Recovery (Doctor Dom Volume 5) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) (8 page)

He held me so the knife was at my t
hroat, his body shielded by mine, and he opened the door slightly. My hands shook as I grabbed the pizza from the man holding it, and we retreated inside.

The phone rang again, and this time, the ne
gotiator wasn’t as successful as he had been before in establishing rapport. Liam listened to the voice for a minute or two, then hung up. “You want a slice?” he asked.

I shook my head silently.
My stomach was churning. There was no way I’d be able to hold food down. I eyed the clock on Patrick’s stove. One hour, forty five minutes, that’s how long this ordeal had been going on for.

“
Pizza not good enough for you?” he sneered, and I flinched, prepared to be beaten again. But he just shook his head in disgust and ate a slice.

The phone didn’t ring
again, not for a long time. Liam looked like he was getting nervous. Finally, he gestured. “Call that number,” he said. “Tell them I want to talk.”

I hit
talk
on the phone, my hands shaking. “He wants to talk,” I said, a quaver in my voice.

“Are you okay?”
George asked quickly.

“Yes,”
I lied again. I wasn’t okay. But I wasn’t hurt either. I was as good as I could be in that situation. Not good at all.

Liam took the phone from my hands. “
Make me an offer, George,” he said. “I want out of here.” He listened to the voice at the other end of the line, and then he shook his head. “No, I’m not letting her go,” he snapped. “You think I’m a fucking idiot, George? The bitch is my ticket out of this place.”

George said something, and
Liam’s shoulders slumped. “I just want all of this to end, George,” he said. He sounded defeated. “I don’t want to run anymore.”

I
held my breath. Would he give up? Could I just walk out of here?

No.
Whatever George said, it didn’t help. Liam just shook his head, and hit the button to end the call. “Good pizza,” was all he said, reaching for another slice.

I couldn’t hear both ends of the conversation. I couldn’t tell what was going on. I wanted to
stay alert and aware, to carefully watch for an opening so I could escape. But I hadn’t accounted for the paralyzing fear. I hadn’t accounted for the sob that rose in my throat as I imagined my parents crying over my mutilated body. I thought of the hopeless sadness that Patrick would feel and I didn’t dare move. All I could do was wait. Endure. Hope for a peaceful resolution.

At ten in the night, there was finally one. The phone had been ringing on and off. Liam had been having several conversations with George. They had chatted about the
Jays and the state of the MLB. Whether the Leafs would ever win the Stanley Cup. Then about beer and the bars that off-duty cops hung out at. I could hear the wistfulness in Liam’s voice as he spoke. With each call, he was getting closer to the point where he would surrender.

Finally, at ten
at night, after the last call, Liam just looked at me. He had a beer in front of him. His eyes were tired. It didn’t look like there was any fight left. “Go,” he said to me. “Just go.”

I looked at him, afraid to believe.
Terrified that he would lunge at me and attack the instant I took a step. But he took the knife, and tossed it away on the kitchen counter.

“
Fucking Anderson,” he said again, his voice soft. “It was all so perfect until he interfered.”

I took
a step towards the kitchen door, and he didn’t move. Didn’t stop me. His eyes were back on the bottle of beer in front of him, his fingers were restlessly peeling the label. I took another step backward, and then another, and I was in the hallway, then I just fled out the front door.

Cop cars were everywhere.
Police tape on the street. An ambulance. A fire truck. All silent, to keep from alarming Liam. All ready and waiting. A cop pulled me towards safety, and someone threw a blanket around me, one I hugged gratefully while my eyes searched for the only person in whose presence I would feel truly safe.

“Patrick,” I sobbed, seeing him
get out of a parked car and move quickly towards me. I fled into the shelter of his arms, and enveloped in security, pressed against his body, I felt home.

Lisa:

“I was so afraid,” Patrick said softly. I heard the tremble in his voice, and I put my arms around his neck and pulled him close to me.

“Me too,” I said. I clung to Patrick, reluctant to let go. He didn’t pull away. Perhaps he too felt the need to hold me near. Life was short, and sometimes, we could get overtaken by
events entirely outside our control. Like Liam Henderson. At moments like that, you held on tight to the ones you loved.

I held on tight to Patrick, clinging to him as the paramedics gave me a thorough once-over, making sure I hadn’t been
seriously injured. Patrick’s eyes narrowed when he saw the bruise on my jaw, and his fingers traced a path over my skin. “He hit you,” he said, his voice bleak.

“It’s not that bad,” I said. “I’m just so glad it’s over.”

“They better lock him up for a long time,” he said. I glanced at him, and I could see his hands clenched into fists. He was visibly struggling to stay calm.

“Patrick,” I said. I just wanted to go home and forget about this. I didn’t want him to flip out. “It’s over.”

