Recovery (Doctor Dom Volume 5) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) Read online

  “So,” I started hesitantly. “What’s the deal here? Are you dominating me then? Am I supposed to pretend you aren’t?”

  He laughed a mostly relaxed sound, and my heart eased at the lack of tension in his voice. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Therapy is helping, but I’ve grown used to keeping the insights from my session private.” He didn’t need to say anything more. During his eight-year marriage, his ex-wife had lied to him in all kinds of ways, almost making him swear off BDSM forever.

  “I was definitely dominating you downstairs,” he said, his chin resting on my shoulder. “It’s getting easier.”

  “But?” I asked.

  He kissed my neck. “No buts. Just a plea for patience.” His hands tightened around my waist. “You’ve been unhappy all week.”

  I nodded. “I don’t think I can live without the domination,” I said honestly. “I was building walls…” My voice trailed off before I said any more, but the words that I had left unsaid were obvious. I was building walls to protect myself in case we broke up.

  “I don’t want to break up,” he said, speaking the words I’d left unsaid. “Can I ask for patience from you? And to keep the lines of communication open?”

  I turned to him. “Baby,” I said seriously. “I don’t deserve you. But yes, of course. You’ve always given me every bit of yourself, completely and openly. It’s not even close to an even trade, but I’ll be honest with you.” I made a face. “And I’ll work on the patience,” I added, my voice lightly grumbling.

  He laughed at my tone, and tweaked my nose. “This was an awesome surprise,” he yawned. “Now. Go to sleep.”

  “Good night, Patrick,” I said softly, burrowing myself into his body. I was asleep in seconds.

  ***

  Patrick:

  I loved this woman.

  Her unhappiness had been visible the last week. But she hadn’t let herself stew. She dealt with it like a grown-up. With honesty and bravery.

  And a video camera.

  I chuckled to myself. I couldn’t wait to watch the movie we’d made.

  Chapter 10

  Lisa:

  I’d meant for my little game with the video camera to erase some of the distance between us, and to bolster the trust between us.

  But it had done so much more. It had brought us together in a more intimate way.

  We still had issues, of course. Because real life is not like the movies, and everything doesn’t get magically better when the hero kisses the heroine at the end of the movie. But from that day onwards, we weren’t a couple in a new relationship. We were a team.

  ***

  Work got underway on the house. There was much muttered grumbling from Patrick as he came home to a massive patio door-sized hole in his kitchen wall one day, barely covered by a plastic sheet, dust everywhere.

  “It is November, Lisa,” he chided. “You guys could have turned off the heat before you started.”

  I winced. I was going to kill my contractor, Stewart. I had reminded him about the thermostat. Stewart was an excellent contractor technically. No-one was better qualified to do renovations on older houses. But in certain customer service areas, the guy was sorely lacking.

  “I’m sorry,” I said mildly. I wasn’t going to tattle on Stewart, but it was hard to be blamed for the sins of others. Particularly when it was my boyfriend giving me the stink eye.

  He eyed me levelly, and then grinned. “Well,” he laughed, “this was going to be the best perk of getting you to do the work. I get to spank you when I’m displeased.”

  A slow heat started in my belly, and radiated outward. “I’m getting spanked?” I asked, barely believing it was possible.

  He nodded. “You are indeed. Push your jeans down and bend over.” He pointed to the kitchen table and left the room.

  I obeyed, my hands shaking slightly as I unbuttoned my jeans, pulled down the zipper. He’d mentioned nothing about my underwear, so I left it on. I bent over the dusty table and waited for Patrick.

  I would be lying if I pretended I wasn’t anxious. I was incredibly nervous. If something happened to hit a trigger for him, then this would push the recovery even further back. I crossed my fingers and my toes.

  “You know,” his voice spoke. “The only thing you should be thinking about is pleasing me. Nothing else.”

  “Arrogant much?” I quipped before my brain caught up with my mouth and I bit my lip, wishing I could take back the words. Don’t mess with the guy who is going to punish you, Lisa, I said to myself.

  Patrick laughed out aloud. “That’s an additional ten strokes for the sass,” he said. “But let’s try that again, shall we. What is the only thing you should be thinking about, Lisa?”

