Dr. Bad Boy

by Ainsley Booth

  But on the other hand…unleashed Max…

  He reaches for his glass, but instead of swallowing the last of the drink, he presses it lightly against my lower lip. “Sip.”

  I open my mouth and tip my head back enough to taste it. The sweet nip of ginger ale—and nothing else—floods my tongue. I sag.

  He sets the glass down and cups my chin with his hand, firmly lifting my head so I can meet his gaze. It’s stern now, all Dom. “You thought I was drunk.”

  A statement, not a question. I nod. “Or on the way there.”

  “You don’t trust me to keep you safe?”

  My eyes go wide at the cold tone in his voice. “I do.”

  He nods, his expression hard to read. “But you were afraid?”

  A real question this time, and I don’t hold back my honest answer. “Yes. A little.” God, the rush of adrenaline, the sharpness of the relief, is overwhelming. I start to shake again.

  “You didn’t safeword.”

  “No. I trust you.”

  “Even when you think I’m dangerous?” His eyes are dark, glittering.

  “Especially then,” I whisper.

  The flare in his gaze is all the reward I could ever ask for. “Do you know how much I like to hear that?”

  I nod.

  "I want to push you tonight, kitten. Get you buzzing." He caresses my cheek. We've talked about sub-space. I've never experienced it, and I'd like to.

  I lick my lips. "I trust you, Max. To do whatever you want with me."

  "If you slide into sub-space, I'll want to fuck you." The last two words make me tremble in an entirely different way. I want that, so much. Sex while flying, totally blissed out? Yes, please. He grips my chin firmly. "Where are we at?"

  I beam. "Green, Max."

  "Music to my ears." He steps back and reaches for the tray. I think he’s going for his belt, but he reaches past it and picks up a pair of scissors I hadn’t noticed before. They’re big and they’ve got blunt ends. Safety scissors. I don’t move my head, but I flick my gaze around, looking for the rope I assume they go with.

  There’s no rope.

  “Hold still,” he says roughly, walking around me. A thrill jolts through me as the cool metal slides against the skin on my hip. A quiet snip sounds and I feel the fishnet pull open on my ass, quickly followed by a hard pinch that makes me jerk. Oh.

  Oh, yes.

  “Excellent,” he murmurs, repeating the action a little higher up, then on my back, and around my ribcage to just beneath my breast. Each one is ouchy, but that one makes me groan, and he flicks my nipple. “Too much?”

  “No,” I gasp. “Good.”

  He chuckles. “Right answer, kitten. I’m just getting started.” He pulls on my nipple again, then cups my breast, but he’s only lifting it up to give him more room to cut a bit more of the fishnet away.

  To bare more skin, which he pinches.

  Hard.

  This time, he doesn’t move on. He circles that spot as the warmth spreads, then pinches again. It’s sharper this time, but headier too. I sway into it, wanting more.

  The scissors hit the tray with a clatter and he presses against my side, his erection hard. His hand lightly circles my throat, holding me firmly against him. “What did I tell you?”

  “Hold still,” I whisper.

  “We’re going to be here for a while, kitten.”

  “Yes, Max.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “That’s better. You can do it, I know you can. And by the time I’m done, you’ll be flying, won’t you?”

  I nod. Oh yeah. I already feel buzzy.

  “Your submission is such a gift, Violet.” He curls his hand around my throat, squeezing once his fingers are around the side and he’s off my windpipe. “Thank you.”

  I shudder. Why do two little words have such a strong effect on me?

  And for the rest of the scene I hold perfectly, precisely still. He circles around my body, snipping and pinching, smoothing and pinching. I’m floating as Max eases me down, laying me out on the ottoman. He looms above me, checking in, and I swallow hard as I try to focus on his face.

  “You still with me?”

  “Yeah…” Man, it’s hard to get that word out right now. I giggle.

  “That’s enough pain for you tonight.”

  I make a disappointed sound and he tweaks my nipple.

