Dr. Attending (Midtown Memorial #4)

26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Caroline

I t’s embarrassing that the first thought running through my head as a leather handcuff gets tightened around my wrist is about how Morgan would be so jealous of me right now. Hell, I’m jealous of myself right now because what’s currently happening feels like an out-of-body experience.

“And if it gets to be too much,” Weston drawls, testing the fit of the cuff with his index finger.

He glances up, quirking his brow expectantly when I don’t respond.

Oh . . . that was a question.

I blink to try to focus, but it’s really hard because he looks ridiculously hot right now, kneeling on the floor between my legs as he prepares me for whatever he has planned.

“I’ll tell you to stop,” I answer, feeling a wave of heat rush down my spine at his nod of approval.

As soon as we finished our conversation in his office, Weston tossed me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing and marched us to his bedroom. I made a sassy comment or two on the way there, obviously, but I didn’t fight him. It would have been pointless because I want what’s about to happen just as much as he does.

When we made it to his dimly lit bedroom, he silently dropped me on top of his comforter before walking away to grab a slender black trunk that he keeps under his bed. Even though I had a few guesses about what was in there, I couldn’t bring myself to ask as he rolled it over to me. There was something about the anticipation of not knowing that made me even more turned on, especially once he started talking about safeword communication.

Since I’ve never been with a partner where I would have had the opportunity to use a safeword, I fumbled to come up with something that made sense. In the books that I’ve read, they all sound so forced and formal, like I would roll my eyes if I had to say them in real life. Choosing “ scalpel ” as a safeword? Come on. It makes me cringe just thinking about it.

So when Weston suggested that we use the word “ stop ,” I was a little surprised because I didn’t think that was an option. But once he explained that there aren’t finite rules we have to follow with kink, it made sense—it’s about what works best for the two of us.

And while I’m still blissfully na?ve when it comes to what, exactly, he has in store for the rest of the evening, I know one thing without a doubt—I might not have a Daddy kink, but I do have a Weston Southerland kink.

“And if you can’t speak?” he asks, testing me to ensure I remember what we discussed.

I feel my heart start to thunder in my chest as I think through all of the reasons why I wouldn’t be able to use a verbal safeword.

“I’ll shake my head a few times.”

His hazel eyes flicker with pride, but he doesn’t say anything as he places my hand in my lap and gives it a firm squeeze.

I watch him intently, trying not to squirm when his fingers trail over my knees and down my legs. His touch feels like fire, igniting something within me that I’ve never tapped into before—something deliciously submissive that allows me to simply turn my brain off and someone else take control.

Weston inhales sharply when he begins to wrap a cuff around my ankle, and if I could make out his whispered curse above the thrum of desire whooshing through my ears, I would swear that he just muttered something about my leather boots.

I ignore it and try to control my excitement as he methodically locks me into the cuffs like this is just another step to a case in the operating room.

When he finishes, he pats my knee once and looks up. “You ready?”

His expression is so earnest. So genuine that it makes my heart swell because you would never know that we had such a raw conversation earlier in the evening.

I look down at him, suddenly overcome by the urge to kiss him. So I press my mouth to his, hoping that it conveys how much I trust him . . . and how much I’m trying.

When Weston told me that he wanted me to give him a chance, I knew without a doubt that I wanted the same thing—I really did, especially because my feelings for him have only grown over the past week that we’ve spent together. He’s been attentive, thoughtful, and patient with me, even when I purposely push his buttons. He’s the kind of man that I shouldn’t let slip away.

But as much as my heart wants to give in, there’s nothing I can do to get over the fact that I’m still not sure I’m ready to be a mother, or at least a motherly figure. And it’s not fair to him, or to his son, to promise something that I have no idea if I’m ever going to be able to give.

Fortunately, the honesty of our talk didn’t affect what’s happening between us. If anything, it only gave me a deeper awareness of what it means to meet someone where they are.

Does part of me think it’s a little wild that this man is interested in exploring kinky things together when he won’t engage in simple penetration?