  “Pleasing you, Dr. Anderson,” I said. Serenity enveloped me, and my voice softened.

  His hand stroked my lower back, continued down the crack of my ass. “Twenty strokes,” he said, his palms running on the fleshly portion of my ass cheeks. “Ten with my hand. Ten with the paddle. Count them out.”

  He moved the leather paddle towards me, and I winced. Next time, I would keep my tongue under control. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, and he slid the paddle between my parted lips. “Keep it there.”

  I didn’t point out that I could hardly count if I had a paddle in my mouth. Clearly, Patrick could manage to count to twenty by himself, he just wanted me to slur and moan the words around the paddle as extra humiliation.

  “Ready, baby?” he asked me, and I nodded.

  “This is very nice,” he said, running a finger at the edge of my panty-line, where fabric met ass. “Let’s get it off.”

  I parted my legs obligingly as he pushed the panties down to my knees. I gulped. The whole thing – being half-clothed, bent over a kitchen table so that Patrick could spank me with a paddle – it was all incredibly arousing. I could smell myself in the air, and I smelled like lust.

  Thwack. His hand came down on my ass, painfully hard. “One,” I whimpered through the paddle as my body rocked forward on the table from the force of his spank. The next two blows came quickly after, one on each cheek, hard and painful. I hissed and clenched my fists, and gritted out the count.

  “Ah, poor baby,” he said. His hands stroked the heated flesh, soothing it gently. “Too hard?” I shook my head silently. “Good,” he said in response, and quickly hit me four times in a row. My teeth bit down on the paddle as I struggled to process the pain. It had been weeks since I’d been spanked, and my tolerance had clearly decreased.

  His palms soothed my aching cheeks again. “Perhaps you will ask your crew to be more careful of my house?” he suggested. I rolled my eyes at that, but my body relaxed as he stroked me gently, pausing so I would recover before laying the final three spanks on my ass.

  “Okay?” he asked me, and I nodded again, and the three strokes came stinging down on my aching butt. I groaned and counted them out.

  I closed my eyes as his hands once again stroked my cheeks. “Can you take the paddle now, or do you want to wait?” he asked me. He bent forward to kiss each ass cheek, and I whimpered as I felt his mouth on the hot, throbbing flesh.

  “Can I get a drink of water?” I asked him.

  “Of course, sweetie,” he said instantly, and walked to the refrigerator, handing me a bottle of water.

  I took a swig. My eyes were glistening with tears that I hadn’t realized I shed. His fingers reached out and brushed them away, and I leaned against his shoulder as I drank, taking comfort in the strength of his body. “You feel good,” I whispered. He kissed me softly. “I’m sorry about the mess,” I added.

  He rolled his eyes. “I don’t really care about the mess right now, baby,” he said. He grinned. “It’s just a thinly-veiled excuse to spank you.”

  I smiled. “You need an excuse?” I asked him.

  “Do you really want to get more strokes added on?” he asked me, but I could hear the thread of humour in his voice. I leaned against him and took another sip of water, then I put
down the bottle, and kissed him on his cheek, nuzzling like a kitten against his neck.

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  He nodded. “Bend over the table again,” he ordered.

  This time, the strokes weren’t only concentrated on my ass. The paddle made stinging contact with the crease where ass met thigh. With my back of my upper thighs. With my already tender ass. He hadn’t asked me to count, and I just clenched my fists and held on.

  There was something about the way the paddle fell against my ass. Each stroke resonated in my pussy. My ass was aflame, and I felt corresponding heat in my entire body. Arousal shimmered through me.

  The ten strokes had come to an end; I hadn’t noticed. “Fuck me,” I said, when I realized he was done. “Please.”

  I didn’t need to ask. His cock nudged the entrance to my pussy, and I parted my legs and pushed back against him, ignoring the stinging pain in my ass. He growled, and reached to grab my ponytail, and he pulled. I hissed. Oh, this was new, and I liked it.

  He chuckled. “Too hard?” he asked, slamming his length into me.

