Seduced By My Doms BN
Read Seduced By My Doms BN Online
Authors: Jenna Jacob
Tags: #BDSM, #BDSM Erotic Romance, #Erotic Romance, #Menage, #MFM, #Bondage, #Spanking, #Dominant, #submissive
Seduced By My
Doms
The
Doms
of Genesis, Book 5
Jenna Jacob
Seduced By My
Doms
The
Doms
of
Genesis, Book 5
Jenna Jacob
Published by Jenna Jacob
Copyright 2015 Dream Words, LLC
Edited by:
Riane
Holt &
Kasi
Alexander
Cover Art by: Dee Allen
ePub
ISBN 978-0-9864306-0-2
Print ISBN 978-0-9864306-9-5
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of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places,
characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are
fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or
establishments is solely coincidental.
To Sean
With all my love,
forever and a day.
A Special Thank You to
Melissa, Amy,
Shayla, Isabella, Dee,
Riane
,
Kasi
,
Tracy, Lindsey,
Brea, and Rhonda.
ONE
“Is there a full moon tonight, or what? This is beyond
crazy,” I mumbled, striding to the nurses’ station and sidling up next to
Cindy, my best friend and supervisor.
Without taking her dark eyes off the patient chart in her
hand, she nodded. “It’s balls to the wall, that’s for sure. Oh, and Dr.
Reynolds just informed me, EMS is
en
route again.
E.T.A. is six minutes.”
The Emergency Room of Highland Park Hospital, where Cindy
and I worked had been filled to capacity since my shift began at noon. The
entire unit had been slammed with patients from a six-car
pile
up
on the Interstate. Cindy and I hadn’t had time to utter more than a
few words all night, and with the waiting room still packed, that wasn’t likely
to change.
“Somebody needs to take away the baton from whoever’s
leading this parade.” I grumbled, waiting for the printer to spit out discharge
papers for a six year old with tonsillitis.
“They will, in two more hours at shift change.” Cindy
laughed then quickly sobered. “Hey, if you’ll keep an eye on my patients in
two, six, seven, and fourteen, I’ll take the guy coming in.”
Cindy’s offer, though benign, spiked my suspicion. She never
passed off her patients and the concern lining her face made me even more wary.
Cindy was hiding something from me and I aimed to find out what.
“Who are they bringing in, the Pope?” I joked.
“No. A bunch of drunk frat boys decided to beat the shit out
of some guy.”
“Piece of cake. Let me drop these papers off to my patient
in twelve and prep the trauma room,” I offered. “My guy in three is being
admitted, and my woman from eight is down in x-ray. They’re so swamped, she
won’t be back for another hour or so.”
“I said I’d take the new guy.”
Cindy’s tone was unusually short, and I shot her my best
bitch,
please
look.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized with a heavy sigh. “Just cover
my patients, okay? I’ll take them back as soon as I can.”
“Why do you suddenly think I’m not qualified to handle the
patient coming in?” My voice held a bitter edge as I scowled at my bestie. “An
hour ago, I was sopping up blood from a dude who’d nearly cut off his leg with
a chain saw. I think I can handle a guy who’s been in a fight. Unless you
question my abilities, in which case, I find your lack of confidence insulting”
“It’s not that you can’t handle it, Liz. It’s that I don’t
want
you to.”
“Why not?” I countered.
She wrapped a gentle hand around my elbow. Her dark eyes
swam in a pool of compassion. “Liz, you’re an amazing trauma nurse. I’ve never
once questioned your skills. They’re impeccable. This isn’t about the job. It’s
about
you
. I love you, and I don’t want you dealing with what’s coming
through that door. Can’t we just leave it at that?”
“No, we can’t. What is it you’re trying to protect me from?
Christ, I’m thirty-one years old. I’ve been a nurse longer than most of the
doctors on rotation here.”
She exhaled a heavy sigh as a look of resignation settled
over the delicate bones of her slender face. “The guy they’re bringing in is
gay. He told the cops that a bunch of homophobic assholes beat him up. He’s in
pretty bad shape.”
My heart lurched to my throat. Swallowing tightly, I tried
to detach my personal emotions from my professional duties. Digging deep, I
squared my shoulders. “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to coddle
me. Just let me do my job, okay?”
As I turned on my heel to walk away, Cindy gripped my arm
tighter. “Liz, you’ve been through hell and back, after
Dayne
…”
She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
“Killed himself? Yes, I know.” Simply saying the words brought
a rush of anguish so bitter and hot, I clenched my jaw to keep from howling.
“Take my patients. Please. Let me deal with the beating
victim.”
