Chapter 15
MORGAN
Instead of giving me what I asked for, Damien drops the syringe into a metal pan, then pulls off his gloves with a snap.
“A—are you done?” I ask, confused about the sudden change as he approaches me. I don’t even realize I stood up until he’s just inches away, gazing down at me, his chest moving with heavy breaths.
“You’re turned on,” he murmurs, one hand coming to rest on the side of my neck where my pulse is fluttering like a caged bird.
“What? No!” I breathe, shaking my head. “That’s insane.”
Is it, though? My skin feels electric, tiny pinpricks skittering over my body. I told myself I was enjoying Marco getting what he deserves. Maybe I was enjoying watching Damien dole it out.
“Your pupils are dilated. Your breath rate’s increased. Your nipples are hard. You were squeezing your thighs together.”
I flush at the cool manner Damien lists my ‘symptoms’. Sometimes it feels like he knows more about me than I know about myself.
“Maybe I am,” I whisper. “Is that bad?”
Is he going to kick me out? Lose my number and remove himself from my life? Because I enjoy him being some kind of... vigilante killer just a bit too much?
Damien growls, herding me to the other side of the room.
“You like seeing a scalpel in my hand, princess?” His voice is so low, it’s practically a rockslide. “Or is it the latex gloves?”
“Y—yes,” I answer both questions. My lower lip trembles as I let him walk me backward until the backs of my thighs hit something. Damien reaches over me and pulls a sheet off whatever it is.
“Strip,” he commands. I blink up at him before turning around. My jaw unhinges when I spot a gynecologist’s chair.
“Why do you have this?” I ask, my voice sounding angry even to my own ears. Torturing vile men seems to be alright in my books, but having some kind of doctor kink and playing it out with other women? I guess that’s unacceptable.
The corner of Damien’s mouth lifts up into a lopsided smirk.
“Don’t worry, princess,” he drawls. “This piece has never been used for pleasure, trust me. Now, are you going to listen to me or do I need to make you?”
My eyes dart over his shoulders to where Marco is whining in pain.
“But, he’s—” I begin.
“He’s nothing. And nobody. But before he dies, he’s going to learn how a real man satisfies his princess.”
Holding his eyes, I reach for the button of my pants with shaking fingers. I toe off my shoes as I push my pants and panties down, then step out of them.
“The top too,” he instructs as he reaches for another box of gloves, giving me his back, a facsimile of the privacy a doctor grants their patient. The cold disinterest only fans the flames, and I quickly strip out of the rest of my clothes, wanting to obey him, wanting to tempt his gaze.
Damien gives me a perfunctory glance instead.
“What are you waiting for?” he asks before tilting his chin at the chair.
Gulping and feeling more self-conscious than I ever did at an exam, I climb up, hissing as my ass hits the cold leather.
Once I’m in position, I gingerly raise my legs up in the stirrups.
He positions a gooseneck exam light, sits on a rolling chair, and pulls up between my thighs. My legs are shaking as his nimble fingers strap them down, my breasts rising and falling with my anxious breaths.
“Are you breathing for me?” Damien asks, his silky voice cutting through Marco’s groans like an eraser through scribbles. He’s still not looking directly at me, intensifying the dizzying sense of being examined by a stranger. I nod jerkily, but he clicks his tongue. “Words, Miss Cole.”
Goosebumps spread over my skin at his clinically detached manner.
“Y—yes, Doctor,” I stutter.
Damien pulls up an instrument tray with gleaming steel objects that make my hair stand up. “Good girl. And your safe word is?”
“Red.”
“Red like blood,” he confirms, picking up a scalpel. Seeing the surgical tool in his hands brings an equal wave of fear as it does lust.
I blink as panic makes my ears ring. “What are you… N—no, I don’t want that!”
He grabs my calf with his free hand, the latex feeling impersonal against my skin.
“Shhh, princess. Do you trust me?” His thumb rubs little circles against my twitching muscles.
“Trust me not to hurt you?” Before I answer, he presses his lips against my inner thigh, the subtle rasp of his stubble making my back arch.
Damien whispers his next words against my skin: “I may be a monster, sweetheart. But I’m your monster. ”
Yes. He’s proved how low his tolerance for abusers is. Once we’re out of here, I’ll need to find out why. But for right now, I relax under his hand.
“I trust you, Damien,” I breathe, synchronizing my breaths with his.
He smiles as he brings the scalpel back up into my line of sight.
“Watch,” he commands, and I follow automatically.
I watch as he lowers the blade to my skin before pressing down ever so lightly.
I hardly feel the sting of steel parting flesh, and my hiss stems more from a psychological than a physiological reaction.
When blood wells up, just the tiniest drop, I feel my clit swell up with an echoing rush.
A barely audible moan escapes from between my lips. But Damien hears it.
“Fuck, yes, Morgan. You were fucking made for me,” he snarls, then bends his head to cup the tiny speck of blood with his mouth. He’s the one moaning now as he sucks, and I feel it between my legs, like his lips were wrapped around my clit.