  I stuffed my knuckles in my mouth to keep from crying out. I didn’t want him to stop. In about three seconds, the overwhelming sensation would crystallize to pure pleasure.

  He spanked my ass, and pounded into me. I gripped the table and hung on as I got utterly, thoroughly fucked. I made mewling sounds of pleasure as his fingers dug into my flesh, and breathed a sigh of thanks as his hand found my clitoris. He touched me just so, and his cock raked every inch of my vagina, and I felt the familiar release of an orgasm start to overtake me. “I’m coming,” I groaned, and he growled in pleasure. My muscles clenched in spasms of aching desire, and I closed my eyes as I surrendered completely to my orgasm.

  My tremors pushed him into his orgasm, and I could feel the spurts of come in my pussy. “Mmm,” I sighed, after a couple of quiet minutes. “I should make a mess more often.”

  He pulled out of me and laughed. “That you should,” he said. “Join me in the shower, Lisa?”

  A shower sounded like heaven. I nodded and followed him.

  Chapter 11

  Lisa:

  The installation of the walkout porch doors off the kitchen was supposed to take two days. It took a week and a half.

  Each day, Stewart would curse some more. “Fucking old houses,” he snarled at me.

  I laughed at him. Stewart made a fortune renovations on old houses. “It’s a heritage home, Stewart, have some respect,” I chided, offering him a bottle of water from Patrick’s kitchen.

  “Respect, my ass,” Stewart snorted. “Nothing’s fucking straight. Crooked walls. Crooked floors. I hate this.”

  “So, you almost done?” I asked him, looking at the installed doors, cutting off his tirade. I’d heard this before, every single time Stewart worked on an old house.

  He nodded. “Not a moment too soon, either,” he said. “I’ll come in tomorrow and finish up the trim around the edges. But yeah. Almost done. Lisa, I’m out of here,” he continued, draining the water and tossing the bottle at the recycle bin in the corner. It missed, and I rolled my eyes. More clean-up. “You staying?”

  I nodded. “Stewart, this guy is my boyfriend, not just a client. I need to clean up the mess before he comes back and goes ballistic.” I suppressed a smile at the memory of my spanking last week. As fun as it would be to get spanked again, I didn’t actually want to leave Patrick a huge mess to deal with. I glanced at my phone. Six in the evening. Patrick had texted me earlier saying he needed to work late, and wouldn’t be back home until eight or nine. I had at least two hours to try to straighten the mess.

  “Knock yourself out,” Stewart replied. “See you tomorrow.”

  I followed him out, chatting with him in the driveway for almost a half hour about his progress on other jobs. It was pitch dark when I waved goodbye as his truck drove away, and I turned back to the house. I heard a loud crack, and the sound of shattering glass as I turned. Damn it, Stewart, what have you done? I grumbled. If the doors had fallen apart, Stewart would be here for another week. Contractors.

  My mind was entirely on the project schedule as I made my way back to the kitchen. Patrick was not going to be happy about a further delay. He was going to be furious about this latest mess, whatever it was. I sighed as I entered the room to see what kind of disaster awaited me.

  But what greeted me wasn’t a mess of Stewart’s making.

  I had forgotten entirely about Liam Henderson, lost as I had been in worries about BDSM and where my relationship with Patrick was going. That had been a mistake. He was standing in the kitchen, holding a large, wicked-looking knife in his hands.

  “You must be the girlfriend,” he said. He gestured, and my eyes never left the blade. “Sit down.”

  Liam had gestured towards the kitchen table. I took a seat there silently, my heart pounding and my palms clammy with fear. My eyes never left the large knife in his hands.

  Not for the first time, I gave silent thanks to Canada’s relatively stringent gun laws. The knife was scary enough. I would have been in a complete panic had Liam had a gun in his hand.

  Glass was everywhere on the floor. The painstakingly installed patio doors were completely wrecked. Stewart is going to flip out, I thought inconsequentially, suppressing a slightly hysterical laugh at the thought of the expression on his face.

  “Hand me your phone,” Liam ordered, and I extended it out silently towards him. I could see my hands shake as he took the phone from me, and I tried not to gag at the smell that emanated from him as he came close to me. A mix of alcohol and unwashed staleness, Liam had clearly been living rough.

