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

by Tara Crescent

  “Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I said with a pout, and he laughed.

  We ended up in the kitchen, and I watched Patrick look around with pleasure. The screen doors led to his backyard, and I’d turned the light on so he could see the patio through the doors. “Ah, Lisa,” he said finally. “This is lovely. The entire house is amazing, but this is absolutely my favourite room.” He drew me into his body, and I stood there leaning against his chest.

  “I’m glad you like it,” I said finally.

  “Oh, I love it all. You are very talented,” he said, his voice serious, and I felt a flush of pleasure run through me. “Hey. Want to throw a party?”

  “A party?” I asked.

  He nodded. “New Years’ Eve? We can throw a party here? You should show off your work, it’s brilliant.”

  I looked at him quizzically. “A party with your friends?” I asked.

  “And yours, if they don’t already have prior plans,” he said. “Together?”

  I linked my fingers in his. “Together. That sounds good.”

  ***

  In the last few months, I’d become much better at asking for what I wanted. At having the difficult conversations. Well, not the truly difficult conversations – I still avoided those. For example, Patrick and I had been dating for four months. By all accounts, we were in a serious relationship, but though he had met my parents, I still hadn’t met his and I wasn’t brave enough to ask him why. I was afraid that in some subconscious way, he believed that I didn’t really fit in in the world his parents lived in, not the way Andrea had done. Okay, I didn’t actually think that Patrick was ashamed of me. I knew him. He was just too honest, too straightforward for something like that. But I still found myself reticent to broach the topic.

  But I’d grown trusting enough in our relationship to ask about the smaller stuff, and as we discussed throwing a party, the topic we hadn’t discussed was like an elephant in the room. We hadn’t talked about Christmas plans.

  So I brought it up. Once we’d finished discussing our plans to throw a party New Years’ Eve, I turned to him. “Are you going to your parents for Christmas?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I think they are going to be in the south of France,” he said. “They are on a cruise through the Mediterranean. I was going to spend Christmas with Doug’s family.”

  I looked at him sternly, and this time, when I spoke, I was a little irritated. It was one thing if he didn’t want to bring me home to meet his parents at Christmas, but making plans with Doug’s family? Oh, a fight was in the offing. “You are going to spend Christmas with Doug’s family? Why wouldn’t you spend it with me and my family?”

  “You didn’t ask,” he replied. “It’s Christmas. Loaded with symbolism. I didn’t want to push it or rush our relationship to that level if you didn’t feel comfortable with it.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I mumbled. This was what having a past did. Everything was coloured through the lens of our past experiences. Through Patrick’s childhood, his parents had more or less made him feel unwanted. Of course he would be hesitant to invite himself into my Christmas plans, though he would have logically known that he would be welcome.

  There was a tentativeness there that he would have never exhibited had he been unblemished and unwounded. And there was the exact same tentativeness in me as well. But it was time we both got over our pasts and trusted in each other. Patrick was one of the most important person in my life, if not the most important, and I’d be damned if he spent his Christmas with someone other than me.

  “Would Doug be massively offended if I insisted you come and spend Christmas with me and my parents instead?” I asked him.

  “I think Doug will manage,” he replied, his lips quirking. I went to lean against his chest, and I put my arms around him.

  “You should have asked,” I chided softly.

  “I know,” he replied. “I did know I’d be welcome, if that helps.” He rested his chin on my head, and I snuggled into his body. “Though I do not relish the idea of going to a store anywhere near the Christmas holidays.”

  “You don’t have to,” I replied. “We don’t do presents in my family. Just stuff that can be consumed. Bring wine, and the Prestons will love you forever.”

  “Will they?” He kissed my lips. “Good to know, baby.”

  ***

  We had a lovely Christmas with my parents. Patrick had followed my advice and brought three bottles of wine. We’d gone over early to help my mom cook dinner, and Patrick earned the everlasting admiration of my mother by donning an apron and helping her chop vegetables. I smirked and took photos with my phone, and he shook his head at me. “Later, baby,” he mouthed at me, and I laughed aloud. Oh, I was looking forward to my punishment.