When he’s done, he drops the scalpel into the kidney basin on the rolling tray. Instead of picking up a new instrument, he comes even closer and places a hand on each of my inner thighs, spreading my legs further.
“It’s time for your pelvic exam, Miss Cole,” he states matter-of-factly. My mouth falls open when he puts a hand on my lower stomach, then slowly penetrates me with a gloved finger. “No need for lubrication, I see,” he murmurs, making my cheeks burn. Why is that so embarrassing?
Damien pulls back and adds a finger, gently pressing down on my stomach as he palpates. I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips when he twists his hand and starts rubbing my G-spot with beckoning motions.
“Oh, god,” I whisper, arching up into Damien’s hand, wordlessly begging for more.
He chuckles and gives a hard, shallow thrust. “Not god. Doctor.”
Tension coils in my lower belly faster than it ever has, so fast I’m afraid, and more than a little embarrassed.
“Doctor, I’m—” I start, but he interrupts me.
“You’re what, Miss Cole? You’re going to orgasm during a pelvic exam? Filthy girl. So depraved.”
My moan echoes off the tiled walls, arousal and shame warring inside me in a combustible cocktail.
When Damien's lips finally wrap around my clit, the coil snaps, catapulting me into space. I come with a shriek, my thighs burning with my effort to close them, only to be thwarted by the stirrups and Damien’s broad shoulders.
I register a splashing sound, followed by Damien’s growl.
“Hell yes, princess. Squirt into my mouth.”
I must black out for a moment, because when I come to, Damien is naked and on top of me, his cock prodding at my still-pulsing entrance. When the tip slips in, I feel the cold metal of his piercing against my overheated flesh.
“It’s time to pay for the exam, Miss Cole,” he says coldly. “You’ve let your insurance lapse. So irresponsible.”
I’d laugh at his words if they didn’t send me right back into the tailspin of arousal.
This man has a stronger effect on me than any drug he might have in these cabinets.
He enters me, and I automatically attempt to wrap my legs around him.
When I try to raise my arms, I see he strapped my wrists down onto the handrests too.
I’m completely at his mercy. I sob in pleasure, from the freedom these restraints give me.
“This is for me, Miss Cole,” Damien snarls in my ear. “You’re not meant to be enjoying it.”
“No,” I protest weakly. “Get off me!”
Growling, Damien keeps pistoning his hips, the slap of flesh against flesh the only sound, the sensation of his cockhead and that unholy piercing rubbing against my most sensitive spots driving me toward another wild peak.
“You’re going to have my baby, Miss Cole.
Going to keep you chained here, naked and pregnant, ready to be used every time my dick gets hard.
” I stop breathing at the impact of his words.
What’s wrong with me that they turn me on more than the best porn ever did?
“And you make my dick hard all the fucking time, Miss Cole. All. The. Fucking. Time.”
“Doctor,” I sob, half playing along, half lost in our game. “Please, make me pregnant now.”
“Ah, fuck, princess!” he shouts, his hips stuttering, before he slams into me once, twice, a third time, then stills so deep it hurts. The pain pushes me over the edge again, and I cry out, clenching around him at the same time as he floods my womb.
After long minutes, Damien pushes up above me. He grabs my chin, balancing his weight on one hand, and checks my eyes.
“You good, precious?”
His soft voice brings tears to my eyes, but I nod, turning my head to kiss his wrist.
“I think I love you,” I whisper, my voice broken.
Damien’s eyes widen before he rolls his lips together.
“That’s the hormones talking,” he says, not unkindly.
“I’ll tell you later, then,” I say, sounding stronger. “And tomorrow, and the day after that. You’re my hero, Damien. My savior. Body, heart, and mind.”
His eyes are so soft now as he gazes down at me. He leans in to gently take my mouth with his, such a stark contrast to our earlier play. When he’s done exploring my mouth, he pulls back a few inches.
“I love you too, princess,” he says quietly. “I think I loved you since the moment our eyes connected in that office conference room.”
I smile through my tears, Damien’s handsome face blurring. Then I get a cramp in my calf and hiss.
“Ouch! I need to get up,” I whine, making him laugh.
“Alright, sweetheart.” He releases my wrists from the restraints, pulls out, and hops off the chair. It’s when I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding on for balance, that I spot Marco lying there, pale and unmoving. I can’t believe I forgot about him.
“Um, Damien? I think Marco bled out,” I murmur.
“Ah, hell, really?” He makes sure I’m holding onto the chair before he turns around and steps over to the surgical table, placing two fingers on Marco’s neck. He sighs before turning back to me. “Sorry, princess. I forgot to put tourniquets on him before fucking you.”
“That’s alright,” I mumble, feeling lost in a haze of surreality. It’s only been an hour or two since midnight, and this has already been the weirdest year. “But, um… What are we going to do with him now?”
“Don’t worry,” Damien replies, already unrolling a plastic tarp on the floor next to Marco’s corpse. “I have a friend with a crematorium who owes me.”
Yeah. Definitely surreal.