  “Don’t, Violet. That’s too fucking tempting. You’re such a dirty little painslut, aren’t you?”

  His words light me up inside and I squirm against him. He’s between my legs now, kneeling in front of the ottoman, and I realize he’s got his cock out, because it lands heavy against my thigh. Oh, yes.

  His knuckles rub against my leg, then he’s fisting himself, jerking himself off against my pussy. Each nudge of his thick length against my clit makes me moan, and when he finally rips open a condom and slides inside of me, I’m a goner. I’m coming almost from the first stroke, and I swear I don’t stop until he shudders to a halt on top of me.

  Max needs to let loose more often.

  And as he wraps me in a blanket and carries me upstairs, I wonder if he really had a bad day, or if that was all part of the scene. I try to ask him as he tucks me in, but the words come out in an incoherent mumble.

  “Shh,” he says, kissing forehead before he rolls me over and slides in behind me. He’s naked now. When did that happen? “Go to sleep.”

  “Mmm,” I say. “But—”

  “Tomorrow,” he says. “We’ve got all weekend.”

  26

  Violet

  When I wake up the next morning, Max is sitting beside me on the bed, running his fingers over my naked torso.

  I blink up at him and smile as he traces a gentle circle around what feels like the start of a small bruise. I’ll be feeling last night all week. I stretch my arms out above my head and make a contented sound as he smooths his palm over my hip.

  “Don’t be making those sexy purring sounds, kitten, or I’ll have to strip and that’s not the plan for today.”

  I refocus on him, and yeah, he’s dressed. That’s weird. He’s wearing jeans and a dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Do you have to go to work?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I thought we might venture outside.” A protest bubbles up inside me, but before I can voice it, he presses a finger to my lips. “Not here in the city, don’t worry. I thought we could go to Montreal for the night. We can stop at your apartment on the way and pick up whatever you need, but I’ve got some clothes for you as well.”

  I blush. “Appropriate for going out in public clothes?”

  He raises one eyebrow. “Are you questioning me?”

  Oh, damn. “No, Max.”

  He squeezes my hip. “Good. Up and into the shower, kitten.”

  It turns out his clothing choices are more than appropriate for being out in public. Dark skinny jeans that fit me like a glove and a gorgeous black cashmere sweater over a silky long-sleeve tee. The Agent Provocateur lingerie set under that is nothing but satin ribbons and two shallow cups to present my breasts for him, but we’re the only people that know that.

  After he holds my coat for me in his foyer, he turns me around and buttons it up, brushing his knuckles against my cleavage.

  “You doubted me,” he murmurs as he brushes his lips against mine.

  I crook one eyebrow at him. “So you pretend you’re not going to torture me all day?”

  He steps back and picks up our overnight bags. “Of course I won’t pretend that.”

  I laugh and step forward, giving him a quick kiss. “Let’s go, my torturer.”

  The drive is quick, if rainy, and in two hours we’re pulling up in front of a boutique hotel in downtown Montreal. The rain has stopped, and it’s cold but clear. Max hands over his keys and we head inside only long enough to check in and drop our bags in our suite.

  As we walk up to Saint Catherine Street, he takes my hand, and I s
queeze his fingers. This is really nice. A fantasy within a fantasy, sort of. Two normal people off to Montreal for an afternoon of…whatever we want.

  “That would look nice on you,” he murmurs, pointing to a black dress in a shop window. It’s exceptionally short.

  I swallow hard against my natural instincts and nod. “Should I try it on?”

  His eyes light up.

  We spend nearly two hours going in and out of shops. Max admits that he’d never heard of Agent Provocateur before he met me, or any of the shoe designers either, but now he had a daily email from Nordstrom with suggestions based on his recent purchases.

  That sent me into a fit of giggles that just got worse when he pulled out his phone and showed me the messages.

  “I’m just waiting for my credit card company to call me and ask if my card has been stolen,” he grumbles without any heat.

  “Because previously all your purchases were what, hockey gear and floggers?” I ask.