Yeah—it feels like one should come before the other. But I also understand his decision completely. And if I’m being honest, I respect him even more for it.

“Ready,” I confirm as I pull back from his lips, feeling the tension between us grow palpable.

Weston nods and stands from his kneeling position in front of me, now towering over my body as I sit on the bed. A thrill rushes through me as his eyes heat, and he tilts his chin to direct me.

“On your back in the center of the bed,” he commands, his voice low and almost harsh. “Now.”

It’s almost like a switch inside him flipped with my consent and the tender man I’ve come to know instantly transforms into the dominant one I've been aching for.

I don’t hesitate to follow his instructions because I’m desperate to relieve the growing throb between my thighs.

As Weston opens and closes the trunk, my fingers drift to the buttons of his shirt because I figure that I might as well help speed things along.

I won’t lie—I had other clean clothes that I could have tossed on this morning instead of raiding his closet. But there was just something comforting about getting whiffs of his scent throughout the day, like he was here with me, even when he wasn’t.

Plus, it was priceless to watch his reaction as he walked into his office. I could practically hear his thoughts, like he was wondering if I was wearing anything underneath.

Spoiler alert . . . I wasn’t.

I make it to the last button when Weston smacks the mattress hard with something that looks like a baton, causing me to jump in surprise.

“That stays on,” he growls.

I don’t know if it was fear, adrenaline, or pure arousal that just shot through my body, but I can now feel my pulse in my ears as I drop my hands to my side and watch him climb onto the bed.

He’s wearing a pair of fitted black briefs that show off the sharp cut of his waist, and I have to stop myself from salivating over the fact that I can see his impressive bulge fighting to escape.

One of his powerful legs swings over me, straddling my thighs. It’s almost like he wants to keep me in place, which is a ridiculous thought because there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be right now.

He twirls the bar in his hands a few times before using the rounded tip to drag the hem of the shirt over my hips, letting the fabric rest on my lower belly.

A low hiss rumbles out of his mouth as his eyes drop to my bare sex.

“Caroline,” he warns, his tone dangerous. “Please tell me that you didn’t walk around my house wearing my shirt and nothing else on a day that I wasn’t here to enjoy it.”

I flutter my lashes innocently, trying hard to stifle my giggle. “And if I did?”

He drags his attention away from my pussy, his eyes narrowing on mine in challenge. “Then you must be brattier than I thought.”

“Thirty percent,” I reply with a wink.

Weston’s jaw clenches. “Trust me . . . I’m well aware.”

I have to take a second to make sure I heard him correctly because he shouldn’t know what the results of my kink quiz were—I never shared them, despite his relentless requests throughout the day. But before I can question him, he begins to drag the tip of the bar lower.

The cool metal barely grazes my clit as it slides through my center, distracting me with the promise of pleasure.

I didn’t realize how badly I needed stimulation until this exact moment because I have to forcibly stop myself from grinding against the pipe he just shoved between my thighs.

“Do you know how a brat and tamer relationship dynamic typically works?” Weston asks, not giving me time to answer before he continues. “The brat acts out for attention, or amusement, consciously choosing to break their agreed-upon rules. The tamer then punishes the brat to earn their submission.”

I lick my lips, trying to think of a punishment that I wouldn’t like.

The doctor romance Morgan suggested made me curious about those types of relationships. So one night when I couldn’t sleep, I went on a Reddit deep dive about submissive punishments and learned two things.

One, people are incredibly creative when it comes to kink—the fact that a hairbrush can be used as an everyday spanking instrument sort of blew my mind.

And two, I was ridiculously down for all of it.

“Sounds hot,” I hum, thinking back on the fantasies I’ve had about the idea of trying something like that with the man who is on top of me.

“To you, sure,” Weston drawls, ignoring my obvious moan as he slowly slips the bar through my pussy. “But I’ve found that my pleasure comes from your pleasure, so the idea of taking that away from you with a punishment wasn’t exactly appealing to me.”

I try to arch my hips in search of friction, but he clicks his tongue and sinks onto his heels to hold me down.

