Relapse (Doctor Dom Volume 4) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella)

by Tara Crescent

  I checked again. “No.”

  “Good,” he said. “Your next doctor’s appointment is on Wednesday.” He turned to smirk at me. “After all, I still have no idea if the last one cracked the Top 5 list.” His tone was dry.

  I giggled and flushed. In all the confusion that had followed, I’d forgotten I had teased him about needing to think through how I was going to rate my last doctor’s appointment. I’d been joking, of course. He’d fucked me unconscious; it had been that good.

  He grinned at me, fully aware that he was teasing me. “You cannot orgasm before then,” he said firmly.

  My voice softened into submissiveness. “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said. It was like a flip of a switch. One moment we were joking and teasing, and the next moment, lust burned in my body at his tone. I groaned mentally. Turned on as I was at the moment, rehearsal was going to be a bitch.

  We had pulled up in front of my condo. “See you Wednesday, Lisa,” he said, pulling me into a brief hug. “Have a good rehearsal.”

  I nodded and got out of the car. As I made my way upstairs, it suddenly struck me that someone was following me. Someone was watching me every hour of the day to make sure I stayed safe. I felt a shudder of anxiety run through me, and at that moment, I wished desperately that I’d never left Patrick’s side.

  Chapter 6

  Patrick:

  Once I got back from lunch, I called Doug. The football game was at 4.30pm this week, but I was going to bail. I didn’t know if Liam was watching me, and I didn’t want to pull Doug and Sara into my crap by going over to their house. I filled him in on the situation, and he listened in silence.

  “Fuck.” Those were Doug’s only words when I was done.

  “Tell me about it,” I said dryly. Once I was done with this phone call, I promised myself I’d go and get rip-roaringly drunk. I wasn’t on call; I didn’t have to hold it together for Lisa. All I wanted to do was pour myself many drinks, and try and forget Andrea’s bloodied, bruised face. I needed to drown my sense of responsibility for the way she’d been beaten. The logical part of me knew that I wasn’t responsible, and neither was Lisa, nor John. The only person responsible for this was the person who had done it. Liam Henderson. But when I closed my eyes, corrosive guilt ran through me.

  I’d put Lisa in the middle of this thing. My fear for her was a living thing, roiling its way in my insides like an alien waiting to tear out of my stomach. I couldn’t close my eyes without imagining Lisa’s face in place of Andrea’s. I took a deep breath and willed myself to relax. Lisa was being watched by the best protection money could buy. I wanted to cling to her, but I couldn’t let her see how freaked out I was. I didn’t want to scare her. My fears were most likely groundless.

  “I’m assuming drinking is in order?” Doug asked. “Listen, it was just going to be you, Sara and me today for the game anyway. Feel like company? Sara will be quite happy to miss a football game and watch the TV show she insists isn’t a soap opera on the big screen.”

  I could hear Sara laugh and say something in the background.

  “Company sounds really good,” I replied. Doug was my oldest friend, and at the moment, getting drunk with a friend sounded amazing.

  “See you in fifteen,” he said.

  I turned the TV on so that the game would play in the background. This was an easy game for our team, and we wouldn’t need to watch too intently. Which was fine, because while I normally cared about the fortunes of my football team, today wasn’t that day.

  In fifteen minutes, I heard a knock on my door. I lived in Toronto. In Rosedale, which was about as safe a neighborhood as it got in the city. I wasn’t used to sliding my safety latch shut when I walked in the front door, but I had done it as soon as I walked in. I opened the front door the few inches the latch would allow, and checked that it was Doug before releasing it and opening the door. Doug raised a silent eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

  “How’s Andrea doing?” Doug asked me. Andrea wasn’t Doug’s favourite person, but we had all known each other for a very long time.

  “About the same, still in a coma. Petra’s texting me updates every couple of hours,” I said. The hospital had pulled me off and swapped Petra on to minimize any potential litigation risk. It made sense, and I was happy not to be Andrea’s doctor. Holding it together and staying focused while I operated was about the hardest thing I’d ever had to do in my life. Checking her hourly for signs of awareness; trying to rouse her from the coma – I didn’t think I could do those things without falling to pieces.

