Page 74 of The Masquerade: Room 2

“We figure it out as we go along. I’ll let the Chief of Surgery know that we’re dating. It’s best practice in this instance. Then, we just go about our lives. People might see us eating lunch together or a stolen kiss in a quiet hallway. If you’re lucky, the on-call room might become your favorite place for me to bury my head between your legs.”

Fuck, I’m hard just thinking about it. I quickly slip into my jeans and wrestle my dick under control.

“We can’t do that at work.”

I lean in, pressing my lips to the nape of her neck. “If I tell you to spread your legs so I can feast on you, you will obey. I’m your Daddy, and you’ll be a good little girl and do as you’re told.”

“I can’t call you Daddy at work. People would be shocked.”

“You can still call me Dr. Harrison, but you and I both know I’m your Daddy no matter where we are or what’s going on around us.”

“Okay.” My heart takes flight, a thousand bats leaving behind the darkness and shadows of a cave, seeing the light for the first time in years.

“Are you sure, little one?”

She pushes herself up onto her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my lips, still clinging to the bedsheet wrapped around her beautiful body. As I dart my tongue out to meet hers, I tug on the sheet until it puddles at her feet before sweeping her into my arms and taking her back to bed.

I’m terrified that I won’t be enough, but a bigger part of me would die trying.

For her, I’ll try.

The first thing I did when I got to work this morning was set up a time to meet with the Chief of Surgery, my mentor, Joseph Milligan. We’ve been friends for many years, and he knows I wouldn’t haphazardly enter into a relationship with a resident. It’s not prohibited, so there’s not a damn thing the hospital could do about it anyway, but he wishes me well, and I go about my day.

Freya is on my service today, so I ask her to present during my patient rounds. I can already see the rumor mill churning in hushed whispers and sideways glances. It’s already getting to Freya. Every muscle in her body tenses as I ask her to scrub in on my glioblastoma case.

“I guess it pays to sleep with your attending,” I hear one of the residents mumble as we usher out into the hallway.

“Do you have something you’d like to share with the group, Dr. Kerr?” I’ve never liked this guy. He has the hands of a butcher, not a surgeon, and especially not neuro. It requires finesse and a level of skill he’ll never possess.

“No, Dr. Harrison.”

“That’s what I thought. Maybe you should spend some time in the skills lab. God knows you need it.”

“Not all of us have private tutelage.” He grumbles.

“You’re off my service. Who I date is none of your business, and Dr. Perrington doesn’t get special treatment in this hospital. When you show me something other than surgical skills I wouldn’t even trust in the morgue, then you can come back and speak your grievances to my face like a goddamn man. Get out of my sight.”

He scurries off with his tail between his legs like the cowardly little prick he is.

When we finish up rounds, Dr. Perrington waits behind with my charts clutched to her chest. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. This isn’t about you, Freya. He disrespected me and suggested I would entrust you with surgery to get in your pants. I took an oath. What happens between you and me doesn’t change my ethical responsibility to my patients.”

“Are you sure? I froze in that first solo surgery. Was I truly ready for it, or were you looking at me through the eyes of the man I’m sleeping with? You knew who I was.”

She has got to be kidding. I almost expect it from doctors like Kerr. All bluster, no muster. But to have Freya question my judgment makes me downright angry.

“Give me the charts.”

“What?” Her brows rise, her eyes going wide.

“If I need to answer that question for you, then I’m not the person to be your mentor.” I take the charts from her, barely able to meet her gaze. “You’re off my service today. I don’t have time for this immature shit. I have lives that hinge on me being focused on nothing but their well-being. If you really think I’d risk a patient’s life to impress you, I…” I’m not sure how that sentence ends, but I know I need to calm myself before I step into the operating room today.

“I was just asking.”

“And I’m just telling you, I don’t need this bullshit in my day. When you realize how insulting your question was, then we can talk. Until then, you can take care of my post-ops. Don’t ever question my decisions as your attending again, Dr. Perrington.”

I turn on my heel and stride down the corridor, anger radiating off me in waves. This is why I’ve never mixed work with my personal life. Everything in me wants to take her to an on-call room right now, make her strip and get into position before spanking her.

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