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Chapter Nineteen
His heart stuck in his throat waiting for Devaney to answer. For her to say she thought it was disgusting and she was going to report him to the medical board and the authorities. Or to say it didn’t bother her, precisely, but she wanted to be his only grown-up patient.
He’d had women ask him for that before, and while he’d considered it, he’d ultimately decided he couldn’t give that up. Being a pillar of the fetish community was just too much a part of who he was to sacrifice. If Devaney asked, the equation might come out differently because he was almost certain she was the one, his little, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“I don’t think so. But…”
She snapped her mouth shut and shook her head, the color in her cheeks darkening to a dusty rose.
“But what?”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“Nothing you have to say is ridiculous.”
Her mouth wrenched to the side and he wanted to scoop her up, cuddle and hold her in his lap, make them both feel good. But he also suspected if he did that she’d melt further into little space and they were having a grown-up discussion so best to wait until after. Then he’d take her in his arms and not let her go.
“This is so new, I still can’t believe it’s really happening. So it seems like a lot to ask if…” She looked up at him, eyes impossibly round as she swallowed, and then said, “Even though you’re doing those things with other people, if I’d still be special?”
Those cornflower blues were going to be the death of him, even when they looked more grey like they did in the dimmed lighting. Wide open and vulnerable, framed by her delicate lashes—yep, he was a goner.
“Oh, babygirl. You’re the most special. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. And even though a lot of the things I do with my little patients I do with you too, there are some things I’d only do with you. If you want to. I never want you to feel like I’m rushing you.”
“Like what, though? What would you only do with me?”
Of course she was going to ask. And of course he’d answer. He was used to having frank conversations about sex and kink and bodies and limits but there was still a pinch of awkwardness about it, even after all these years. Even after she’d been brave and told him what she wanted.
“Well, I don’t kiss my little patients,” he said, and leaned forward to press his lips to her soft cheek and to just in front of her ear. “And not to be crude, but I don’t stick my dick in them either.”
Hearing pretty, polite, and proper Devaney Bishop snort had to be one of the best feelings on earth.
“You definitely haven’t done that to me. Pretty sure I’d remember.”
He didn’t mean for his voice to come out as a growl, but with Devy flirting so prettily, how could a man be expected to control himself? “I promise you will, buttercup. So what do you think, Devy? Ready to give this a try?”
The eager way she nodded was all the answer he needed.
* * *
“Devaney Norfolk?”
She’d asked him to use her maiden name for this scene and though it shouldn’t have mattered at all—she was clearly over Carter, and he held no sway over her despite the fact that she still used his name—he was selfishly glad. It also felt like another piece of herself that she’d given to him: this is who I used to be.
Devy waved nervously from the chair she’d parked herself in in the waiting room, and then grabbed her purse and stood, walked toward him, fingers knitted in the straps of her bag.
“Hi there, I’m Doctor Southerland. Or you can call me Doctor Eric. Most of my patients do.”
Most of his little patients anyway.
She shook his hand and he could feel the slight tremor in them so he broke character for a second to lean down and murmur in her ear.
“Y’okay, Devy? You sure about this?”
“Mm-hmm,” she nodded. “Very sure. Just nervous. Excited.”
“Alright. You let me know if that changes. Remember what you say if you need to stop?”
“Red.”
