Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series (18 page)

Chapter 12

Lisa:

Twelve. Twelve ten. Twelve twenty. Twelve forty five. The minutes trickled by as we sat there, silently, my dad and me, lost in our own private hell. At twelve fifty, I got up, unable to sit any longer, and started pacing restlessly round the room. A young woman sitting in a corner looked up at me in slight irritation and I sat back down again, quelled. She could be one of my mother’s doctors. I couldn’t interrupt her rest.

Finally, at ten after one, Patrick strode in. He looked exhausted, but he smiled when he saw me. “How are you holding up?” he asked, his voice gentle. I shook my head, unable to form words. I couldn’t talk; I would burst into tears. Instead, I just reached for him.

In an instant, I was pulled into his body. My face found his chest, and I just stood there, buried for a few seconds, feeling his warmth next to me, the steady beat of his heart. His hands came around me, and he stroked my forearm gently.

“Lisa,” he said quietly. “Is there any chance you’ve eaten lunch?”

I laughed a little into his chest. “No,” I muttered.

“Come on,” he urged me. “Let’s go to the food court.”

“What if something happens?” I asked. I didn’t want to ask. He was a doctor. He knew that every surgery carried risk.

“I have my phone with me,” he replied. “And you’ll feel better if you eat. Did you eat any breakfast?”

I shook my head. I was having a conversation about food when my mother was in surgery. It felt wrong and disloyal to seek comfort while my mother balanced between life and death. Yes, I was being melodramatic, but it felt like everything safe in my life was being ripped away.

Everything except Patrick. Who leaned forward and kissed me very gently and very fleetingly on the lips; the merest brush.

“Come eat,” he said to me. “Colin, join us?”

I flushed. I’d forgotten about my dad for a few seconds.

My dad shook his head. He looked and sounded anguished. “You go ahead,” he said. “I’ll just wait here.”

I eyed him. “I’ll bring something back for you,” I said.

***

I couldn’t let go of Patrick’s hand; he didn’t pull it away either. We walked in silence to the food court. All around us, there were sick people and worried families. Illness and anxiety was pervasive in the air.

“I’d offer to drive us somewhere else,” he said quietly. “But I don’t think you’ll leave the hospital. The food here’s pretty generic.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said automatically. I was lying; I was starving. But it felt wrong to eat. My stomach betrayed me at that moment though by growling, and I flushed in sheer embarrassment.

“Liar,” he said easily. “What strikes
your fancy?”

I looked around. He had been right; it was pretty generic. “Chinese,” I said, just picking the offering that had the smallest line. He nodded, we grabbed our fried rice, chicken in some kind of brown sauce and steamed broccoli, and headed to a table in the corner.

“How was your morning?” I asked. He grimaced, and for an instant, I worried that his patient hadn’t made it.

“Some guy who usually beats his wife decided this morning to use his child as a punch bag instead,” he said. “Kid is seven. Asshole.” His tone was tired.

“Do you see a lot of this?” I asked him. It had to be hard, what he did. It had to take an emotional toll.

He shrugged. “More than I want to,” he said. He made a face. “Still, the kid’s going to be okay, I think. At least physically. Working emergency is always hard. You never know what you are going to see.  And sadly, what you see is often the worst of humanity, the endless ways in which people hurt each other.” He took a sip of his jasmine tea, and smiled at me. “Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“What do you want to know?” I asked him, smiling back, glad for the distraction of his presence. “You already know the naughty bits, really.”

He laughed. “Tell me the silly bits,” he said. “Do you sing in the shower? Do you secretly hate broccoli? Cake or frosting?”

I grinned at him. “I’m eating broccoli right now,” I pointed out. “I sing in the shower. I also used to play guitar in a band, once upon a time. I love cake, and hate frosting. Unless it has cream cheese in it.” I felt silly telling him these things about me, and so I raised my eyebrow at him. “Your turn,” I said, pointing my chopstick at him.

