Page 22 of Scary In Love

Jenna

Like the rest of the house, the room is dark, except for an examination table in the middle of the room, lit from above by a tall angled lamp. Unlike the rest of the house, it smells faintly of bleach. Silent and clinical.

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.

My legs.

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.

“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.

“Because they turn me on, and you look fucking delicious in them.”

“Oh,” I gasp, then giggle. “That doesn’t seem like a very professional thing to say, Doctor.”

“Seems like you’re impossible to be professional around.”

He spreads his fingers beneath the strands, dragging his nails down my sensitive skin when he releases me.

When he moves to the head of the bed, I try to follow his face, but it disappears into the darkness above me. He taps my knee, and I put my legs back down, waiting for whatever comes next .

I hear him rummaging in his pockets, then the unmistakable sound of gloves snapping on.

“Open your mouth for me and say ‘ahh’ .”