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After Dr. Schmidt finished the exam, she stood from her stool at the end of the examination table and tossed her gloves into the garbage. “Friends you may be, but you’re the first woman he has requested I skip lunch for.”
Presley lowered her legs from the stirrups, covering herself with the blanket, able to look the doc in the eye again. “I’m sorry about that.”
Dr. Schmidt smiled, crinkling her soft brown eyes as she tucked a fallen strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Don’t be. I’m happy to help Dmitri.”
From the laugh lines around Dr. Schmidt’s eyes, Presley assumed she was in her mid-fifties, and while she doubted Dmitri had a personal relationship with the doctor, what did she know? Dr. Schmidt was older but beautiful, with womanly curves, and Presley could see how a man would find her attractive.
The doc grabbed the swab containers off the examination table and strode toward the wooden desk across the room, where she used her pen to write something on the sides. “Dmitri told me you’re new to the scene.”
Presley blinked, totally shocked that that had come from her mouth. “Um . . . yes . . . I am, Dr. Schmidt.”
“Please call me Mary.” The doc turned to her, swabs in hand, and her eyes warmed. “I know it’s very nerve-racking. I remember when I was first in the scene, too, and how uncomfortable I felt.”
Presley shifted against the table, the paper rustling beneath her. “Oh, you live the lifestyle?”
“My husband and I did.” Mary approached and leaned a hip against the side of the examination table next to Presley. “Did Dmitri not tell you?”
Presley chastised herself for being so shocked. Of course Dmitri would send her to someone who lived the lifestyle. He probably associated and trusted them most. “No, I’m sorry, he never said.”
“Not surprised.” Mary shrugged. “He’s such a private person that I doubt he’d freely offer up any information about others.”
Oddly enough, Presley had relaxed in this woman’s presence. “Do you both belong to the dungeon?”
Sadness swept over Mary’s features, darkening her eyes. “I’m afraid my husband, Charles, died four years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” At Mary’s soft nod of thanks, Presley wanted to reach out to comfort her, but instead, she asked, “Are you a member?”
Misery etched into Mary’s features and she shook her head. “When Charles, my Master, died, so did my need to play in a club. I have no desire to scene with anyone else.”
Presley’s heart clenched. Mary portrayed kindness, and she was still so young to spend the rest of her days alone. Yet at the same time, it all confused Presley. Why would Dmitri trust Mary about a dungeon matter if she didn’t belong to the dungeon? “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you know Dmitri?”
Mary gave a warm smile. “Through Charles.”
Presley wanted to push more yet didn’t think it right, considering Mary hadn’t offered more in her explanation. Besides, Dmitri’s life wasn’t hers to dig in to, even if the man behind Club Sin made her curious. “Thank you for seeing me on your lunch hour.”
“You’re welcome.” Mary returned to the desk to grab the swabs. “I’ll send the swabs and your blood tests off today. You can pick up the documentation on Wednesday.”
“I’m actually heading away until Friday.” Presley shifted on the bed, hanging her legs off the side. “Do you mind if I come then?”
Mary turned to her, and a pain she clearly couldn’t hide shadowed her eyes. “Friday works fine. The receptionist will have the documents for you at the front desk. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact me. A friend of Dmitri’s is a friend of mine.” She winked. “That means discounts on your bills.”
Presley’s heart reached out to the woman, and she wished they hadn’t spoken of Charles. Mary had helped her out, and all Presley had done was remind her of her loss. “Speaking of that, do I pay the receptionist now or on Friday?”
Opening the door to the examination room, the doctor gave a sad smile. “By discounts, I mean you don’t pay.”
Without another word, Mary left the room, leaving Presley wondering what would make her owe Dmitri enough never to charge him for her services when she wasn’t a member of Club Sin. More important, who was Charles?
* * *
Wednesday nights at Mickey’s sports bar had become a tradition for the Masters of Club Sin, even if only three—which included Dmitri—had attended tonight. In front of him, one large flat-screen displayed the football game. Booths were to the left, but he and the two other Masters sat atop wooden stools in front of a thick oak table in the center of the bar.
Dmitri inhaled the aroma of the greasy food wafting from the kitchen down on the right. He enjoyed the loud banter in the pub and was more than pleased that half of the week was behind him.
Each day took longer to end than the one before it, since Presley had stayed heavy on his mind. All her innocence and her beautiful reactions to him had trapped him in desirable and dominant thoughts, making his days long and nights too short.
He finished off his last buffalo wing, wiping his fingers and face with a napkin. Whereas his stomach felt bloated from the obscene numbers of wings and two beers he’d consumed, Aidan’s head of jet-black hair was bowed to his plate. He ate enough food to feed a small village.
After Aidan all but inhaled another chicken wing, his gray eyes flicked to Dmitri. “How’d it go with that sub, Presley, on Sunday?” He shook his head in mirth, holding a new wing in front of his face. “Cora talked about her so much when I had a scene with her last weekend that I had to order her to silence.”