He smiled. “I like broccoli,” he confessed. “And spinach. I’m very boring like that.” I rolled my eyes. He was the furthest thing from boring. He was gorgeous and funny and he had the magic ability to make me wet just by looking at me a certain way, and talking to me in a certain voice.

“What else?” I asked him, dragging my mind away from sex. “Do you sing in the shower?”

He winked at me. “You’ll have to wait and see,” he said. “But I’ll eat your frosting anytime.” He winked again, and I blushed beet-red, but my eyes met his, and I laughed despite my flushed cheeks.

“Anytime, really?” My voice was teasing.

His gaze was steady as he met mine. “Anytime,” he said, a slight smile playing around his lips. I flushed.

He finished up the last of his rice; I’d already scraped my plate clean. “You done?” he said, and I nodded. We headed back to the lounge. He kissed me as he left. “I have rounds to do, but I’ll swing by every so often to the lounge, okay? Ask the nurse at the waiting area to page me if you need me.”

***

I handed my dad the food we’d ordered for him. He ate it, his gaze distant, but every time the door opened, he jumped a little. I did too. The surgery would only take an hour, the doctor had said. It was the longest hour of my life.

Finally, the door swung open, and I saw a tall, blonde woman walk towards us. She looked to be in her early fifties. She was talking to Patrick and laughing at something he said.

“Mr. Preston,” she greeted my dad. I got up with him, and snuck my hand in his. In my shoes, my toes were crossed.
Please.
Please let everything be okay.
She had been laughing with Patrick; that had to mean things went fine, right?

“Ms. Preston,” she nodded in my direction, stuck out her hand to shake mine. “I’m Dr.
Janokovic, I’m your mother’s neurosurgeon.”  She turned back to my dad. “Everything went fine with your wife’s surgery.” I exhaled shakily. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad close his eyes in visible relief. “She’s resting now. No visitors for the first twenty-four hours; we need to keep her under observation. My advice? Go home, get some rest. I’m sure the last few hours couldn’t have been easy. We’ll let you visit tomorrow afternoon.”

I looked at my dad. “Come on, dad,” I said firmly. “Let’s go get some sleep.”

My dad finally nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll catch a cab home.”

“I’ll come with you,” I offered. I didn’t want him to be alone. But he shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. My dad was stubborn. “I’m going to shower and fall asleep. I’ll be back in the hospital at one in the afternoon tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said. I needed to go into work for a bit. Talk to Natalie, check messages, return phone calls. Necessary things. “I’ll call you in the morning,” I told him.

I watched the doctor smile and nod at the two of us and retreat, then I looked at Patrick. “I should go into the office,” I told him. I was suddenly shy. I wanted to see him, but didn’t want to crowd him. We’d only spent one weekend together, almost two weeks ago. I’d ignored him for a week, lost in my own crisis, which all seemed very far away now.  And last night, he’d spanked me with a leather belt, sent me crashing into orgasm, and then told me off for ignoring him. I had no idea what to do next.

Thankfully he took the lead. “I’ll swing by your office when I’m done at work,” he said. “Have dinner with me.” The tone in his voice was subtle, a concession to the presence of my dad in the room. But he wasn’t asking me. I nodded compliance. I couldn’t pretend, really - I wanted him.

***

When I got to work, Natalie was eating some soup at her desk. She looked a little downcast. “How was the walkthrough?” I asked her carefully, once I’d given her news of my mother.

“It was okay,” she said. “Charles asked me to tell you he’s really happy with the progress.”

I raised my eyebrow quizzically. It wasn’t that Charles Dobson was an asshole; he wasn’t, but compliments were definitely not his style. Or so I had thought.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “Who the fuck knows, really?” she asked me. There was sadness in her voice. But she wouldn’t say anything else.

***

At five, I heard the sound of someone walk up the stairs; then a knock at the door, before it opened. Patrick. I smiled at him, a wide happy smile, unable to help myself, and introduced Natalie.

“Thanks for the coffee machine,” she laughed. I was relieved to see her smile.