He looked at me for a long time, and then nodded, his eyes softening. “Sorry,” he said. “I hate feeling this helpless.”

“Me too,” I pointed out, and his lips twitched. The paramedic finally cleared me, and I was permitted to leave.

“
Let’s go home, baby,” he said. He led the way to his car, parked across the street. A man in police uniform approached me, and I winced, and Patrick pulled me close to him protectively. “Do you want me to ask him to leave?” he asked me.

I shook my head, both grateful for his protection and the fact that he was thoughtful enough to ask for my permission first before speaking on my behalf. “I can deal with it,” I told him. My fin
gers tightened in his. He nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at me.

“Ms. Preston, I’m
Detective Luke Wade from Toronto Police. I’m in charge of this case. Could I ask you some questions?”

I could feel Patrick’s shoulders tense. “Can we do it tomorrow?” I asked him. “I can come down to the station, if
you’d like. I just need to be left alone tonight.”

The detective
nodded, making very little effort to conceal his frustration. “Of course,” he said, annoyance in his voice. “I’ll call you in the morning. Good evening, Ms. Preston.” He turned and walked away, and Patrick slowly exhaled.

“Probably a good thing you talked to him, not me,”
he said wryly. “I’d have been tempted to punch him, and spending a night in jail doesn’t sound like fun at all.”

I raised an eyebrow at him
, glad for the lightness of the topic. “He just has really bad timing,” Patrick said. “He wanted a statement from Andrea right after she woke up from her coma as well. John went ballistic.”

“Can you actually throw a punch?” I asked him. He didn’t seem the brawling type at all.

He laughed. “I had my trouble-making moments when I was a teenager,” he said, “but as an adult? No.” He smiled at me. “Besides, I work with my hands. It would be stupid to throw a punch.” He grimaced. “I would have made an exception for Liam Henderson.”

“He had a knife in his hand,” I pointed out prosaically. When it came down to it, I had fantasies of punching Liam as well, but this wasn’t an episode of Dexter, and we couldn’t go around beating people, as richly as they deserved it. Liam was in the hands of the police now, facing many years in prison for assault and kidnapping. It would take me longer to fully make my peace with what had happened, but at the moment, I just wanted to turn the page and put the evening behind me.

Patrick reached out and touched my bruised jaw again with the gentlest of touches, and I leaned into him again. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and I pulled back to look at him.

“Are you going to feel responsible for this too?” I asked him pointedly, and he laughed a little.

“From your tone, I’m thinking I should say
No
,” he replied.

I nodded firmly. “Let’s just go home, okay?”
 

I got into the car, Patrick shut the door and walked around. He started driving towards my condo, and I fiddled with the radio until I found the classical music station, and closed my eyes.
We drove in silence, with the soft sounds of the music in the background. I think we were both lost in our own thoughts.

My emotions were all over the place. Relief was the foremost one. A relief that this wasn’t the end. That whatever regrets I had with my life, I had additional time to try and fix. Then, there was the quiet joy that I felt in Patrick’s presence. I wanted to touch him. To hold him, to assure myself that he was real. Of everything that I felt thankful for in my life, and there were many things, Patrick was the most unexpected gift of all.

For thirteen years, I’d shut off a door that lead to a vital part of me, and I had soldiered on, telling myself that I didn’t feel its absence. But I had felt it. I loved my parents and my friends, but when I was lonely or in pain, I often held back from reaching out to them, not wanting to interrupt their lives with my troubles. With Patrick, I’d found a sense of belonging. Of coming home.

The complete sense of peace and trust that came when I submitted to Patrick was wrapped in this. And tonight, I needed him to replace the fear of the last few hours with his loving domination.

***

“Hang on,” I said
as we turned into the parking lot. “You’ll need the code.” I told him the access code for my underground parking, he punched it in and we parked in my spot. “Hey, I don’t have any food at my place,” I said, embarrassed.

“Delivery services exist,” he said, amused. “
You don’t often have food at your place,” he continued conversationally. “Not a fan of grocery shopping?”

I appreciated the way he kept the topics light. We rode up on the elevator, and I made a face. “It’s because I get sucked in,” I replied to his comment about food. “I’ll see
the produce at the grocery store and I totally believe I’m going to cook. So I’ll buy a ton of food, and then real life ends up happening, and I throw it all out. Even now,” I added, my voice rueful. “I’m totally out of control at the grocery store.”

He laughed as we walked in my front door, and a tension I hadn’t realized I was
still feeling drained from me as I entered my condo. Patrick noticed, and drew me into his body, rubbing my arms gently.

“It’s over now,” he said.

