottle in a second.” He leaned against the counter, and widened his stance, and I moved so I was standing in the gap between his legs. “Are you having fun?” he asked me.

I nodded. “Are you?” I asked.

He smiled. “Very much so,” he said.

I leaned forward and kissed him. “Good,” I said. “Doug just told me he’s happy we are dating.”

“They all are,” he said. “Also, Alison wants to hire you.”

“I don’t mix business with pleasure,” I smirked. “Except in the rarest of occasions, of course.”

He slapped my ass as I bent to grab the bottle of wine from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. “Hey,” I protested, a
nd he raised a silent eyebrow. “Don’t start things you won’t finish,” I winked.

He laughed aloud. “It’s going to be a great new year,” he said cheerfully, as he took the bottle from me, and left the kitchen to find a corkscrew.

***

“Lisa,” Monica slid next to me with a peculiar look on her face. “Isn’t Patrick a neurosurgeon?”

I nodded. “Yup, why?”

She gave me a look. “Why does he have an examination room in his house then?”

I started giggling helplessly. “This is awkward,” I said, my cheeks red, but unable to stifle my laughter. “We sort of do stuff there.”

“Stuff?” she asked, then her expression cleared and her eyebrows rose high. “Stuff. Ah.” She elbowed me. “I told you I had a one year old and your sex life sounded more interesting than mine. And you hold out on the juicy bits?”

We both burst out laughing. “Can we not talk about this?” I asked, completely embarrassed.

She snorted. “You know I’m going to tell Mandy, don’t you?”

“Fair enough,” I said resignedly. But I couldn’t keep a straight face for long. We took another look at each other, and dissolved into giggles again.

“What’s going on, you two?” Patrick asked. I hadn’t seen him walk up. I eyed Monica, and she eyed me, and we both
started laughing again.

“I need to find Mandy,” she choked out, and retreated hastily, her eyes dancing with laughter.

“What’s the joke?” Patrick looked mystified. I told him. We looked at each other, and we both cracked up. “Maybe we should keep that room locked when we aren’t using it?” he finally said dryly.

We counted down in unison with the countdown on the television, and yelled ‘Happy New Year!’ in loud, cheerful voices
at midnight. I looked into Patrick’s eyes, and for a moment, the room retreated to the background. “Happy New Year, Patrick,” I whispered.

His fingers reached out and traced the lips he’d just kissed. He smiled. “I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,” he said quietly.

Lisa:

It was early February. We were at Doug and Sara’s place to watch the Super Bowl. The boys were a bit glum because their team hadn’t made it past the conference finals. Me, I was a Bills fan. They hadn’t made the playoffs in years. The Super Bowl wasn’t even in the realm of possibility.

“
Hey, we set a date,” Sara remarked during a commercial break. We’d just finished agreeing that it was a shame that the Canadian networks didn’t also broadcast the American commercials, and Patrick was busy searching for the most buzz-worthy commercials on his phone. “Early May.”

Patrick looked up. “
That soon?” I asked, in some surprise. Even Mandy and Monica, who were normally quite low-key had taken a full year to plan their weddings. Sara nodded. “There was a cancellation at Roy Thomson Hall, and they offered us the date,” she said. “And both Doug and I really like the symphony.” They exchanged a smile at each other, and Doug reached out and linked his fingers in Sara’s. The two of them radiated happiness and palpable contentment, and though I hadn’t known them long, I was really happy for them.

“Besides,” Sara laughed ruefully. “My parents own a bar in Tober
mory. Tourist season is about twelve weeks, and they get incredibly busy then. If I get married in the summer, my parents will kill me.”

Doug
cleared his throat. “Patrick, James, you’ll be best men? Both of you? I can’t be expected to pick.”

Both James and Patrick grinned
and nodded. “We did the same thing for Patrick’s wedding,” James told me. “Patrick couldn’t pick between Doug and me either.” His voice trailed off as Alison dug an elbow into his side. “Shit, sorry Lisa,” he said awkwardly.

I leaned against Patrick. “It’s not a problem,” I said. “I do know Patrick was married before.”

***

“What was your wedding like?” I asked him when we got to his house after the game.

“Ridiculously opulent,” he said, making a face. “Five hundred people at the AGO.” He didn’t look like he wanted to talk about his wedding to Andrea.

“Ever want to do it again?” I asked him, trying to keep my voice casual.
I failed miserably; he looked up sharply.

“Are you asking?” he said with a smile. The smile relaxed me. It wasn’t the smile of a guy looking to flee because his girlfriend was discussing marriage. “Lisa,” his smile widened. “I went to an antique store with you last weekend. You were looking for the perfect chair for four fucking hours. So yes, I’d marry you in a heartbeat. Are you asking?”

“No,” I yelped. “I mean, I don’t think this is something you surprise the other person with, you know? But I wasn’t asking, just, well, asking. Scoping you out.”