I shook my head. “No. I need to do this. I
have
to.
For
Dayne’s
sake as well as my own.”
Cindy frowned in defeat. “If the ghosts become too real,
come find me. I’ll take over for you. Understood?”
With a weak smile, I nodded. “Don’t worry. They won’t.”
The double doors swung wide. “Bay one,” Cindy called out as
the paramedics wheeled in a thin, young man covered in blood.
As the trauma team raced into the room, Cindy and I ran in
behind them. In a familiar and well-choreographed ballet, we moved around each
other seamlessly, each knowing precisely what role we played.
After easing the patient from the gurney to the bed, Dr.
Reynolds and I began assessing the man’s injuries while two fellow nurses cut
off his clothes. Cindy’s fingers flew over the keys of her tablet as a
paramedic read from the run sheet. Multi-tasking, I continued my own evaluation
while making note of the man’s vitals
en
route.
Trying to stay focused on helping him, I noticed the patches of blonde hair—not
covered in blood—were the same color of sun-bleached wheat as
Dayne’s
. So were the man’s aqua blue eyes.
Don’t go there. This isn’t the time or place to be
mourning
Dayne
.
Running an IV, I took a new set of vitals, watching as
Reynolds’s poked and prodded checking for internal injuries. The patient’s face
was swollen and bloodied. He had a large contusion on his forehead and a deep
laceration over his right eyebrow. Blood oozed from his nose and lips, and he
had a gash above his ear that looked to be about eight centimeters long. The
chicken-shit bastards had tried to beat the poor guy to death by the looks of
him.
Doctor Reynolds pressed his fingers under the young man’s
rib cage, causing him to scream in agony.
“Hang in there, sweetheart,” I assured him in a calm voice.
“We’re going to fix you up. Tell me your name.”
“Ever,” he murmured.
I gently lifted his top lip, split and bleeding to discover
both his front teeth missing, as well as badly bleeding gums and a deep
laceration on the side of his tongue. It was a wonder he hadn’t choked to death
before the paramedics arrived.
“Evan?” I asked, leaning in close.
“Trevor,” he sobbed. “I want
Daddy
,”
“You just relax, Trevor. We’ll call your dad as soon as we
can, honey. My name is Liz and that’s Dr. Reynolds.” I nodded toward the
physician wearing a scowl as he listened to Trevor’s chest. “What’s your last
name, Trevor?”
“Ham…
mond
,” he mumbled then sniffed.
Coaxing as much medical history as I could from him, I
jotted his answers on the bed sheet with a surgical marker. Concerned when he
couldn’t remember his address or social security number, I suspected concussion,
but thankfully he wasn’t throwing up or losing consciousness. Both a plus.
“I know this isn’t the kind of party you planned for your
Thursday night,” I teased, trying to put him at ease. “We’re going to give you
an IV cocktail that will take the pain away just as soon as we can. Do you like
tequila or vodka?”
He tried to smile but winced instead. I gently patted his
shoulder. “Don’t worry, you just lay back and relax and let us take care of
you, okay?”
Trevor gave a brave nod as he stared up at me with
hauntingly familiar blue eyes.
“You’re going to be just fine.” I forced a reassuring smile.
Being unable to administer a narcotic to take the edge of
his discomfort made my heart ache. But until the extent of his injuries had
been determined, I couldn’t give him so much as an aspirin.
“I want a fast scan of his belly and chest x-rays,” Reynolds
ordered as I fit an oxygen mask over Trevor’s nose and mouth.
Popping the stethoscope into my ears, I listened to his
chest while another nurse slid a portable x-ray machine alongside Trevor’s bed.
I knew his right lung had collapsed. Turning as the lab tech squeezed in next
to me, finding a fat vein in Trevor’s arm, I began prepping a chest tube for
the doctor.
Reynolds held the finished chest x-ray up to the light,
studying the black and white image. Narrowing my eyes, I could make out three
broken ribs on the right and one on the left. Handing off the readied chest
tube to the doctor, I issued an inward curse. Though Trevor needed the
procedure, inflating a patient’s lung was horrifically painful. It seemed
sadistic to make the poor man suffer more torture.
“I’m going to fix you up so you can breathe better, son,”
Dr. Reynolds announced. “There’ll be a sting and some pressure, but I’ll be
quick.”
Sting and pressure, my ass
, I scoffed internally.
Clasping Trevor’s hand in mine, I gave a gentle squeeze. As if sensing the
procedure was going to hurt, he gripped my hand firmly and closed his eyes.