“Until my new buddy Worth sent me a nice little suggestion this evening with your test results.”

He pauses like he’s expecting me to take issue with his admission.

I don’t.

I prop myself up on my elbows and arch my brow.

“Did he?” I ask, unable to hide my satisfaction.

The fact that he was so willing to understand what I like sexually that he found a way to access my results doesn’t irritate me—it only turns me on even more.

If Weston is surprised by my reaction, he doesn’t show it because his tone remains stunningly silky as he continues.

“Worth reminded me that while pain is one method of punishment, pleasure is another . . . well, forced pleasure in your case.” He holds up the dark metal rod that’s glistening with my arousal, like he’s giving some sort of private lesson on BDSM. “Do you know what this is?”

Even though I’m pretty sure I know, I go with an off-the-wall answer instead.

“A police baton for role play. Next question.”

Weston must already be deep in his dominant headspace because he doesn’t even quirk his lips in amusement.

“It’s a spreader bar,” he corrects. “A spreader bar that’s now soaked, thanks to you.”

His golden eyes flash darker as he reaches forward and brings it to my lips. “Clean it.”

I’d love to continue to fight back, to play along. But every nerve in my body is currently vibrating on a new stratosphere of need, and I want to see what it feels like to fully submit to him.

I hold his gaze as my mouth parts. My tongue connects with the tangy metal as he slides the bar through my lips, forcing me to taste myself.

“That’s my girl,” he praises as he drags the bar over my cheek, coating me in a combination of spit and cum. “You love being messy for me, don’t you? But only for me, right?”

His tone is filled with cool indifference despite the depth behind his words.

“Only for you,” I whisper, confirming his unspoken question.

It’s not much, but it’s all I’m able to give him.

There’s nobody else. There won’t be anybody else.

Weston gives me a curt nod and crawls backward, stopping at the foot of the bed.

A ripple of excitement courses through me as he leans forward to attach one end of the bar to the D ring on my left ankle cuff. He grabs my other leg and moves it into place, spreading me wide as he attaches the other side.

I try to pinch my thighs together once he finishes because the sensation of being held open catches me off guard. It’s more vulnerable than I was expecting, and I can feel my heart beating faster in anticipation of what’s going to happen next.

Weston sinks back onto his heels again, his well-defined abdominal muscles clenching with each of his steady breaths. “Tell me, princess. Do you know why I’m about to punish you?”

My eyes drop to the huge bulge trying to fight its way out of his briefs.

“Because it clearly turns you on,” I respond on instinct.

I feel my cheeks flame under his harsh glare, kicking myself for not sticking to my promise of submission.

Whoops.

“One,” he warns, his tone dropping to that delicious octave that makes my lower belly curl with need.

I squint at him. “Are you really speaking to me like I’m a child right now?”

“Two.”

I roll my eyes because Weston and I have always had a constant push and pull of banter—that’s just how we communicate.And clearly, it’s not as easy to turn off as I thought it would be.

“Three,” he counts, reaching down to unlock a lever that spreads the bar several inches wider. “I’m happy to keep going all night . . . you just might not be able to handle it.”

My breath catches because if he’s talking about what I think he’s talking about, he’s absolutely right.

“Well,” I stammer, equally terrified and aroused by the idea of him making it to five. “I’m assuming that it has to do with me walking around in your shirt all day?”

Weston’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t answer me as he climbs off the bed and bends to grab what he needs.

I can’t see what he chooses because the leather bench is lower than the mattress. When he turns back around, he’s holding his hand behind his back.

“Sit up and put your hands behind your back,” he commands as he takes slow, deliberate steps in my direction.

I give him a mock salute. “Yes, officer.”

I can’t help myself from making the joke, but I do what he says.

When I try to track his movements, he hits the bed again.

“Eyes straight ahead,” he grits.

I whip my head around, focusing on the warm glow of the fireplace, even though I want nothing more than to see what’s happening as the mattress dips behind me.