“
If you want to get married,” he said, his voice suddenly gloomy. “I guess you should meet my parents.”

***

Patrick had mentioned a few times, casually, that his parents were rich. It hadn’t registered in any real way. I was more or less indifferent to money. A few years ago, I might have been more intimidated or bothered by it, but a lot of my clients were rather wealthy, and in the end, they were just people.

But there was wealthy, and then there was insanely, obscenely rich. Patrick had forgotten to mention his parents fell in the latter category. No. That particular tidbit I found out through Nick O’Malley.

One afternoon, desperate for a pause after a morning filled with paperwork, I’d taken a break and had run out to grab a sandwich at the coffee shop around the corner from my office. And as luck would have it, sitting in a corner of that same coffee shop, frowning impatiently at his phone, was Nick O’Malley.

He raised his arm in greeting, and I winced inwardly, wishing he hadn’t seen me.
Grow up,
I told myself sternly, and wound my way over to his table. 

“Hello Nick,” I said, and as I spoke, I took careful stock of my emotions. My voice was steady, my pulse normal.
What do you know?
I wondered in silent marvel. I had never thought the day would come when I could greet Nick O’Malley without fear or rancour, but here it was. 

“Lisa,” he greeted me. “Join me?”

“I can’t stay long,” I said, pulling up the chair. One time, I would have earned a look from him, with a promise of punishment for daring to contradict him. Not so anymore. He nodded.

“I’ve been meaning to reach out,” he said. “I’m not going to bother beating around the bush. Is the way we ended our relationship going to impact my business?”

I looked at him as if he’d been speaking ancient Greek. “What are you talking about?” I asked him.

“You are dating Patrick Anderson,” he said, his voice tense. “Only son of Thomas Anderson? Anderson Mining? Our biggest client. Is there going to be a problem?”

Anderson Mining. It was Canada’s largest mining company. Even I, who paid much more attention to the lifestyle section of the newspaper than the business section, knew who they were. The shocked look in my eyes forced Nick to reassess whatever he was going to say next. “You didn’t know?”

He was looking at me as if I was the world’s biggest idiot, and at that moment, I felt like it. I’ve never googled Patrick. At the start, it was deliberate resolution. But then, it was a desire to enjoy what I had. Plus, seriously. Patrick Anderson. Even if I’d wanted to, it was a common enough name that I would have had to potentially sift through a thousand meaningless results.

Sufficient to say there was a fight when Patrick came over that evening. A big one. I yelled about feeling like a fool in front of Nick. He countered with the fact that he’d never tried to keep it a secret. I hissed that he should have told me. The make-up sex was awesome.

And
tonight, I was going to have dinner with his parents, who lived in Lawrence Park. Canada’s wealthiest neighborhood. Lovely.

***

All day, I was a nervous wreck. “I don’t care if you get along with my parents,” he finally said mildly. I snapped something terse back at him, and his eyes narrowed.

“Upstairs,” he said. “Examination room. Now.” His voice was very curt.

“Patrick, we are due at your parents in two hours,” I started.

“Now, Lisa.” His tone was implacable. I looked into his eyes, and found the warmth that was always there in his gaze when he looked at me, and I breathed out in relief. He wasn’t angry with me.

“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said meekly, and I went upstairs.

***

I changed into the hospital robe as I entered the examination room, and took a seat on the stool, my heart thumping in my chest. I knew Patrick wasn’t really angry with me. But I had been irritable with him all day, and I could tell punishment was forthcoming.

He knocked and entered.  He hadn’t worn his white coat, as he typically did when we were playing a ‘naughty doctor’ scene. He was still wearing his faded grey t-shirt and jeans.

“Get naked,” he snapped at me when he entered, and I obeyed silently.

He walked close to me. “I’m going to be hard on you,” he said. “You’ve been asking for punishment all day.” I nodded silently. “All your safe words still apply,” he told me. The words were meant as reassurance, but we’d been dating for a few months now, and no reassurance was necessary. Patrick would never hurt me beyond my ability to bear. Everything he did in this room to me was shaped to provide pleasure.

“Get on the table on your hands and knees,” he ordered. I took up the position he had indicated, and shivered as I felt the tails of a flogger run over my ass.

“You’ve been very bad all day, Lisa,” he said, his voice level. “Bad girls get punished.” Snap. The flogger struck my ass and I winced. Slivers of pain prickled my skin, and I exhaled, letting the pain wash over me. Again, the flogger struck my skin, the noise shattering the quiet of the room. I whimpered as my nerve endings burst aflame from his stroke, and he came around and cupped my jaw harshly.

