He moved slowly, and she followed his lead. They were two lovers entwined in a dance written into their DNA. There was no stopping what came next. He slid her down, his eyes locking on hers for a moment, just enough to tell her she would always be safe with him.
“I’m in control,” he said. “So, you be good, and don’t move your hands.” He stretched her hands over her head, placing them against the headboard. “I’m going to drive you crazy, then stop, then do it all over again until you beg me to finish this. Even then, I’m going to torture you. I’m going to do every naughty thing until your mind and body explode.”
Without another word, he was all business, pulling off her camisole and stripping her of her panties. Beginning at her toes, he kissed upward. His hands climbed up her legs, always just an inch higher than his lips, while she squirmed beneath his onslaught.
She arched with anticipation as he reached the juncture of her legs, needing his lips and talented tongue where it would feel the best. Her head rocked back, and she pushed against the headboard as his tongue lashed out. The first moan escaped her lips, then turned to frustration as he pulled back, his hands and lips heading back to her toes.
He tortured her as every pretense between them faded. He was in control, and she was forced to endure his assault. All she wanted was for him to fuck her brains out, to make the world disappear. Every kiss of his got her crazy, making her heart beat faster, and her breaths end in needy moans. He crawled up her body, kissing and nipping, licking and teasing. Then he was over her, their skin moving softly together. His hand cupped her mound; his fingers flicked her nub. He sent her eyes rolling to the back of her head with the deliciousness of his torture. While he drove her mad, he moved his mouth to hers. His tongue entwined with hers in a kiss.
One moment, his fingers stroked her to the heights of pleasure, then they were inside, changing her breaths with every thrust. Her moans timed with the pace of his body, moving faster and faster. Then all at once, he stopped. His kiss moved from her lips to her breasts where he sucked her nipple into his mouth, pulling, tugging, and teasing until she writhed beneath him. The kisses continued to wander from her breasts to her stomach, his hands light and fluttering everywhere except at the one place she needed him most.
He said he was going to make her beg for it, but she couldn’t form any words. Her mind was adrift on a wave of pleasure, and she was too far gone to beg.
The kisses returned, and he licked trails of fire across her skin, while she moaned and writhed beneath him. His hands clamped on her thighs and shoved them apart where he settled between her legs. There, he paused.
“Beg,” he growled. “Tell me what you want.”
“Oh God, please, just don’t stop.”
“Beg!”
“Please, I need you.”
“Is that how a sub speaks to her Dom?” The fire in his voice told her he’d flipped from lover to Dom and she was happy to oblige.
“Sir, please, I’m begging. Please don’t stop.”
With a roar of possession, he sucked her clit and elicited a shriek of pleasure. He fucked her with his fingers, then used his tongue. It was just enough to intoxicate her mind before he stopped again.
If he wanted begging, she would give it to him, but he would have to wait until her brain started working again.
Derek obliged her soundless pleading and fucked her into an oblivion with his fingers and tongue. As her orgasm ripped through her, he crawled on top and took his pleasure, thrusting into her with animalistic brutality. With her body still in spasms from the intensity of her release, he chased his need, finding pleasure in the heat of her body and on the edge of her ragged cries. He fucked her into another orgasm, nearly as intense as the first, then collapsed over her, breathing hard.
The intensity of their morning sex left her breathless and her legs still shaking over an hour later when Dan returned with the car to take them back to Napa. It felt like a flight of bees had taken up residence in her belly, because Derek had whispered his intent into her ear. They would return to The Cellar where he would mark her with his hand, his whip, his heart, and his soul.
She was terrified and incredibly aroused.
Detour
They made it nearly to Napa when Sally’s phone rang.
“It’s from Barton Memorial,” she said, concerned. Hospitals rarely called family members unless it was bad news.
“Answer it,” Derek urged.
Her fingers gripped her phone, and she steadied her voice, concerned why they would be calling. “Hello?”
“Ms. Levenson?”
“Yes,” she said softly. Derek took her free hand in his and gripped it lightly, lending his support.
“I’m Dr. Levine, the trauma surgeon taking care of your husband.”
“Oh, he’s not my husband.”
“I’m sorry, I assumed. We have you listed as his next of kin. Are you family?”
“He’s my foster brother. How is George?”
“He’s stable, but still in ICU. Ms. Levenson, are you comfortable making decisions concerning Mr. Patterson’s healthcare?”
“I am.”
“Have you discussed his wishes thoroughly?”
“We’ve talked extensively.” They’d had months during Thomas’ illness to discuss end of life care for Thomas, for her, and even for George.
“I’m used to speaking with spouses, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters. Rarely, we have friends given such authority. I just want to be clear you’re comfortable making decisions for your friend. Does he have any family members I should be contacting?”
“He doesn’t have any family, except for me. I’m very comfortable making decisions. We talked about it a lot when my husband was terminal. We made advanced directives for our health care together.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. What’s going on with George?”
