Diagnosis (Doctor Dom Volume 3) (A BDSM & Medical Play Novella) by Crescent Tara

Author:Crescent, Tara [Crescent, Tara]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2014-03-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Patrick:

I wanted to take her in a myriad of ways. I wanted to learn every inch of her body, and I wanted her to learn every inch of mine.

But not now.

Though we both enjoyed it tremendously, this was not the time for kinky sex. This was the time for us to hold each other and discover each other. This woman was filled with fascinating contrasts, and truth be told, I wanted to get to know her.

***

“Any place you want to go to for dinner?” I asked her in the car. I didn’t realize it, but I was holding my breath. Please pick a restaurant. Show me something of yourself. Don’t just leave it up to me. Don’t be Andrea.

“Do you like Ethiopian food?” she asked me. “I know a great place on the Danforth.”

I smiled at her, far more relieved than I should have been about something so simple and trivial. But, like I’d told her before, we both carried baggage. And I had no desire to control her outside of the bedroom.

“Lead on,” I said cheerfully.

***

Had I thought a little bit about what Ethiopian food entailed, I would have suggested we go somewhere else. We were seated in a tiny booth, both of us sitting on a bench, cross-legged in front of a low table. A big platter of food was placed in front of us, and the waitress left us.

“You eat with your hands,” Lisa said cheerfully. I nodded. I had eaten Ethiopian food before and quite liked it. But I’d never eaten it with a woman I craved constantly. Our fingers kept brushing against each other as we reached for the same food, and to watch her tuck little morsels of food in her mouth was the sweetest kind of temptation. All I wanted to do was fuck her.

For fuck’s sake, Anderson, I groaned to myself, shocked by the desperation with which I wanted her. Her tongue reached out and licked a tiny bit of food from the tip of her mouth, and I growled, unable to help myself.

She looked startled for a second, and then, she realized the reason for the growl, and that slow, sexy smile curved on her face. “I’m flattered,” she said.

I grinned and changed the subject. “You play guitar in a band? Tell me about that.”

She pouted a bit, but answered my question. “I used to. My friend Mandy is a singer. When she was younger, she experimented with a lot of different styles – punk, rock, even heavy metal once.” She shuddered at that memory. “I was her bass guitarist.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Just work. Starting your own business takes a lot out of you. I was working crazy hours, and my schedule was really unpredictable. I couldn’t commit to setting aside time for rehearsal.”

“Do you regret stopping?” I asked her. My parents had enrolled me in piano lessons as a kid. I had hated it. But Lisa spoke of music with a fondness I had never felt.

“Sometimes,” she said. “She’s now singing jazz mostly.

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