“Do I need to tell you to take your punishment in silence?” he asked, his voice dangerous. “I’m not inclined to hear you moan.” His hand tightened over my jaw, but he kissed my cheek gently as he withdrew, and I smiled slightly. Ah, I loved Patrick. I craved the harshness, but I allowed it only because there was an ever-present gentleness underneath.

He came back with a ball-gag in his hands, and I opened my mouth obediently, and he moved my hair out of the way as he strapped the gag in place. He handed me a small red ball, which I gripped in my right hand. This was our signal when I couldn’t speak my safe word. If I dropped the ball, the games would stop, and we’d only continue if I was okay.

“Beg to be punished,” he said, and I warbled a plea from behind my ball gag. The flogger struck, three quick strokes at my shoulders, and I bit down hard on the gag as pain radiated through my body.

So good.
I felt the sweet peace of subspace descend on me as the strokes fell. The utter safety of a good D/s session was exactly what I’d needed as stress relief. Patrick knew me well.

“Get on your back,” he snapped, putting down the flogger. I complied, and he pulled my
ass to the very edge of the examination table. My legs were strapped into the stirrups and spread wide open. My pussy was on display, as was my ass.

He found the slim vibrator he had used on me before, and pushed it in my ass, tricking the smallest bit of lube first so it wouldn’t tear me open. I bit down on the ball gag again, gasping as the vibrator started buzzing deep inside me.

“Bad girls get fucked hard, Lisa,” he told me. He didn’t bother to undo his pants. He just unzipped them and pulled his hard, erect dick out, shoving it deep into me. I yelped, my scream muffled by the gag. Oh, this was a punishment fuck all right. He was deep in me, and bottoming out, and I felt the sharp scrape of pain that accompanied each stroke.

My body reacted, as it always did, with copious amounts of lubrication, and I moaned as each spike of pain was
accented by a deep swell of pleasure. “Patrick,” I mumbled around the gag.

“I don’t want to hear you, do you understand?” His voice was hard. He slapped my breast, hard, and I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them and looked at him, pleading for more. He grinned in amusement at me, and slapped again. “What kind of woman wants her breasts spanked?” he said, gripping my breast hard between his hands.

Oh, fuck. I couldn’t form words though I wanted to. I wanted to tell him I was his slut. He owned me. I was his to do whatever he wanted. With each thrust of his dick, I whimpered in mingled pain and pleasure. His dick was hitting my g-spot, and I could feel the shudders start deep inside me.

He pulled out. “Bad girls don’t get to climax,” he said, his eyes hard. “Do you understand?”

I almost sobbed at the overwhelming intensity with which I craved my denied orgasm. I’d been so close. But I took a deep breath, knowing he wouldn’t relent unless I dropped the ball that I gripped tight in my hand.

His fingers unbuckled the strap that held the ball gag in place, and he shoved his dick firmly down my throat. “Suck,” he ordered, his hands twisting painfully around my hair. I closed my eyes, and relaxed my throat, and took his entire length. I needed this. I needed the complete calmness I felt when I ceded control to Patrick.

My nipples were pinched painfully hard between his thumb and forefinger. I moaned around his cock, and I felt him twitch as the vibrations from my moan pushed him over the edge. He pulled out hastily, and exploded all over my face.

I smiled at him, and licked my lips. His cum was all over my mouth and my chin, dripping onto my chest. “Do bad girls get a faceful of semen?” I asked him.

He laughed. He scooped some cum from my face and I licked them daintily off his fingers. “Hang on,” he said, and left, returning in a moment with a damp washcloth. He proceeded to wipe my face tenderly, and I grabbed his palm, and pressed it against my cheek.

“I was going to lick up all your cum,” I protested, and he smiled.

“Next time,” he promised. His fingers worked my clitoris surely until I arched in climax, screaming his name. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow when I was done. “Calmer now?”

I got up and stretched. I felt well-fucked, lazy, languid, and oh-so-relaxed. “Much calmer,” I responded. “Thanks.”

He winked at me. “It’s a full-service clinic,” he joked.

***

His parents were polite and pleasant, and I didn’t belong in their world. Their house was a mansion. They had multiple staff members waiting on them. Everything in their life just screamed of extreme wealth.

But before it could freak me out, I realized that through his own choices and actions, Patrick didn’t belong in this world either. Rosedale was a nice neighborhood, and the people that lived there were definitely wealthy. But it was neurosurgeon-type wealth, and he had earned his way there.

In every way he could, Patrick embraced normalcy and distanced himself from the world he had grown up in. He didn’t have staff. He had a cleaning service come in once every two weeks, but I did as well, and so did Mandy and Monica.

As we chatted over dinner, I watched the energy of the room. Patrick’s relationship with his parents was definitely strained. They were civil to each other, but they were missing that breezy informality that characterized my relationship with my parents. I got the impression that they were all trying to be closer to each other, but yet failing somehow. I asked him about it on the drive back, and he shrugged.