  “Something like that.”

  Our luck with the weather runs out as we head down Rue Drummond heading back to the hotel. The skies open up and Max pulls me in the front door of a gastropub.

  “How about a beer?” he says with a laugh. “Is this okay?”

  I glance past him to look around the place. A hockey game is on every screen. Since we just spent the last two hours doing what I love, I can return the favour for sure. “It’s perfect.”

  We get in the queue at the hostess stand and Max wraps his arm around my hip, sliding under my jacket. I lean my head against his chest and look around. The hockey game on the screens above the bar is two American teams, the Devils versus the Kings, but from the sounds of it, everyone is pre-drinking for the next game. We heard about that on the drive down, listening to the radio. The Toronto Maple Leafs are in town to face off against the Montreal Canadiens, and I have flashbacks to my university days, watching the same game from the other side in the other city.

  Definitely not going to advertise that I’m from T.O. this afternoon.

  We’re seated in a booth in the corner that has a good view of a screen and a waitress swings by with a beer menu and a food menu. The beer one is longer, and we decide to order flights of beer, four smaller glasses of different varieties, because the choice is too hard. We add an order for two charcuterie boards—and when they arrive we realize we could have done with just one. Both platters overflow with bread and meat and cheese, olives and pickles and butter and mustards.

  I gain five pounds just looking at them, but it doesn’t stop me from diving in.

  “Hungry girl,” Max murmurs, squeezing my leg, and when I glance over, his eyes are warm. It’s been a good afternoon. Spending time together with clothes on was a good idea and I tell him as much. “I have the odd clever thought,” he teases. “And I like Montreal.”

  “I do, too. It’s one nice bonus to living in Ottawa, it’s an easy train ride. Or drive, with the right company.”

  He winks. “How long have you been in Ottawa? Two years?”

  “Not quite. A year and a half almost.”

  “Ever miss Toronto?”

  I shrug. “Not really. I go back a few times a year to visit my folks. Most of my college friends have dispersed across the country, anyway. And…”

  He raises his eyebrow. “And?”

  “It’s not date-worthy small talk.”

  He takes my hand in his and gives me a stern look. “Who said I wanted small talk?”

  “Ah.” I look down at my beer. “Well, suffice it to say, my parents were disappointed that I got divorced.”

  Even without looking at him, I can feel the intensity of his reaction. When I glance back up, his brows are pulled tight and his jaw is clenched. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “That’s not right.”

  I shrug. “It is what it is. They don’t dwell on it and neither do I.”

  He nods. “The holidays are coming up. Will you see them?”

  “Yeah. It’s the typical two-day visit, arrive on Christmas Eve, leave on Boxing Day, and nothing but small talk in between.”

  He laughs. “Sounds awful.”

  “It’s fine. But yeah, that’s all it is. Fine. We love each other, but my life went in a different direction than they wanted it to and since it’s my life and not theirs, I don’t understand why they care. I’m so much happier now, you know? So…” I blow a raspberry. “Ottawa was a good choice in that regard. Far enough away to give me space, close enough that traveling home can just be a forty-eight hour return trip. How about you? Do you miss Vancouver?”

  He considers the question carefully. “Sometimes. I wasn’t born there or anything, so it’s not as in-my-blood as it is for Gavin. But it’s where I grew into my own person, for sure. And it’ll always feel like my hometown. But I like Ottawa a lot, and I can see myself staying there just as well as anywhere.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “Alberta.” There’s something about the way he says it that discourages me from asking more. Like that’s not a happy memory, and I don’t feel like I have the right to pry.

  “A province I’ve never been to,” I say lightly. “Although I’d love to visit Banff.”

  “Our next secret gateway?”

  “Well, that’s kind of extravagant…” I murmur, but my heart is already leaping at the idea of Max and me in a ski chalet…not skiing.

  He just raises his eyebrows. “And your complaint is?”