“No problem,” he smiled back. “Lisa, you ready?”

I nodded. “See you Monday,” I told Natalie. “I’ll text you if something comes up with my mom and I can’t come into the office.”

“Have a good weekend,” Patrick said politely to Natalie, before placing his hand in the small of my back, and ushering me to his car.

Chapter 13

Patrick:

I wanted to take her in a myriad of ways. I wanted to learn every inch of her body, and I wanted her to learn every inch of mine.

But not now.

Though we both enjoyed it tremendously, this was not the time for kinky sex. This was the time for us to hold each other and discover each other. This woman was filled with fascinating contrasts, and truth be told, I wanted to get to know her. 

***

“Any place you want to go to for dinner?” I asked her in the car. I didn’t realize it, but I was holding my breath.
Please pick a restaurant. Show me something of yourself. Don’t just leave it up to me. Don’t be Andrea.

“Do you like Ethiopian food?” she asked me. “I know a great place on the Danforth.”

I smiled at her, far more relieved than I should have been about something so simple and trivial. But, like I’d told her before, we both carried baggage. And I had no desire to control her outside of the bedroom.

“Lead on,” I said cheerfully.

***

Had I thought a little bit about what Ethiopian food entailed, I would have suggested we go somewhere else. We were seated in a tiny booth, both of us sitting on a bench, cross-legged in front of a low table. A big platter of food was placed in front of us, and the waitress left us.

“You eat with your hands,” Lisa said cheerfully. I nodded. I had eaten Ethiopian food before and quite liked it. But I’d never eaten it with a woman I craved constantly. Our fingers kept brushing against each other as we reached for the same food, and to watch her tuck little morsels of food in her mouth was the sweetest kind of temptation. All I wanted to do was fuck her.

For fuck’s sake, Anderson,
I groaned to myself, shocked by the desperation with which I wanted her. Her tongue reached out and licked a tiny bit of food from the tip of her mouth, and I growled, unable to help myself.

She looked startled for a second, and then, she realized the reason for the growl, and that slow, sexy smile curved on her face. “I’m flattered,” she said.

I grinned and changed the subject. “You play guitar in a band? Tell me about that.”

She pouted a bit, but answered my question. “I used to. My friend Mandy is a singer. When she was younger, she experimented with a lot of different styles – punk, rock, even heavy metal once.” She shuddered at that memory. “I was her bass guitarist.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Just work. Starting your own business takes a lot out of you. I was working crazy hours, and my schedule was really unpredictable. I couldn’t commit to setting aside time for rehearsal.”

“Do you regret stopping?” I asked her. My parents had enrolled me in piano lessons as a kid. I had hated it. But Lisa spoke of music with a fondness I had never felt.

“Sometimes,” she said. “She’s now singing jazz mostly. If she ever looked for a bass player, I might do it again. My business is better established now.”

“I’d like to hear you play,” I told her simply, and she blushed.

***

We went to sleep at my place. No sex, just comfort. She was nervous about her mother and on edge, and the best I could do for her was just be there.

In the middle of the night, I woke up freezing. She was curled into a ball, hogging all the covers, and I looked at her, and all I could do was smile indulgently.

My schedule for the next two week was hell. I was on ER standby. At any moment, a phone call could come from the hospital that pulled me away. I’d never minded my schedule before, but I wanted to hang out with Lisa and find out what made her tick. And, I wanted her to talk more about her ex-Dominant.

It was in the past, and I hadn’t been lying when I said I wanted to move forward. But the past had an impact; how could it not? And it was clear that the eight months that she’d been this jerk’s submissive had mattered. She held something back when she spoke of him. I wanted to know what and why.

For the longest time after Andrea, I tried to avoid dominance and I tried to let go of my need for control. And I hadn’t found anyone that made me happy.

It was Saturday; I didn’t have to be at the hospital today, and so I pulled her and the blankets she was wrapped around into my body, and just lay there, my hands around her, smelling her hair, and listening to her peaceful breathing. This woman, she fit in my arms and in my life, and I didn’t want to lose her.

