Page 45 of My Masked Savior
My eyes dart over his shoulders to where Marco is whining in pain.
“But, he’s—” I begin.
“He’s nothing. And nobody. But before he dies, he’s going to learn how a real man satisfies his princess.”
Holding his eyes, I reach for the button of my pants with shaking fingers. I toe off my shoes as I push my pants and panties down, then step out of them.
“The top too,” he instructs as he reaches for another box of gloves, giving me his back, a facsimile of the privacy a doctor grants their patient. The cold disinterest only fans the flames, and I quickly strip out of the rest of my clothes, wanting to obey him, wanting to tempt his gaze.
Damien gives me a perfunctory glance instead. “What are you waiting for?” he asks before tilting his chin at the chair. Gulping and feeling more self-conscious than I ever did at an exam, I climb up, hissing as my ass hits the cold leather. Once I’m in position, I gingerly raise my legs up in the stirrups.
He positions a gooseneck exam light, sits on a rolling chair, and pulls up between my thighs. My legs are shaking as his nimble fingers strap them down, my breasts rising and falling with my anxious breaths.
“Are you breathing for me?” Damien asks, his silky voice cutting through Marco’s groans like an eraser through scribbles. He’s still not looking directly at me, intensifying the dizzying sense of being examined by a stranger. I nod jerkily, but he clicks his tongue. “Words, Miss Cole.”
Goosebumps spread over my skin at his clinically detached manner.
“Y—yes, Doctor,” I stutter.
Damien pulls up an instrument tray with gleaming steel objects that make my hair stand up. “Good girl. And your safe word is?”
“Red.”
“Red like blood,” he confirms,picking up a scalpel. Seeing the surgical tool in his hands brings an equal wave of fear as it does lust.
I blink as panic makes my ears ring. “What are you… N—no, I don’t want that!”
He grabs my calf with his free hand, the latex feeling impersonal against my skin.
“Shhh, princess. Do you trust me?” His thumb rubs little circles against my twitching muscles. “Trust me not to hurt you?” Before I answer, he presses his lips against my inner thigh, the subtle rasp of his stubble making my back arch. Damien whispers his next words against my skin: “I may be a monster, sweetheart. But I’myourmonster.”
Yes. He’s proved how low his tolerance for abusers is. Once we’re out of here, I’ll need to find out why. But for right now, I relax under his hand.
“I trust you, Damien,” I breathe, synchronizing my breaths with his.
He smiles as he brings the scalpel back up into my line of sight.
“Watch,” he commands, and I follow automatically. I watch as he lowers the blade to my skin before pressing down ever so lightly. I hardly feel the sting of steel parting flesh, and my hiss stems more from a psychological than a physiological reaction. When blood wells up, just the tiniest drop, I feel my clit swell up with an echoing rush. A barely audible moan escapes from between my lips. But Damien hears it.
“Fuck, yes, Morgan. You were fucking made for me,” he snarls, then bends his head to cup the tiny speck of blood with his mouth. He’s the one moaning now as he sucks, and I feel it between my legs, like his lips were wrapped around my clit.
When he’s done, he drops the scalpel into the kidneybasin on the rolling tray. Instead of picking up a new instrument, he comes even closer and places a hand on each of my inner thighs, spreading my legs further.
“It’s time for your pelvic exam, Miss Cole,” he states matter-of-factly. My mouth falls open when he puts a hand on my lower stomach, then slowly penetrates me with a gloved finger. “No need for lubrication, I see,” he murmurs, making my cheeks burn. Why is that so embarrassing?
Damien pulls back and adds a finger, gently pressing down on my stomach as he palpates. I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips when he twists his hand and starts rubbing my G-spot with beckoning motions.
“Oh, god,” I whisper, arching up into Damien’s hand, wordlessly begging for more.
He chuckles and gives a hard, shallow thrust. “Not god. Doctor.”
Tension coils in my lower belly faster than it ever has, so fast I’m afraid, and more than a little embarrassed.
“Doctor, I’m—” I start, but he interrupts me.
“You’re what, Miss Cole? You’re going to orgasm during a pelvic exam? Filthy girl. So depraved.”
My moan echoes off the tiled walls, arousal and shame warring inside me in a combustible cocktail. When Damien's lips finally wrap around my clit, the coil snaps, catapulting me into space. I come with a shriek, my thighs burning with my effort to close them, only to be thwarted by the stirrups and Damien’s broad shoulders. I register a splashing sound, followed by Damien’s growl.