  When we got back home, he handed me a small square box. “Wait, no presents,” I said. “You aren’t following the rules.”

  “I followed some of them,” he replied. “But honestly, if you think I’m going to do exactly as you tell me all the time, you really need to reassess your expectations.”

  I laughed. “Indeed,” I said wryly. “But I now feel like a bad girlfriend because I didn’t get you anything.”

  He shook his head. “Ah sweetie,” he said, his voice serious. “What you do for me is so much more involved than going into a store and buying something. You stayed with me while I dealt with my bullshit. You were kind and patient, honest and open. You’ve welcomed me into your life. You’ve created a beautiful home for me. Trust me, you are perfect.”

  “Well, I billed you for the work on your home,” I muttered, embarrassed by the compliment. I hadn’t wanted to bill him. He’d insisted, pointing out that I had turned away other work while I worked on his place.

  He rolled his eyes at me. “Open the damn box, Lisa,” he said. I bit back my smile and obeyed.

  The box contained a beautiful pair of earrings. Two large, pear-shaped yellow diamonds, with smaller diamonds twinkling from the setting. “Patrick, this is too much,” I protested.

  “Do you like them?” he asked directly.

  “Yes,” I said. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them. They were beautiful.

  “In that case, I’m not sure what the problem is,” he responded, and I glared at him. He smiled at me. “Merry Christmas, Lisa,” he said, kissing my pout away.

  “Merry Christmas, Patrick,” I whispered. The earrings were lovely, and he’d clearly chosen them with some thought. But at the end of the day, earrings were just earrings. What mattered was that my boyfriend had spent Christmas with me, and when we were stuffed to the gills with the turkey and sides that my mom plied us with, we had gone home together and wedged out on the couch in perfect, companionable silence.

  ***

  The party was a blast. I’d worried that our plans were too last-minute, that his friends would already have plans for New Years’ Eve. My friends I knew well. One of us would always offer to host a house-party, but we’d all wait until the last possible minute, hoping that someone else would capitulate first. It wasn’t that we weren’t hospitable – but having people over always involved a thorough cleaning of our homes, and Monica and Mandy avoided cleaning with the same shuddering horror that I did.

  “This is a nice place, Lisa,” Monica smiled at me, Jimmy fast asleep in her arms. “Listen, is there a bed I can let Jimmy sleep on?”

  She’d warned me she was bringing Jimmy, baby sitters being near impossible to find on New Years’ Eve. Patrick had made a bed for him in the guest room upstairs.

  “Guest room upstairs,” I told her. “First door on your right.”

  She smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “He’s a heavy little pumpkin.”

  I rolled my eyes. Monica had returned to work, and when I talked to her, she was both loving her job, and missing Jimmy like crazy. I was pretty sure she’d linger upstairs, tucking her precious little pumpkin in and enjoying a few quiet moments with her baby.

  “Nice party, Lisa,” Doug smiled at me as he wa
ndered up. “Can I get you a drink refill?”

  “I should alternate my drinks with water,” I said. “I hate when I’m hung over on the first of January, you know? It feels like I’m setting a pattern for the year.”

  He laughed. “Water it shall be,” he said, and returned in a minute with a glass of water. “You’ve done a great job in this space. We’ve been ribbing Patrick for a while now about his bare walls. And the kitchen doors are a great idea.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I didn’t know Doug very well. I’d only hung out with Patrick’s friends a few times, but from what I could tell, Doug seemed like a great guy. Charming and relaxed, and he obviously doted on Sara. “Patrick had a ton of input as well, of course,” I added. “Most of it really came from him.”

  Doug looked at me. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he said. “You did great work.” He took a sip of his drink, and looked at Patrick, who was laughing and talking with Mandy and Jason at the other end of the room. “I’m really happy you are a part of his life,” he said.

  I looked at him, astonished and pleased. Doug was one of Patrick’s best friends, and it made me glad to know his friends were happy we were dating.