  “I brought whiskey,” Doug said. “Sounded like you needed it.”

  I gestured to the almost-full bottle of Jameson on the counter. “Want to start with that one first?”

  Doug looked at the bottle appreciatively. “Get wasted on 18-year old Jameson’s. I like the way you think, Patrick.” He poured us both a generous double, and handed me my glass.

  “Talk. You think this asshole’s going to come after you?” he asked.

  “It’s mostly a safety precaution,” I replied. “I’m far less concerned with me, and far more worried about Lisa. I dragged her into the middle of this shit, Doug.”

  Doug shook his head firmly. “Come on, Patrick,” he said. “Let’s be logical. You saw some troubling signs and called John. You did the right thing. It’s a shitty situation, but you know and I know you didn’t do anything to cause it.”

  I nodded. “I do. But I still feel responsible.”

  “Call Jackie,” Doug said. Jackie was my therapist. I had a history of feeling responsible for situations that weren’t really of my making; it was a bit of a pattern for me. Jackie Blackburn had helped me work through it over the years, and until yesterday, I thought I was over all that shit.

  I downed my whisky in one fluid stroke, and refilled both our glasses.

  “I have a feeling I’m going to get blindingly drunk,” Doug said. He pulled his phone out. “Okay good, no meetings until ten tomorrow. Phew. Hang on, Patrick, I’ve got to type in a quick note to Maija asking her not to schedule anything in the morning.” He quickly typed, and then he downed his whiskey. I followed, feeling the slow burn of the whiskey all the way down my throat and chest. It was only five in the afternoon – at the rate we were downing the drinks, we’d be drunk in less than an hour.

  “How’s Lisa taking all of this?” Doug asked me.

  “Much better than I expected,” I replied. “She’s a lot stronger than she gives herself credit for.”

  Doug raised an eyebrow, and I sketched out the broadest details about her and Nick.

  “Like Andrea,” he said. He gave me an expressionless look.

  “Also with enough in parallel with my parents’ relationship,” I replied. “I know what you are thinking.”

  “Do you?” he asked skeptically. He shook his head. “I’m not wondering if you are doomed to repeat some ancient history, if that’s what you are thinking. I’m wondering if you see Lisa as atonement. A way to make up for the debacle that was Andrea. That you’ve attached more significance to the Dom-sub dynamic between you two than it deserves.”

  I took a sip of my whiskey, and thought about what he said. This was the most valuable part of my friendship with Doug. He provided perspective. I did the same thing for him. In a world where the sex could suck you in too deep and define who you were, Doug and me kept each other grounded.

  Finally, I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t think so,” I replied. “I mean, I do like our sex life. But even if she was interested in keeping it vanilla, I’d be fine with it. She’s not Andrea. She’s vibrant and alive. I’m really enjoying being with her.”

  Doug gave me his patented look again. “This is not the first time you’ve contrasted her to Andrea,” he pointed out.

  Fuck. He was right. I really liked Lisa. I was in love with her. But unfortunately, I did also think of her as the anti-Andrea. I was mature enough to know that this was troubling. She was who she was. If I kept looking for signs of Andrea in her, o
ur relationship would not survive that pressure.

  “I think I really need to give Jackie a call,” I said wryly. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply you don’t care for her,” he said, his voice concerned.

  I shook my head. “You didn’t.” Doug was a really good friend. Doug, James and Alison. The only three people in the world who could be this honest with me.

  “I mean,” I added, “I hear what you say. I think, in normal times, I can keep my expectations under control.” Another sip of whiskey, another round poured for the both of us. “But these aren’t normal times. Andrea is in hospital. Liam is out there somewhere, and until he’s caught, both Lisa and I have round-the-clock security. I can’t help feeling like I put both her and Lisa in danger through my carelessness.”

  I raised my hand to ward off Doug’s protest. “Jackie will help me get a handle on things.”