  Way back when Andrea had first been attacked, Rock, the young man who was following me around to ensure my safety had shown me a photo of Liam. He’d been mostly good-looking, with a slight air of untidiness. Now, he just looked unkempt, like he’d lost the ability to care about his appearance. His clothes were grimy. He was unshaven, and there was a slightly wild, unsteady look in his eyes. He didn’t look entirely sane.

  He has no reason to hurt me, I tried to reassure myself. He hadn’t come to my house. He’d come to Patrick’s. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But then he glanced at me and a surge of terror flashed through me. He looked detached. Out of control. Unpredictable.

  Keep calm, I told myself through the rising fear. Think. Will he let you go?

  He broke the silence first. “I wonder what I should do with you?” he asked, looking at me with vacant eyes.

  “Please, let me go,” I pleaded. “You have no beef with me.”

  He didn’t respond. His hands just played restlessly with the knife, one finger running down the blade. He watched with interest as blood welled up on his finger, where the blade had sliced the skin.

  “Please, you don’t even know me,” I begged again. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here.”

  There was more silence, and for one hopeful minute, I thought my plea had swayed him. I kept my eyes on the floor. I didn’t look at him, so I didn’t see his hand fly towards my face. The impact of the blow nearly made me fall out of the chair. Panic clawed at my throat, and I whimpered in bone-curling fear.

  “Shut up,” he said flatly. “You bitches just talk all fucking time. Talk, talk, talk. Good for nothing.” He reached his hand out towards me. “Give me your purse.”

  I extended my bag towards him, and he rummaged through my wallet, leafing through its contents and pulling out the cash I had. I had two hundred dollars on me, money just in case Stewart had needed cash to buy supplies. Liam took the money and stuffed it in his back pocket.

  “Fucking Anderson,” he continued bitterly. “I had that bitch Andrea primed for months. I played her so carefully. Had her exactly where I wanted her. She fucking did every single thing I asked, and he had to interfere. Stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong.”

  I bit back my retort that Andrea was thinking of leaving him anyway. It hadn’t been anything Patrick ha
d said or done that had caused that. Shut up, I warned myself. This guy is not stable. Don’t antagonize him. I kept my eyes determinedly on the floor, and resisted the temptation to rub away the ache in my jaw where he hit me.

  I heard footsteps. He walked over to the refrigerator, and peeped in, grabbing a container filled with mac and cheese. A surge of anger ran through me. I had made that macaroni the previous night, and had sent Patrick home with leftovers so he’d have something homemade for dinner. He had teased me about how domestic I was, but I could tell he’d been touched at the gesture.

  And now, Liam was eating that mac and cheese. I felt my fingers curl up at my sides into fists, and I took a deep breath. Let it go. It’s just food.

  The silence stretched on, broken only by the sounds of Liam’s chewing. Suddenly, my phone rang, the sound shrill in the quiet room. We both jumped. Liam’s hand tightened immediately on the knife.

  “Who is it?” Liam asked me, his voice rough. I shook my head. I didn’t recognise the number.

  “Answer it. Put it on speakerphone,” he said.

  I obeyed, and hit the button to answer. “Hello?” I said into the receiver. I heard the quaver in my voice, and hearing evidence of my fear just made me even more afraid.

  “Lisa?” a crisp male voice asked. “Put Liam on the phone, will you?”

  The speaker phone was still on and I heard the next words. “Liam, it’s George Sorrento.”

  Liam grabbed the phone from the table where it lay between us. “George,” he said, lifting the phone to his ear. “What’s up, man?”

  He sounded like this was a social call, but it couldn’t be. I sneaked a peek at him. The knife was still right next to him on the table, and his fingers were less than an inch away from the handle. His shoulders were still tense.

  “No,” he spoke, his voice angry. “I’m not going to let her go, do you think I’m crazy?” He laughed to the phone, an utterly humourless sound that sent fear crawling up my back. Yes, I did think he was crazy. He sounded unhinged. Every muscle in my body was tense once again.