  I circulated around the room, talking to our guests and keeping a discreet eye on the dining table, to make sure there was plenty of food and drink. We’d done appetizers – cheese plates, fruit, veggies, hummus, that kind of thing. Nothing that required fussing. I thought we looked a little low on wine, so I hurried to the kitchen, only to bump into Patrick there.

  “We are low on wine,” I said to him, my brows furrowed.

  “We are,” he said. “I’ll grab a bottle in a second.” He leaned against the counter, and widened his stance, and I moved so I was standing in the gap between his legs. “Are you having fun?” he asked me.

  I nodded. “Are you?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Very much so,” he said.

  I leaned forward and kissed him. “Good,” I said. “Doug just told me he’s happy we are dating.”

  “They all are,” he said. “Also, Alison wants to hire you.”

  “I don’t mix business with pleasure,” I smirked. “Except in the rarest of occasions, of course.”

  He slapped my ass as I bent to grab the bottle of wine from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. “Hey,” I protested, and he raised a silent eyebrow. “Don’t start things you won’t finish,” I winked.

  He laughed aloud. “It’s going to be a great new year,” he said cheerfully, as he took the bottle from me, and left the kitchen to find a corkscrew.

  ***

  “Lisa,” Monica slid next to me with a peculiar look on her face. “Isn’t Patrick a neurosurgeon?”

  I nodded. “Yup, why?”

  She gave me a look. “Why does he have an examination room in his house then?”

  I started giggling helplessly. “This is awkward,” I said, my cheeks red, but unable to stifle my laughter. “We sort of do stuff there.”

  “Stuff?” she asked, then her expression cleared and her eyebrows rose high. “Stuff. Ah.” She elbowed me. “I told you I had a one year old and your sex life sounded more interesting than mine. And you hold out on the juicy bits?”

  We both burst out laughing. “Can we not talk about this?” I asked, completely embarrassed.

  She snorted. “You know I’m going to tell Mandy, don’t you?”

  “Fair enough,” I said resignedly. But I couldn’t keep a straight face for long. We took another look at each other, and dissolved into giggles again.

  “What’s going on, you two?” Patrick asked. I hadn’t seen him walk up. I eyed Monica, and she eyed me, and we both started laughing again.

  “I need to find Mandy,” she choked out, and retreated hastily, her eyes dancing with laughter.

  “What’s the joke?” Patrick looked mystified. I told him. We looked at each other, and we both cracked up. “Maybe we should keep that room locked when we aren’t using it?” he finally said dryly.

  We counted down in unison with the countdown on the television, and yelled ‘Happy New Year!’ in loud, cheerful voices at midnight. I looked into Patrick’s eyes, and for a moment, the room retreated to the background. “Happy New Year, Patrick,” I whispered.

  His fingers reached out and traced the lips he’d just kissed. He smiled. “I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,” he said quietly.

  Chapter 17

  Lisa:

  It was early February. We were at Doug and Sara’s place to watch the Super Bowl. The boys were a bit glum because their team hadn’t made it past the conference finals. Me, I was a Bills fan. They hadn’t made the playoffs in years. The Super Bowl wasn’t even in the realm of possibility.

  “Hey, we set a date,” Sara remarked during a commercial break. We’d just finished agreeing that it was a shame that the Canadian networks didn’t also broadcast the American commercials, and Patrick was busy searching for the most buzz-worthy commercials on his phone. “Early May.”

  Patrick looked up. “That soon?” I asked, in some surprise. Even Mandy and Monica, who were normally quite low-key had taken a full year to plan their weddings. Sara nodded. “There was a cancellation at Roy Thomson Hall, and they offered us the date,” she said. “And both Doug and I really like the symphony.” They exchanged a smile at each other, and Doug reached out and linked his fingers in Sara’s. The two of them radiated happiness and palpable contentment, and though I hadn’t known them long, I was really happy for them.

  “Besides,” Sara laughed ruefully. “My parents own a bar in Tobermory. Tourist season is about twelve weeks, and they get incredibly busy then. If I get married in the summer, my parents will kill me.”