“As you know, your friend was involved in an avalanche. He’s alive and stabilized, but he sustained significant injury. There was abdominal trauma that wasn’t initially evident. His spleen was ruptured. It’s been removed. He lost a lot of blood, and we’ve given him blood transfusions. I believe you’re aware of the fractures to his legs and arm?”
Dr. Levine had a soothing voice. There was no hedging about George’s condition. But, the man had confidence and a surprisingly good bedside manner.
“Yes,” she said. “They let me know before I left.”
“His fractures have been splinted pending casting by our orthopedic doctors. What I’m concerned about is his neck.”
“His neck?”
“There’s a sliver of bone pressing on his spinal cord. It’s high enough that I’m concerned.”
“Can you fix it?”
“This is why I called. The surgery is risky. We need to remove this sliver of bone. It’s at a level where damage can cause permanent disability, paralysis from the neck down, to include the muscles involved in breathing. The surgery is not without risk. It can cause the same issue, a sudden transection of the cord. If it happens, we can place your friend on a breathing machine. He’d be looking at lifelong paralysis and dependence on a ventilator. If we do nothing and it happens at home, he’ll die from an inability to breathe.”
“And if you fix it?”
“He still has a long road ahead of him, but even with the broken bones and the loss of his spleen, he’ll lead a normal life.”
There was no question what George would want. They had talked about every possible scenario.
“Tell them to proceed,” she said. “I need to fill out a DNR form. If something happens during the surgery, he doesn’t want to live hooked up to machines.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. We’ve talked about everything from accidents like this to terminal cancer to everything in-between. I’m fully confident this is what he would want. And he would want the surgery. When would you take him to the operating room?”
“As soon
as possible,” Dr. Levine answered.
Derek leaned forward and called out to Dan. “Change of plans. Take us to Tahoe.”
“Yes, Sir,” Dan said.
Sally finished her call with Dr. Levine, then leaned against Derek. “It seems the world is conspiring against us.”
He ran his fingers through her hair. “I don’t see it like that. I think the world is telling us to focus on the bigger picture.”
“What’s that?”
“That we’re building a life together. We’re together dealing with the shit life is throwing at us, becoming us. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Aren’t you upset about not going back to The Cellar?”
“I don’t need The Cellar to make you mine. All I need is you.”
“It’s a shame we don’t have that helicopter.” They had a three to four-hour drive to Tahoe ahead of them.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Derek turned to Dan. “Put up the privacy screen, please.”
“Yes Sir,” Dan said as the screen lifted, giving them relative privacy.
Three hours wasn’t nearly long enough as Derek used his fingers, mouth, and cock to bring her to the heights of pleasure over and over again. While she came too many times to count, he only came twice. Once, while he had her on her knees, showing her how to properly worship his cock, and the other with her flipped around, bending over the back seat while he plowed into her from behind.
As they pulled up to the entrance of the trauma center her anxiety level surged. Outside the smoked windows of the car, an ambulance at the emergency entrance disgorged its occupants in a flurry of activity. Nurses and doctors in green scrubs surrounded an immobile form strapped to a gurney. IV bags swung back and forth as the whole group disappeared inside. Sally gave a silent prayer of support for whoever that had been.
Dan pulled around to the main hospital entrance. He escorted her out of the limo, giving her a complicated look. It seemed to communicate admiration. She returned a quizzical smile, unsure how to respond to these people who knew all of her intimate secrets. She felt like she had fallen into a secret society, where there was no shame just an odd understanding and respect.
Derek grabbed her hand and led her into the hospital. He stopped at the information desk where the attendant gave them directions to the surgical intensive care unit. He guided her to a large bank of elevators.
As the doors opened, Sally gripped Derek’s hand tightly. Her heart fluttered as her gut felt all shaky and light. Surrounded by the sights and sounds of a hospital, reality slammed into her with the force of a freight train. Her fantasy weekend evaporated in the face of the very real possibility her world would take another drastic turn.
George.
She needed to remain strong for him.
A couple exited the elevator. The woman was in a wheelchair. A man dressed in pink scrubs with teddy bears pushed the wheelchair out. In the woman’s arms, a newly born infant slept. The father, identified by the balloons, car seat, pillow, and overnight bag clutched in his arms, had an expression one part pride and one part terrified out of his mind. Derek held her to the side as the new parents pushed past them.
They entered, and Derek pressed the button for the intensive care floor. The doors closed and Sally took a deep soothing breath. Derek stood beside her, silent and supportive.
The doors opened, and they stepped off the elevator and followed the signs directing them to Surgical Intensive Care Unit, or SICU.
They turned left and proceeded down a long hallway. To their right was a large waiting room outside the SICU. Decorated in soft hues of blue and lavender, the place felt calm and relaxed. Clusters of seats, small tables, a flat screen monitor, couches, and even a bank of computer terminals filled the room. Nondescript posters decorated the walls. Overhead signs advertised free Wi-Fi and internet for visitors. There were several clusters of people in the waiting room, patiently waiting for whatever.
They stopped at the reception window, beside a pair of swinging doors leading into the unit. A young woman sat in front of a monitor screen, sipping soda out of a straw. She wore red scrubs, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
“Excuse, me,” Sally said.