  We chatted about other things. At some point, Doug mentioned he was going to ask Sara to marry him, and even in the middle of all the stress in my life, I was delighted for him. I really liked Sara, and it was clear that the two of them adored each other. We toasted to that and got blindingly drunk.

  Chapter 7

  Lisa:

  “Will you use your safe word, Lisa?” Patrick’s voice was suspicious. His gaze had distrust written all over it.

  “Of course I will,” I insisted. I could hear the lie in my voice.

  “Except that one time,” he said, his voice completely expressionless. The day my mother had been rushed to the emergency room. I had needed him so badly that I’d begged for punishment, and I had sworn to myself I wouldn’t safe word. No matter what. Because I had been unworthy of him, and I needed punishment.

  “I needed to make atonement, Patrick, can’t you see that?” I begged.

  “By destroying my trust in you?” His retort was swift. He looked haunted. “I can’t do this anymore, Lisa. I can’t play with someone I don’t trust.”

  The door slammed as he left. Everything crumbled around me.

  I woke up, shaking with fear from the dream I’d just had.

  Everything was great in my life. Patrick was fantastic, and it wasn’t just the sex. I could be silly and laugh with him. I could share things I was incredibly embarrassed by, and he listened with empathy and without judgement. I really loved him.

  But at any moment, it could all come crashing down.

  My dream had given me a pretty specific clue about why I was feeling this way, and I was afraid to fall back asleep. I sat up on the bed, flicking on a light and hugging a pillow for warmth.

  I was trying to convince myself I wouldn’t need to tell him. But I wasn’t succeeding.

  ***

  The first thing on my schedule Monday morning was the final walk-through for Charles Dobson’s waterfront penthouse condo. Normally, I would have been somewhat steeling myself for the encounter. Charles was, well, difficult. Extremely Type-A, and he expected perfection and got it.

  Today though, Charles greeted me with a pleasant smile. I was immediately suspicious. “I hope your life has settled down,” he said genially. “How is your mother recovering?”

  “Fine,” I said. I realized I was frowning at him, and I smoothed my expression into something more neutral. “Thank you for asking. Shall we do a final walk through?”

  We walked through his apartment, and I saw him take it all in. It looked fabulous. It was a corner penthouse unit with stunning views of the lake. Only four units on the floor. Eight thousand square feet in Toronto, not to mention the additional two thousand square feet of outdoor balcony space. This much space was practically unheard of in the city.

  “This looks really good, Lisa,” he said. “You’ve done an amazing job.”

  “Thank you,” I replied. Compliments were rare from Charles and I found I was actually beaming with pride. “It’s a great space. I hope you’ll be happy here.” As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. That sentence had sounded a lot more personal than I had intended.

  He looked at me thoughtfully. “How’s Natalie?” he asked me. There was an undercurrent of unhappiness in his voice.

  I had no idea what was going on between Natalie and Charles. Natalie had seem disinclined to talk about him, and I wasn’t going to probe. Charles was a client, and the commission on this job was a lot of money. But at the end of the day, my loyalties came down solidly on Natalie’s side. Natalie was my friend.

  “Fine,” I said. My tone was short. I hoped that it was clear that I was unwilling to be drawn into conversation about Natalie.

  He gave me a look that I returned steadily. I was not intimidated by Charles.

  “I hear you are dating Patrick Anderson,” he said, in what was clearly an attempt to defuse the tension.

  I openly frowned at him, and he hastily clarified. “Sorry, it came up accidentally in a conversation with Natalie.”

  I wanted to bite out that my private life was none of his concern, but I was being needlessly touchy. I knew why; I was bristling at the possibility that he had hurt Natalie. Nothing she had said or done had implied that, but because of Nick, dominant men made me antagonistic.

  All but one, of course. Patrick.

  “Do you know Patrick?” I asked politely.

  “Not well, but my firm does some work with his company,” he replied. I nodded, hiding my inner confusion. Patrick was a neurosurgeon. What possible work could he do with Charles’s law office? Charles’ firm did corporate law.