  Doug cleared his throat. “Patrick, James, you’ll be best men? Both of you? I can’t be expected to pick.”

  Both James and Patrick grinned and nodded. “We did the same thing for Patrick’s wedding,” James told me. “Patrick couldn’t pick between Doug and me either.” His voice trailed off as Alison dug an elbow into his side. “Shit, sorry Lisa,” he said awkwardly.

  I leaned against Patrick. “It’s not a problem,” I said. “I do know Patrick was married before.”

  ***

  “What was your wedding like?” I asked him when we got to his house after the game.

  “Ridiculously opulent,” he said, making a face. “Five hundred people at the AGO.” He didn’t look like he wanted to talk about his wedding to Andrea.

  “Ever want to do it again?” I asked him, trying to keep my voice casual. I failed miserably; he looked up sharply.

  “Are you asking?” he said with a smile. The smile relaxed me. It wasn’t the smile of a guy looking to flee because his girlfriend was discussing marriage. “Lisa,” his smile widened. “I went to an antique store with you last weekend. You were looking for the perfect chair for four fucking hours. So yes, I’d marry you in a heartbeat. Are you asking?”

  “No,” I yelped. “I mean, I don’t think this is something you surprise the other person with, you know? But I wasn’t asking, just, well, asking. Scoping you out.”

  “If you want to get married,” he said, his voice suddenly gloomy. “I guess you should meet my parents.”

  ***

  Patrick had mentioned a few times, casually, that his parents were rich. It hadn’t registered in any real way. I was more or less indifferent to money. A few years ago, I might have been more intimidated or bothered by it, but a lot of my clients were rather wealthy, and in the end, they were just people.

  But there was wealthy, and then there was insanely, obscenely rich. Patrick had forgotten to mention his parents fell in the latter category. No. That particular tidbit I found out through Nick O’Malley.

  One afternoon, desperate for a pause after a morning filled with paperwork, I’d taken a break and had run out to grab a sandwich at the coffee shop around the corner from my office. And as luck would have it, sitting in a corner of that same coffee shop, frowning impatiently at his phone, was Nick O�
�Malley.

  He raised his arm in greeting, and I winced inwardly, wishing he hadn’t seen me. Grow up, I told myself sternly, and wound my way over to his table.

  “Hello Nick,” I said, and as I spoke, I took careful stock of my emotions. My voice was steady, my pulse normal. What do you know? I wondered in silent marvel. I had never thought the day would come when I could greet Nick O’Malley without fear or rancour, but here it was.

  “Lisa,” he greeted me. “Join me?”

  “I can’t stay long,” I said, pulling up the chair. One time, I would have earned a look from him, with a promise of punishment for daring to contradict him. Not so anymore. He nodded.

  “I’ve been meaning to reach out,” he said. “I’m not going to bother beating around the bush. Is the way we ended our relationship going to impact my business?”

  I looked at him as if he’d been speaking ancient Greek. “What are you talking about?” I asked him.

  “You are dating Patrick Anderson,” he said, his voice tense. “Only son of Thomas Anderson? Anderson Mining? Our biggest client. Is there going to be a problem?”

  Anderson Mining. It was Canada’s largest mining company. Even I, who paid much more attention to the lifestyle section of the newspaper than the business section, knew who they were. The shocked look in my eyes forced Nick to reassess whatever he was going to say next. “You didn’t know?”

  He was looking at me as if I was the world’s biggest idiot, and at that moment, I felt like it. I’ve never googled Patrick. At the start, it was deliberate resolution. But then, it was a desire to enjoy what I had. Plus, seriously. Patrick Anderson. Even if I’d wanted to, it was a common enough name that I would have had to potentially sift through a thousand meaningless results.

  Sufficient to say there was a fight when Patrick came over that evening. A big one. I yelled about feeling like a fool in front of Nick. He countered with the fact that he’d never tried to keep it a secret. I hissed that he should have told me. The make-up sex was awesome.

  And tonight, I was going to have dinner with his parents, who lived in Lawrence Park. Canada’s wealthiest neighborhood. Lovely.