Page 37 of Scary In Love
My haunt senses kick in, and I scan the shadowy spaces to see where he might be lurking, ready to leap out and… well, who the fuck knows what he’s going to do here. I have no idea if he’s planned for jump scares, mind-games, psychological terror, or all three.
When there’s no sign of him, I approach the table slowly and examine the scene he’s set up. The table is a serious piece of equipment. Sturdy, with a padded top, and two supports for the patient’s legs.
Mylegs.
A terrifying thought worms through my curiosity. It’s exactly like the ones I’ve seen in my doctor’s office, and I’m sure they’re expensive. What if this table’s been in the house all this time and they used to perform experiments here?
I’ve read plenty of books about body snatchers and the horrible history of medical research. Everyone knows these old houses have secrets. I might be into freaky shit, but I’m not a trauma tourist. I don’t want to fuck on a hospital bed where people were actually murdered.
A loud knock at the door jolts me to attention.
“Come in?” I answer, my voice cracking a little.
Mason enters, striding into the light with a warm smile on his face.
“Good evening, Miss Laing. I’m Doctor Miller. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
He extends his hand, and I shake it while his gaze drags from my head to my toes. He doesn’t try to be discreet about it, but I don’t care because I love the way Mason looks at me. While he breathes deeply, I use the time to stare back.
What I said about having a doctor’s kink was a playful joke, but he’s clearly taken it to heart. In his pristine white lab coat, he’d fit right in at any hospital, and suddenly I can’t think of anything hotter than being on the receiving end of this man’s bedside manner.
“I’ll be conducting your examination today,” he says, releasing my hand and pulling a rolling trolley out from the shadows.
He picks up the clipboard on top, revealing a neat row of what are clearly medical implements, but it’s too dark to identify them. They vary in size, and one glistens as he adjusts the angle of the lamp. It looks like a scalpel, and my throat tightens as I try to recall the questions he made me answer.
Did I agree to knife play? I can’t remember now. I was too fucking horny standing there with my underwear in my mouth.
“And what examination will that be?” I ask, faking a level of confidence that definitely isn’t in the room with us.
“It’s nothing to worry about. Just a few preliminary checks to ensure your suitability and preparedness for this evening’s events. Please allow me to take your jacket.”
I turn to let him slip it off my shoulders. He breaks character and tosses it somewhere behind him. I guess I won’t be needing it here.
When I turn back, he’s impossibly close, forcing me to look up at him.
I’ve been desperate to kiss him again, have barely stopped thinking about our time in the laundry closet. I’m certain he’s going to make me wait while I play his games, but that doesn’t mean I can’t push his buttons, too.
I drag a finger down the lapel of his coat and tug on his tie. “Do I get a hospital gown?”
My outfit is cute, but I want to get in on the roleplay, too. He bites back a smile, his hands brushing my hair over my shoulders.
“What you’re wearing is perfect,” he says in his real voice, before clearing his throat and adopting a more authoritative tone. “Whenever you’re ready, you can sit up on the bench for me.”
Mason has a knack for making me want to follow his orders and rebel against them at the same time. I like the way his mind works, and the way it makes me want to get into battle with him. In the seconds it takes me to decide what to do, he grips my hips and pushes me back against the hard edge, and a high-pitched whine escapes my mouth.
I boost myself up onto the end, and wait to be told how to position myself. Never have I found being legs spread in one of these beds sexy, but never have I had a doctor who looks like Mason, either.
“Where did you get a table with stirrups?” I ask, swinging my legs back and forth.
He snorts. “This is a doctor’s office, Miss Laing. What did you expect?”
“But nobody died here, right?”
Mason rests his hand on my knee. I stop my swinging, but he leaves it there and leans in close.
“It’s a stage prop,” he whispers. His tongue darts out to tease the shell of my ear, and his shaky breath warms my skin. My eyes flutter closed and my body melts towards him.
He hooks the tip of one finger beneath one strand of my tights and lifts it away from my thigh. I hold my breath, waiting for whatever comes next. When he lets go, it snaps against my skin, and my eyes fly open. It doesn’t hurt, but it still shocks me, and Mason smiles warmly.