With every second that passes, I can feel myself becoming more aroused. My breasts feel heavier with each breath, and my nipples ache to be touched by his fingers, rather than the soft cotton of his button-down.

Something pulls my hair behind my shoulders, but I can tell that it isn’t Weston because there’s no warmth there.

Before I can attempt to look, a padded fabric slips over my head, completely blacking out my vision. I try to blink to find a window of light, but the blindfold only tightens around me, bathing me in darkness.

Weston’s warm breath in my ear startles me, more intense now that I can’t see.

“This isn’t about the shirt,” he whispers, dragging the tip of something rigid down my right arm. “We didn’t have an agreement about it. Though from now on, if you purposely tease me like that again, you will be punished. And it won’t be a punishment like this, either. It will be exclusively for me. Understood?”

I suck in a nervous breath. “Understood.”

Fuck this is hot.

“Good.” He nips at my earlobe and pulls away, forcing me to wait for his next move. “We had an agreement that while you were staying with me this week, you would take a break from studying by a certain time each night. Did we not?”

“Uh . . .” I have to take a second to think because I’m distracted by his grip on my wrists. It feels like he’s fastening the cuffs to something.

“Four,” he snarls.

Shit.

“Sorry, um, yes.” I bite my lip, trying to think of an explanation that he would believe. “I was going to stop studying when you got home, but you were later than I expected, so I lost track of time.”

The mattress dips behind me, and the sound of sliding metal catches my attention before I realize that my arms are being pulled apart, the same way my legs were.

Weston places a guiding hand on my upper back.

“Lean back,” he growls, his voice like rough sandpaper against my other ear.

When I hesitate, he places his hand on my upper back to let me know that I won’t fall.

I lower myself to the bed, trying to adjust my position because the cold metal bar holding my hands on either side of my body feels like it’s digging into my low back.

Weston must sense my discomfort because he taps my side. “Hips up.”

I dig my feet and shoulders into the mattress like I’m doing a glute bridge, giving him room to slip something soft beneath me. He taps me again to let me know that I can drop down.

He tugs on the bar attached to my ankles, straightening my legs and causing all of my body weight to rest on the pillows beneath me. It almost feels like I’m doing some sort of modified backbend with my hips still arched in the air.

“Wes,” I whimper.

“Yes, princess?”

“I need . . .” I trail off because I don’t know what I need if I’m being honest.

I’m not uncomfortable, I just feel exposed and vulnerable—two things I’m not great at.

“I know what you need.” His hand cups the side of my face reassuringly. “You need to learn that there are consequences for not doing what you say you’ll do. For not taking time to recharge. And do you know how we’re going to teach you that lesson?”

“How?”

“By taking away your distractions.”

Weston’s finger brushes over my lips tenderly, almost like he’s applying ChapStick.

“You won’t be able to touch me, see me, taste me, hear me, or smell me. The only thing that you’ll be able to do is lie there while I make you come uncontrollably.”

A heavy pulse of arousal begins to pound through me. I’m not sure why he thinks that forcing me to orgasm is a punishment, but I am more than happy to take one for the team here . . . at least, I think I am.

“We’ll go to five. Four for being bratty. And one for good measure.”

I nearly stop breathing. I’ve never come that many times in a row in my life, not even when I spend an evening with my vibrator.

“Fi—”

He catches my chin before I can finish my protest, forcing something cold and hard between my lips. I hear a ratcheting sound and feel my jaw widen with each click until I can’t move my mouth.

I grunt in frustration, running my tongue along the rubber rim of the device to try to understand what it is.

Weston plants a tender kiss on my forehead. “Sorry, princess. I wanted to stuff your mouth instead, but you’re going to need to breathe through this.”

I try to respond, but my words come out sounding like garbled nonsense as my nose is pinched together, cutting off that airway.

“Remember to shake that head for me back and forth if you need me to stop. I won’t push you too far. I promise.”

I nod my head, feeling surprisingly calm even though I would probably be in a panic if this were anyone else.

“Just let go and focus on the pleasure,” he whispers before he slips something into my ears, and everything goes silent.