Page 74 of Dr. Attending

So when Weston suggested that we use the word “stop,” I was a little surprised because I didn’t think that was an option. But once he explained that there aren’t finite rules we have to follow with kink, it made sense—it’s about what works best for the two of us.

And while I’m still blissfully naïve when it comes to what, exactly, he has in store for the rest of the evening, I know one thing without a doubt—I might not have a Daddy kink, but I do have a Weston Southerland kink.

“And if you can’t speak?” he asks, testing me to ensure I remember what we discussed.

I feel my heart start to thunder in my chest as I think through all of the reasons why I wouldn’t be able to use a verbal safeword.

“I’ll shake my head a few times.”

His hazel eyes flicker with pride, but he doesn’t say anything as he places my hand in my lap and gives it a firm squeeze.

I watch him intently, trying not to squirm when his fingers trail over my knees and down my legs. His touch feels like fire, igniting something within me that I’ve never tapped into before—something deliciously submissive that allows me to simply turn my brain off and someone else take control.

Weston inhales sharply when he begins to wrap a cuff around my ankle, and if I could make out his whispered curse above the thrum of desire whooshing through my ears, I would swear that he just muttered something about my leather boots.

I ignore it and try to control my excitement as he methodically locks me into the cuffs like this is just another step to a case in the operating room.

When he finishes, he pats my knee once and looks up. “You ready?”

His expression is so earnest. So genuine that it makes my heart swell because you would never know that we had such a raw conversation earlier in the evening.

I look down at him, suddenly overcome by the urge to kiss him. So I press my mouth to his, hoping that it conveys how much I trust him . . . and how much I’m trying.

When Weston told me that he wanted me to give him a chance, I knew without a doubt that I wanted the same thing—I really did, especially because my feelings for him have only grown over the past week that we’ve spent together. He’s been attentive, thoughtful, and patient with me, even when I purposely push his buttons. He’s the kind of man that I shouldn’t let slip away.

But as much as my heart wants to give in, there’s nothing I can do to get over the fact that I’m still not sure I’m ready to be a mother, or at least a motherly figure. And it’s not fair to him, or to his son, to promise something that I have no idea if I’m ever going to be able to give.

Fortunately, the honesty of our talk didn’t affect what’s happening between us. If anything, it only gave me a deeper awareness of what it means to meet someone where they are.

Does part of me think it’s a little wild that this man is interested in exploring kinky things together when he won’t engage in simple penetration?

Yeah—it feels like one should come before the other. But I also understand his decision completely. And if I’m being honest, I respect him even more for it.

“Ready,” I confirm as I pull back from his lips, feeling the tension between us grow palpable.

Weston nods and stands from his kneeling position in front of me, now towering over my body as I sit on the bed. A thrill rushes through me as his eyes heat, and he tilts his chin to direct me.

“On your back in the center of the bed,” he commands, his voice low and almost harsh. “Now.”

It’s almost like a switch inside him flipped with my consent and the tender man I’ve come to know instantly transforms into the dominant one I've been aching for.

I don’t hesitate to follow his instructions because I’m desperate to relieve the growing throb between my thighs.

As Weston opens and closes the trunk, my fingers drift to the buttons of his shirt because I figure that I might as well help speed things along.

I won’t lie—I had other clean clothes that I could have tossed on this morning instead of raiding his closet. But there was just something comforting about getting whiffs of his scent throughout the day, like he was here with me, even when he wasn’t.

Plus, it was priceless to watch his reaction as he walked into his office. I could practically hear his thoughts, like he was wondering if I was wearing anything underneath.

Spoiler alert . . . I wasn’t.

I make it to the last button when Weston smacks the mattress hard with something that looks like a baton, causing me to jump in surprise.

“That stays on,” he growls.

I don’t know if it was fear, adrenaline, or pure arousal that just shot through my body, but I can now feel my pulse in my ears as I drop my hands to my side and watch him climb onto the bed.

He’s wearing a pair of fitted black briefs that show off the sharp cut of his waist, and I have to stop myself from salivating over the fact that I can see his impressive bulge fighting to escape.

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