Page 77 of Dr. Attending

“Eyes straight ahead,” he grits.

I whip my head around, focusing on the warm glow of the fireplace, even though I want nothing more than to see what’s happening as the mattress dips behind me.

With every second that passes, I can feel myself becoming more aroused. My breasts feel heavier with each breath, and my nipples ache to be touched by his fingers, rather than the soft cotton of his button-down.

Something pulls my hair behind my shoulders, but I can tell that it isn’t Weston because there’s no warmth there.

Before I can attempt to look, a padded fabric slips over my head, completely blacking out my vision. I try to blink to find a window of light, but the blindfold only tightens around me, bathing me in darkness.

Weston’s warm breath in my ear startles me, more intense now that I can’t see.

“This isn’t about the shirt,” he whispers, dragging the tip of something rigid down my right arm. “We didn’t have an agreement about it. Though from now on, if you purposely tease me like that again, you will be punished. And it won’t be a punishment like this, either. It will be exclusively for me. Understood?”

I suck in a nervous breath. “Understood.”

Fuck this is hot.

“Good.” He nips at my earlobe and pulls away, forcing me to wait for his next move. “We had an agreement that while you were staying with me this week, you would take a break from studying by a certain time each night. Did we not?”

“Uh . . .” I have to take a second to think because I’m distracted by his grip on my wrists. It feels like he’s fastening the cuffs to something.

“Four,” he snarls.

Shit.

“Sorry, um, yes.” I bite my lip, trying to think of an explanation that he would believe. “I was going to stop studying when you got home, but you were later than I expected, so I lost track of time.”

The mattress dips behind me, and the sound of sliding metal catches my attention before I realize that my arms are being pulled apart, the same way my legs were.

Weston places a guiding hand on my upper back.

“Lean back,” he growls, his voice like rough sandpaper against my other ear.

When I hesitate, he places his hand on my upper back to let me know that I won’t fall.

I lower myself to the bed, trying to adjust my position because the cold metal bar holding my hands on either side of my body feels like it’s digging into my low back.

Weston must sense my discomfort because he taps my side. “Hips up.”

I dig my feet and shoulders into the mattress like I’m doing a glute bridge, giving him room to slip something soft beneath me. He taps me again to let me know that I can drop down.

He tugs on the bar attached to my ankles, straightening my legs and causing all of my body weight to rest on the pillows beneath me. It almost feels like I’m doing some sort of modified backbend with my hips still arched in the air.

“Wes,” I whimper.

“Yes, princess?”

“I need . . .” I trail off because I don’t know what I need if I’m being honest.

I’m not uncomfortable, I just feel exposed and vulnerable—two things I’m not great at.

“I know what you need.” His hand cups the side of my face reassuringly. “You need to learn that there are consequences for not doing what you say you’ll do. For not taking time to recharge. And do you know how we’re going to teach you that lesson?”

“How?”

“By taking away your distractions.”

Weston’s finger brushes over my lips tenderly, almost like he’s applying ChapStick.

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