The woman glanced up and smiled. “May I help you?”
“Yes, please. I’m here to visit George Patterson. My name is Sally Levenson.”
“Just a minute.” Her eyes flicked to the computer screen as her fingers flew across the keyboard. “Mr. Patterson is in recovery. If you’d like to have a seat, I’ll call you as soon as he’s back. I’ll page the surgeon. Dr. Levine will be right with you.”
Derek nudged her elbow and drew her back a step. “Thank you, we’ll be in the waiting room.”
He selected a couch furthest from the other occupants. A teary-eyed woman sat dejectedly, staring at her coffee. A man sat beside her, typing at his laptop.
They waited in silence for over twenty minutes before Doctor Levine arrived.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.
She stood and shook his hand. “Thank you for coming out to speak with me. I know you’re incredibly busy.”
His eyes softened. “Your friend isn’t awake, and we’ve kept him intubated. He’s on the breathing machine. But I wanted to let you know the surgery was a success. You’ll be able to go in and visit him in a minute. Just give his nurses a moment to get him settled, then they’ll let you in to see him.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling like a weight had been lifted. “Thank you so much.”
It took another half an hour before she was invited back to see George. During their wait, Derek sat beside her, got her a drink out of the vending machine down the hall, held her hand, and said very little as she wrung her fingers, paced, and cursed.
A man in red scrubs approached them. “Ms. Levenson?”
Sally turned from her pacing and stopped. “Yes?”
Young, and fit, the man filled out his scrubs with the stacked muscles of a man who took care of himself. He had one of those smiles, too, which stretched ear to ear, “I’m Kurt, Mr. Patterson’s nurse. Would you like to come back and see him?” He didn’t try to shake her hand, just gestured to the door.
Of course she wanted to come back. The incessant waiting was killing her. Her nerves were all a jumble, and her heart went from normal mode to speed mode at a whim. The not knowing, the worry, the fear and apprehension were slowly combining to make her mad. She settled for a quiet and respectful, yes, please.
Derek stood as she went to follow Kurt.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Kurt said. “We only allow one visitor at a time.”
Sally glanced between Kurt and Derek a little torn, but then George didn’t know Derek. He probably wouldn’t appreciate a stranger at his bedside.
“Of course,” Derek said, “I was merely going to walk her to the door.” He gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be right out here waiting for you. Take as long as you need.” He pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “Your body and mind are mine, but he’s family. I look forward to meeting him and getting to know him better. Go. I’ll be waiting.”
She squeezed Derek’s hand, thankful for his presence, then left him behind as she stepped into a world of IV bags, the beeping of monitors, the scent of harsh cleaners, sterile floors, and ventilators sustaining life. All around her, doctors and nurses hustled as they tended to the sick.
Her mind brought her back to a similar scene over five years back when Thomas lay dying on a similar unit. Tubes and lines were snaked into his wasted body, sustaining a life that had long since given up. She took in a deep breath, not wanting to be here. The only reason she took a step forward was because Kurt led her to a bed in the far corner where her best friend waited.
George wore his hair in a short crewcut, military style, but you could still make out the blond curls struggling for freedom. As a teenager, George wore his hair much longer, with golden bangs brushing past his nose and his hair touch
ing the bottom of his collar. In college, George’s hair had been truly obnoxious, spilling to his shoulders in wild curls.
His square jaw, always full of strength, lay slack and weak. A breathing tube was secured to his mouth and connected to a ventilator quietly working in the corner. Various leads were attached to his skin, snaking up to an overhead monitor to display his vital signs to an observant staff. Several IVs punctured his flesh. One held clear fluid, another a yellowish fluid, and a third which was dark red—a blood transfusion.
George was a tall man, thick and barrel-chested. She’d teased him about becoming a lumberjack when he grew up. A strong and fit man, his body lay limp and unmoving.
She took his hand in hers, finding it cool to the touch, then leaned down and kissed his forehead. She whispered into his ear. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”
George’s worst fear in life was being alone. He’d lost his parents in grade school—both of whom were only children, leaving him without aunts and uncles to take him in. He’d been an only child, too, and had no brothers or sisters in his life. He truly had no one. They had a lot in common.
“I’d like to have him transferred once he’s stable,” she said to the nurse. “This is too far from home, and I can’t travel up here as often as I’d like. Do you think that would be possible?”
“I’ll speak with his surgeons. It might take some time. The first few days are critical. We have your contact information and will call with updates with every shift. Your friend is in good hands.”
“I know, and I don’t want to rush, or put him at risk transferring him too soon. But, if you would, could you ask?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you.” She sat with George for a little while, but eventually, it was time to go.
Derek was waiting with the patience of a saint, and she felt a little lost without him near. When she exited the double doors, Derek came to her, wrapping his arms around her, saying nothing, but comforting her with his presence.
Becoming His, Learning to Breathe: Part Two - The Collective - Season 1, Episode 8 Page 18