I nodded. “I was so terrified,” I said, my voice small. “He was so detached from everything. At any moment, he could have turned on me. He just didn’t care anymore…”

Patrick just held me, let me talk and wiped away my tears as they fell. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. “Hey, my parents. You didn’t call them?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t sure if I should,” he replied hesitantly. “It was a judgement call, and I didn’t know what you’d want me to do. Tension isn’t good for your mother, and those hours when you were trapped in my house…” He drew a deep inward breath and resumed. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

I sighed in relief. I wouldn’t have wanted to inflict that on my parents either.
“I’m glad,” I replied. “You made the right call. They might not see it that way though.”

“Oh, I’m well aware
that they are going to be extremely displeased with me,” he said, his voice filled with humour. “You owe me.”

I giggled through the tears, and cupped his ass with my hands. “I’m sure I can find a way to make it up,” I said.

“Oh, I’m sure you can as well. Now, what can I do for you? Can I run you a bath?”

That sounded amazing. I pulled back and nodded. “Sit,” he said, as he went into the bathroom, but I didn’t obey, and followed him into the bathroom, flipping the toilet lid down and sitting on it, while he opened the taps and let the bath fill up.

“I don’t want to be alone,” I said, embarrassment tingeing my voice.

His voice softened immediately. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be,” I told him. “It isn’t like either of us has any experience knowing how to deal with this kind of thing.”

My stomach growled right then, loudly, interrupting what I was going to say next. “Well,” he said, “I do know what to
do next. Order us some food. Any thoughts on what you want to eat?”

“Indian,” I said promptly. For some reason, Indian food was the only thing I wanted, maybe because I associated it so closely with Patrick.

“Indian it shall be,” he responded, and pulled out his phone and dialed.

“You have Indian food on speed dial?” I teased, and he shot me a look that clearly said
Of course
.

The bath had filled up, so I turned the water off, and added a generous squirt of bubble bath liquid. A smell of jasmine and sandalwood filled the air
, and I took my clothes off and stepped in, hissing in pleasure as the heat of the water almost burned my skin.

“I can add more cold water,” Patrick said, his voice amused, and I shook my head.

“Don’t you dare,” I replied. “Join me?”

My bathtub wasn’t big. Patrick got in, and I was scrunched somewhat awkwardly, my back leaning against his chest, but my knees folded so I would fit. But I didn’
t want it any other way. I closed my eyes, and just let the warmth of the water fully permeate me. The steam rose in the air, and I slowly relaxed. Patrick held me close, his arms around my waist, and I rested my head on his shoulders.

Suddenly, I felt his dick nudge my ass, and I giggled. “Ignore it,” he said ruefully. “Horrible timing. But there’s no way I can hold you so close to me and not be hard.”

I smiled. “I’m flattered,” I said.

“Not a statement of flattery, Lisa,” he said, his voice amused. “Just a statement of fact.”

We lay there, chatting once a while about nothing very important, as the water slowly cooled. Then his phone rang, and I made a face as he got out of the bath, dripping all over me, and reached for it. “It’s the food,” he said, reaching for a towel. “Finish up, I’ll get the door.”

When I got out, he had laid the food out on my dining table. Naan, spinach, potatoes, butter chicken and saffron rice. I raised an eyebrow at him, reaching for a piece of naan bread. “How many people did you order for?” I asked him.

He rolled his eyes at me. “I’m helping stock your refrigerator,” he said dryly. “Besides, I didn’t know what you wanted.”

“This is brilliant,” I told him, sitting at the table and helping myself to food. He did the same, and we ate quietly, our silence only broken by my appreciative sighs. When I was finally full, I pushed my plate away, and smiled at
him. “No dessert?” I teased.  He just smiled at me in reply.

I wa
nted him. But tonight, I wanted more from him than just sex. I needed to be completely in his control. I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure how my request would be received. We weren’t still completely back to the stage where I could ask him to dominate me without a twinge of worry.
In for a penny, in for a pound,
I told myself philosophically, and looked at him. “Patrick,” I said quietly. “I need my Dom tonight.”

There was silence between us for a minute, and then he looked at me. His gaze was relaxed. “Are you sure?” he asked. “The last time you were traumatized and stressed, it wasn’t exactly the best time to play.”

I exhaled in frustration. Fuck this shit. I was tired of apologizing for my sins. “Yes,” I snapped. “I made a mistake. I do learn from them, you know. I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

A slow, amused smile spread across his face. “Just new mistakes then?” he asked me. “Like snapping at your Dom?” His voice had changed. Hardened, taking on those dominant, in-control tones that sent an electric shock of arousal all through my body. Oh, I was in so much trouble.

“Bedroom,” he ordered me. “Take off all your clothes. Kneel on the floor and wait for me. And while you are kneeling,” he added, amused. “You might think of what a bad idea it is to snap at me.”

“Yes, Dr. Anderson,” I muttered as I got up and went to obey.