Trevor issued a soft whimper as Reynolds made the initial
incision. But when he pressed the large tube between the soft tissue of the rib
cage, Trevor’s eyes flew open wide. A brutal cry of agony ripped from the back
of his throat. He sucked in a huge gasp of air. I did as well, not realizing
that I’d been holding my breath. Watching Trevor’s chest inflate and continue
to rise and fall evenly, I bit back a sigh of relief.
“It’s all over. You did good,” I praised, smoothing my
fingers over an unbloodied patch of his hair. I watched as the tortured
expression slowly melted from his face.
“Daddy,” he whimpered.
“Yes. Let’s try to reach your dad.”
I glanced over my shoulder as Monica—the social worker whose
job it was to notify next of kin—popped into the room as if she’d read my mind.
Hurrying over to the bed, the short, round, fifty-something Hispanic woman’s
brow furrowed as she regarded Trevor with compassion.
“Who can I call for you, and let them know you’re here?”
“Daddy,” Trevor moaned. “Call Daddy.”
“What’s your father’s name and phone number?” Monica asked,
pen and paper in hand.
“Not my dad,” Trevor exhaled on a bleak sigh. “My Daddy.”
Monica looked confused.
“Is Daddy your life partner?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Ah.” Monica nodded in understanding. “What’s his phone
number, honey?”
Trevor paused a moment, then slowly slurred out the numbers.
Monica jotted them down then hurried out of the room, to make the call.
Nurses hovered, cleaning up Trevor’s wounds as the fast
scan—an ultrasound—of his abdomen and spleen was administered. Dr. Reynolds
studied the display screen as I helped sponge the blood from Trevor’s hands and
face. He needed stitches in the gash over his eyebrow, but I was more concerned
about the unhappy expression lining Reynolds’ face.
“I don’t like the looks of that,” he announced, grimly.
“There’s tissue disruption and blood around the spleen. I’ll call upstairs and
order a CT. Make sure he gets up there as soon as his airway is stable.
“Will do,” I replied.
Monica breezed back into the room. A trace of anxiety
reflected on her face. “Trevor, no one answered the number you gave me. Is
there a different one I can reach Daddy at?”
“No,” he replied miserably. “He…
lef
his phone ah house. We were
habing
dinner
wiff
Ika
. Call M…Mika.”
“What’s Mika’s number?” she asked patiently.
“
Dunno
. Cell phone in
pock’o
my jeans.”
Digging through the bag of Trevor’s shredded clothing, I
plucked the device free. The screen was shattered. I couldn’t read anything
beneath the web of fractured glass. Monica frowned in concern.
“Your phone’s broken,” she said sympathetically. “What’s Mika’s
last name? I’ll call directory assistance.”
Trevor’s shoulders sagged. He looked defeated and
drained…with good reason.
“
Jus
call
jeni
sisss
,” he whispered.
“Jenny? You have a sister named Jenny?” I asked leaning in
close.
“No,” he moaned. “
Cluv
Genesis.”
“Club Genesis?” Monica repeated.
“Yeah.” With a weary nod, Trevor closed his eyes.
“I’ll call right now,” she promised before scurrying out of
the room, nearly colliding into another nurse, Judy, who seemed unusually
frantic.
“Dr. Reynolds? EMS just pulled up. We’ve got another one.
Critical,” she announced.
“Who dropped the ball and didn’t bother to tell us they were
en
route?” Reynolds barked. “For the love of… Give it
to Glendale.”
“He’s working a code blue two doors over,” Judy informed
him.
“Son of a bitch,” the doctor muttered under his breath.
Ripping off his gloves, Reynolds angrily tossed them into
the trash. Storming out of the room, he called over his shoulder, “Take this
one up to CT stat and let me know the minute he comes back.”
“Will do,” I assured, but the doctor was already gone.
Noting Trevor’s blood pressure and oxygen saturation level,
I felt confident his airway was stable. A second later Cindy darted back in.
“CAT lab is ready,” she announced. “Is he good to go?”
I nodded affirmatively before she helped me prep Trevor for
transport. After they wheeled him out the door, I grabbed a cup of coffee at
the nurses’ station as the last of my original patients walked out.
Plopping into the chair next to Monica, she ended a call on
her cell phone and picked up the landline at the desk. “Sorry, but I’ve had
back-to-back calls from ICU,” she explained. “I’m just now calling the bar to
try and find Trevor’s Daddy.”
Nodding, I took a sip of coffee and nearly spit the bitter
brew out. Wrinkling my nose, I tossed the cup in the trash as Monica punched in
a phone number. Just then, her cell started to ring. With a groan she went to
hang up the landline. Lifting the receiver from her hand, I motioned for her to
take the call on her cell.
