Page 33 of Dr Feel Good
The scent of sex was heavy in the air as I removed the bondage devices and helped her out of the swing. She was unsteady on her legs, so I carried her bridal-style to my regular bed, kicking the door to my BDSM room shut behind me. Setting her onto the mattress, I went to fetch a damp towel.
While in the bathroom, I wiped my cock off and splashed some water on my face, before going to the kitchen to get us something to drink. She was in the exact position I’d left her in, her breathing returning to normal, and a small but pleased smile on her face. I set the bottles of water on the nightstand, then knelt beside her as I used a cool cloth to cleanse her body, taking care not to press too hard against healing wounds.
“I’m going to call you Dr. Feelgood from now on,” she announced, her voice still breathy. “Because you sure make me and my pussy feel good.”
Despite her lewd words, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“You were calling me that even before we started having sex,” I reminded her, thinking back to the night I found her.
“Feminine intuition,” she replied, earning another laugh. “I’m just saying, your parents chose the right name for you, and you chose the right profession.”
“My name is Felix, not Feel,” I reminded her.
She waved me off. “Close enough to make a pun.”
Once her wounds were cleaned of sweat and her cunt free of semen, I settled in the bed next to her. When our water bottles were empty, I took her into my arms. Immediately, she melted into me, our bodies fitting together perfectly.
Almost as if we were made for one another.
I pushed the thought aside quickly. I wasn’t the sentimental type, and I wouldn’t let a woman I barely knew change that, no matter how enticing I found her.
“I just realized who you reminded me of,” Athena said, catching my attention.
“And who might that be?”
“I saw this rich CEO motherfucker in a tabloid magazine one time, and you look like him, but younger. Took me a minute, but I remembered his name now. Benedict De Goede.”
“Yeah, because he’s my father,” I said casually, seeing no reason to hide it from her.
“No shit? But your last name—”
“Is the Americanized version of his,” I explained. “He moved from the Netherlands as a child, and he and my mother decided their kids should have a more common last name.”
“That’s fucking boring.”
“Yeah, well, it’s what happened. My mother took his last name, but she goes by Cynthia Good in public.”
Her eyes bugged. “The mega-preacher?”
“The one and only.”
“That tracks,” she said, making my brows furrow. She smirked up at me. “The kids of preachers and pastors are usually freaks.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. She wasn’t wrong. My siblings had all been involved in sex scandals of some sort. In comparison, they made my love of BDSM seem tame.
“And how many children of preachers have you been around?”
“Enough.” She turned to face me, propping herself on my elbow. “Back in Memphis, I used to kick it with the kids of my neighborhood’s pastor. They were fucking wild.”
“Memphis?” I echoed. “You aren’t from Kansas City?”
“Nope. Born and raised in Downtown Memphis,” she explained, a Southern twang that wasn’t there before tinging her words. “Moved to KC when I was eighteen.”
“For school?”
She snorted. “For dick. I was involved with a biker at the time whose club is in the city. He came to Memphis for a job and brought me back to Kansas with him. When my parents died, he brought my siblings to live with us. We were good together, for a while. Then we weren’t.”
I tried to push down the irrational jealousy I felt. The man was in her past, and I had no claim on her.