  “No complaint.” I grin and he pulls me around the circular booth until I’m nestled right into his side. “Drink your beer and watch some hockey, Doctor.”

  He kisses my forehead and then does just that.

  We polish off the food, and our drinks. I excuse myself to visit the ladies’ room before we head back outside, and as I pass the bar I hear two guys complaining about how there are only expensive tickets left for tonight's game. How they’d rather spend that money on beer and food and watch the game on the televisions here at the bar. And while I feel for them, that gives me an idea. If there are tickets available, maybe I don't care how much they cost.

  When I return to our table, I lace my fingers through Max’s and give him a trust-me kind of look. “Do you have anything specific planned for tonight?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Why?”

  “Can I do something?”

  He laughs. “Sure.”

  “Then let’s head back to the hotel.”

  Once we’re there, I use my phone to buy two tickets right behind the Leafs’ net. And after I surprise Max with them via email, I sink to my knees and give him a special awesome getaway blow job.

  He’s not the only one who can be extraordinary.

  27

  Max

  It’s Friday night again. I should be at home, turning Violet’s ass red. Working a plug into her tight little ass and making her squirm with promises of fitting my cock there later.

  Instead I’m at work, because I’m on call. I knew this would happen, and so did she. We decided earlier this week to not plan a date this weekend. I’m going to hockey tomorrow and Sunday, because the team is pretty sure I’ve fallen off the face of the planet, and she’s going to catch up on some billable hours.

  If I don’t have any disasters come up at work, I’ll see if she wants an orgasm or two mid-afternoon.

  But damn it, I miss her.

  Fucking hell.

  For the first time in my life, a woman has rated higher than work, and I don’t even feel bad about that.

  But work is louder than my fantasies.

  The resident on call tonight is young and new and nervous. And there’s a C-difficile infection running through the ward, so the nursing staff is stretched thin with quarantine and one-on-one nursing requirements for some patients. So when a patient comes back from chemo, a little guy named Gage, and he needs a new IV inserted, I do it and I let the resident watch.

  Gage gives me a sticker for a job well done, and I give him a fist bump. He makes Sponge Bob squeak, th
en slumps back against his pillow.

  “Get some rest, buddy,” I say, and his mom takes my place at his side once he’s all tucked in.

  “I know I should be better with those,” the resident mumbles as he chases me down the hall back to the break room.

  I sigh. “Paeds isn’t for everyone.”

  And so it goes, all night long. I stay at the hospital, sleeping in the call room, and after morning rounds, I head straight to the rink. There’s some open ice time before our game, and I get my gear on.

  I’m on the ice as soon as the Zamboni clears it, and so are a few other skaters. One guy from our team, Oliver, who I don’t know that well but he’s a friend of Lachlan’s, which makes him a friend of mine. We bump gloves and agree to do some delayed passing drills. When the ice gets a bit busier, we split up and I practice some basic read and react stuff, shadowing another skater from the far side of the ice, imagining he’s right in front of me and what I would do if he was.

  At the end of the free skate, we get off the ice so it can be cleared again, and find the rest of our team waiting for us. Gavin’s shown up today, so we’ve got some extra security—and a crowd.

  Ellie’s on her own, two RCMP officers sitting behind her. On the far side of the stands is a group of other fans. Some women, but also some kids, and Gavin heads over there to take selfies with them.

  I head over to his fiancée, who looks up from her tablet as I approach. “How’s it going?”

  “Good.”

  “Haven’t seen you at the last few games.”

  I wink at her. “I’ve been busy.”

  “How’s Violet?” she teases, and I can’t hide my reaction.

  I lean on my stick and return her grin. “She’s pretty awesome.”

  “You should invite her out sometime. I’d like company who isn’t interested in jumping Gavin’s bones.”

  “She’s…not big on public things. But I’ll mention the offer.”

  She frowns. “Do you think she might not want me to contact her? Now that mid-terms are done and I’m out from under the mountain of exam grading that was on my desk, I was going to see if she wanted to get coffee.”