Page 38 of Scary In Love
“Nobody died here.” His smile drops and he tilts his head, staring me down with a look I can’t place. “Not yet, anyway.”
A fresh wave of fear floods my system. I don’t know where these games begin and where they end, but I definitely don’t want this to be my last night on earth. Was sneaking out without telling anyone where I was going a huge mistake? My phone is in my jacket pocket, and I can’t even see it with the overhead light so close to my face.
Mason is completely in control of my safety right now, and if I’ve walked into a deathtrap just because he made me horny, I really am the stupidest person alive.
He must sense my panic when he walks his fingers up the top of my thigh, tickling me lightly as he pushes the hem of my skirt higher.
“Please lay back and relax for me,” he says sweetly. “This won’t take long.”
I do as I’m told, and rest my hands on my stomach, fingers clasped together just as I would during a real medical appointment.
Mason pats the pockets of his coat and pulls an old dictaphone from one of them, clicking it on.
“I’ll be recording my observations throughout your examination. Please try your best to be quiet, and when I ask you questions, you can respond with a simple yes or no. Understood?”
Oh, how he loves to push me into this quiet, compliant role. I nod, and he holds eye contact while he presses record and speaks into the dictaphone.
“Patient is Miss Jenna Laing. L-A-I-N-G. Thirty years old. White British, brown hair, brown eyes, average height, exceptional figure.”
My face flushes at my body being commented on in such an indirect manner. I’m not sure anyone has ever described me as exceptional. He circles the bed as he continues, his face hidden behind the light.
“Though she is a perfectly functional member of society, Miss Laing presents as an extremely depraved individual. Her most frequent symptoms include an unbearable ache in her lower stomach area and frequent overwhelming thoughts of a disturbing sexual nature. Patient masturbates multiple times a day but still seeks further stimulation.”
My throat burns. Guess we’re ticking the humiliation kink off early, but he’s not wrong. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve made myself come thinking about tonight.
“We are working on the hypothesis that the patient is a cock-hungry whore. Recommended treatment is a rapid course of exposure therapy that we hope will cure her of this terrible sickness.”
I stifle a laugh with my palm, pretty sure that his brand of therapy will have the opposite effect. Mason flicks through a few pages on the clipboard.
“Our records show you recently suffered a knee injury, Miss Laing. Are there any ongoing issues there?”
“None at all.”
“Any discomfort while kneeling?”
How he’s keeping a straight face is beyond me. We both know why I’m here, and we both know why he’s asking.
“I’m more than happy to kneel,” I tell him, arching my back and pushing my chest a little higher. He definitely notices.
“That’s wonderful news, but I’d like to check you have a full range of motion, just to be sure. Can you stay on your back and lift your leg up for me?”
I comply with my lips pinched together, and he cups my ankle.
“Pull your knee back, then extend it.”
“And the other one.” We repeat the action, and he hums his approval. “Now pull both knees up to your chest and keep them there.”
I curl inward, wrapping my arms around the backs of my legs, and crossing my ankles. Mason stands at the foot of the table, reaches up to adjust the angle of the light, and shines it directly up my skirt.
He grunts out a low curse, and that deep noise is so raw, so real, there’s a very strong chance it will be in every fantasy I get off to for the rest of my life.
A long time passes. I can’t be sure how much, but I just lie there, staring up at nothing while he studies me. He presses the dictaphone again.
“Patient has full range of motion in both legs. For the record, she is wearing black lace underwear and black fishnet tights at the request of her practitioner. She responds to instructions without hesitation or discomfort. Very promising.”
I bask in his praise, watching as he hooks his fingertips into my tights, twisting the material around them.
“Why did you tell me to wear fishnets?” I ask. I know exactly why, I just want to hear him say it.