***

She stretched when she woke up, and she turned to look at me. “Hey,” she said. “You aren’t usually in bed with me in the morning, how late is it?” I saw the flash of worry come into her eyes as the sleep dissipated, and thoughts of her mother once again rose to the fore.

I kissed her. She groaned and kissed me back. “I have morning breath,” she mumbled when she pulled away, her cheeks flushed.

“So do I,” I shrugged. “Do you know you steal the covers at night?”

She flushed even harder. “I’ve heard that complaint,” she said, cheeks flaming. “Sorry.” Then she grinned and winked at me. “You should spank me, maybe that’ll prevent me from doing it again.”

I laughed, entwined my fingers in hers. “First, coffee,” I said. Gods, but this girl was amazing.

“Fine,” she mock-pouted at me. “Be that way.”

***

After coffee and breakfast, she had to rush off. She looked at me with a crease in her forehead when she said it, as if I was going to start yelling at her for having a life. “I have to go into the office for just a bit, and then, to the hospital,” she said. “And I’m beat. Is it okay if we don’t hang out tonight?”

I nodded. “You busy tomorrow?” I asked her. “My buddies and I watch football Sundays, typically. Would you like to join us, take a break from the hospital for a bit?”

She shook her head. “I can’t, Patrick,” she said, and her voice was cautious. “Is that okay?”

I raised an eyebrow. Her mother was in the hospital, recovering from brain surgery. It was perfectly understandable that she wouldn’t have much time to hang out with me. I didn’t understand why she was so wary about something so normal. It was almost like she was afraid of my reaction.

“Your fear? Another gift from your ex?” I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, but I wasn’t sure I succeeded. She nodded slightly, and I leaned forward and kissed her. “Of course that’s okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll call you. My schedule is crazy next week. I’d like to hang out mid-week, but I don’t know what night yet, is that okay?”

I wanted to reassure her, to tell her I wasn’t this jerk that she used to date, but she already knew that. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be in my kitchen, sipping coffee. She wouldn’t have laughed that gorgeous, smoky laugh last night in my arms. She’d been hurt, and she was a little skittish. I could understand that. We just needed to get used to each other.

***

Every week, my buddies and I would gather, watch football on TV and cheer our team on. It was usually at Doug’s place. Sunday, I grabbed a jacket, and walked over. Doug’s place was a fifteen minute walk.

Doug’s girlfriend Sara opened the door, her eyes twinkling. “We’ve been talking about you,” she said.

“You’ve been talking about him,” my friend James corrected, walking up. “Sara and Alison. They won’t shut up. Patrick, I beg you – just tell the girls what they need to hear, quickly, and we can get on with watching the game in peace.”

I laughed. Doug had been travelling for work the last few weeks, and we’d skipped football, else I would have faced the inquisition sooner. I put my coat on a hanger, and walked into the kitchen. Doug handed me a beer. “Get it over with quickly, Patrick. Like pulling off a band-aid,” he joked.

“Right,” I looked at Sara and Alison. “What do you need to know?”

“Everything,” Alison said instantly. “One moment, you were going up to talk to this girl, and the next moment, we get a text from you saying you are leaving. Then, a couple of weeks later, I get a phone call from you, and I’m buying lingerie for her. Spill.”

“Her name’s Lisa,” I started. I didn’t really kiss and tell, and I found I was protective of Lisa. I didn’t want to gossip about her. “She’s pretty awesome. I’ll bring her over one day to football; you can meet her then.”

That shut them all up. Andrea had come to an occasional football game when we’d been married, but after that, I’d brought no other women over. But I wanted Lisa to meet my friends and I wanted to meet hers.

“Umm,” Sara said, completely at a loss for words. “The game, then?”

Doug grinned at her expression, and then looked at me. He alone knew most of what had gone down between Andrea and me and what a mess that had been for the longest time. He nodded, raised his beer silently to me, and we went into his living room to watch the game.