  We finished the rest of the walk through. He wrote me a check, and then we shook hands.

  “Lisa,” he said, and I could hear that tone of unhappiness in his voice again. “Could you tell Natalie I asked after her? Give her my regards?”

  That seemed like a neutral thing to do. I nodded my agreement and headed back to my office.

  ***

  I passed on Charles’ message to Natalie, who just nodded. She seemed sad and out of sorts as well. “Hey,” I asked, “I don’t mean to pry, but is everything okay?”

  “I’m not seeing Charles anymore,” she replied tonelessly.

  “Did he do something?”

  She shook her head. “No,” she said, “I broke it off. It think it is best this way.”

  I eyed her. He seemed unusually pensive, and she seemed sad. But I’d learned that sometimes sadness was a necessary by-product. The fact that they were both upset by the ending of their short relationship only implied that they were both human. It didn’t speak to any underlying issues of compatibility.

  “If you ever want to talk about it,” I started, but she shook her head again.

  “I’m going out for a quick coffee, Lisa,” she said. “Can I get you one as well?”

  I didn’t point out that there was a perfectly nice coffee-maker in the office, Patrick’s gift. “I’m good,” I said instead.

  I called Patrick next. As he often did, he picked up on the first ring. It was an exceedingly flattering habit.

  “Hey,” I greeted him.

  “Right back at you, baby,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “What’s up?”

  “I was just calling to remind you about the people you have shadowing me. I want to meet them?”

  “Ah, right,” he said. He sounded a bit sheepish. “Truth be told, I forgot. I’ll call them now.”

  “What were you busy doing that you forgot?” I teased him.

  He laughed. He sounded embarrassed. “Getting pretty drunk,” he said. “I’m nursing the world’s biggest hangover right now, and am reminding myself that I’m not twenty-one anymore, and recovery from a night of whiskey takes longer than just a few hours.”

  I was curious. Patrick drank the same way I did; a drink or two socially. I’d never seen him drunk. “How come? Getting drunk?”

  “Andrea. Liam. Round the clock detectives,” he replied. “Pick your poison.”

  “Ah.” I could understand. “Alone?”

  “My friend Doug came over,” he said. “Incid
entally, can you make a football game next Sunday? I’ve met your friends, I’d really like you to meet mine.”

  I bit my cheeks to keep from beaming all over my face. “Sure,” I said. “Mandy’s concert is Saturday night, but I think I’m free all Sunday.”

  “It’s a date,” he promised. “Okay, hang up now so I can call David, please, and I’ll call you back.”

  ***

  The two of us met my mysterious protector for lunch. He turned out to be a cheerful young man called Rock. Mid-twenties, broad shoulders, utterly intimidating physique. He looked like the young men who were always at the weights area of my gym.

  “Rock? That’s your name?” I asked with utter disbelief as I was introduced, and then winced and apologized at my rudeness.

  But Rock just grinned cheerfully. “It’s a nickname,” he said. “But it’s stuck around. Now, Ms. Preston, you won’t be seeing me around if I’m doing my job right, and I tend to do my job right. Just go about your day as per usual. I’ll be lurking in the background.”

  He was a big guy. I couldn’t imagine him lurking. Patrick just grinned at my skeptical expression.

  “Nothing suspicious so far then?” he asked Rock.

  Rock shook his head. “Nope. Really boring job.” He flashed us a cheeky smile to take the sting out of the words. “I like boring,” he added. “Some of our guys are also looking for Mr. Henderson, and of course, Dr. Anderson, you have someone keeping an eye on you as well.”

  Patrick nodded with a grimace. “Brilliant,” was all that he said.

  ***

  We both had to run to work after lunch. “It’s nice seeing you,” I told him. “I’m glad we work close enough to do this.”

  He smiled and squeezed my hand. I pulled him into a hug, needing to feel him next to me. I was still shaken by my dream.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his brow wrinkling in concern.

  I just nodded. “I’ll see you on Wednesday?” I asked him.

  He smiled. “I can’t wait,” he said.

  Chapter 8