Tormented Dreams: Club Risqué Book Seven

by Flynn, Poppy

  The olive complexioned, dark eyed, smokin' hot doctor who'd had her panties dampening with just a few words in that velvety, ever so slightly accented voice.

  He hadn't said a word about the nature of her wounds, though she knew damn well he had examined them, and the rest of her, thoroughly.

  Grace wasn't stupid. She had read the nurse's concern and knew that the woman had hurried off to report the situation. She had honestly been expecting to get the third degree and her mind had been whirling with what kind of legitimate excuse she might be able to come up with.

  After all, proper upper-class lawyers, especially those specialising in human rights, did not usually trot around with whip marks all over them.

  The doctor, however, had taken it all in his stride as if it was nothing unusual at all, and for that, Grace had been overwhelmingly grateful. As well as a tad unbalanced; she might as well admit to that too, since she was being honest.

  And then he had called her 'pet' and told her to be a 'good girl'. All seemingly innocuous on the face of it, but in reality, it had been almost BDSM 'code' to identify himself as being in the lifestyle.

  Grace had asked herself over and over whether she had actually heard him properly or if it had simply been a figment of her overactive, overstressed imagination.

  Nevertheless, here she was, about to walk into his clinic to find out whether he was as good as his word…and also whether he was actually as hot and charismatic as she remembered.

  She'd been too embarrassed and too committed to making an anonymous getaway to take a good look at him at the hospital, but the few quick glances she hadn't been able to prevent had left her with the impression of a fine looking hunk of man, roughly around her own thirty-nine years. Not exactly a spring chicken, but striking and fit, too, if the cut of his suit was anything to go by.

  The premises, when she found them, were classy and understated. No hard, plastic seats and rowdy patients here.

  All of the clientele were well dressed and reserved, the seating deep and comfortable, and there was the luxury of an individual pod coffee maker dispensing complimentary beverages at an immaculate station in the corner of the room as well as a wide selection of individual tea sachets.

  Grace made her way to the reception, where an elegant woman in a chic suit and a perfectly coiled French twist sat framed by two large, shiny leaved potted plants. She smiled benignly as Grace approached and, not for the first time, Grace wondered if there would be a lot of uncomfortable paperwork to fill out. That was why she'd chosen the ER after all, too many busy people to check the little things that she didn't want to be followed up.

  With a strained greeting, Grace thrust the card Dr. Diaz had given her across the desk and almost groaned out loud when the woman passed her a clipboard and a sheaf of forms, as if she was silently answering that unasked question.

  "The doctor is running on schedule and you're in next, so you probably won't have time to finish those. Just take them in with you, so he has the pertinent information."

  Grace took herself off to a chair in the corner with a sigh of relief. She might be able to skip some of the paperwork after all. And that became all the more conceivable when her name was called just minutes after she'd sat down. Well, she had to give him brownie points for that, looked like the doctor really was as good as his word.

  Grace followed the immaculate receptionist through a set of security doors and down a short hallway lined with a plush carpet and tasteful framed prints, until the woman gestured to a door to her right.

  Nodding her thanks, she gave a polite, perfunctory knock before opening it to face the music.

  What she was actually faced with was approximately six feet of dark, Latino good looks and impeccable manners as the doctor stood to greet her and shake her hand before motioning for her to take a seat and holding the chair while she did so.

  "I'm glad you followed my advice to come here and have those dressings changed," he said with an easy smile and a complete lack of judgment, which immediately put her at ease.

  "Did you get a chance to fill in any of the patient forms?"

  It took Grace a moment to answer, so lulled was she by his smooth, deep voice that left her slightly flustered. Which, in turn, morphed into embarrassment when she realised she had neglected to reply.

  "Oh! Um, I'm s-sorry…no. You were very punctual, and I…" she stammered and trailed off, thrusting the clip board out to him and remonstrating with herself as she did so. Good grief! What on earth was wrong with her? She was behaving like a love-struck schoolgirl and she was way past that era of her life!

  In fact, she was rather bemused; she was at an age now where she thought she had seen or experienced anything and everything that might have interested her, and there were no more surprises left in life. And…oh Lord! He had spoken again and was now looking at her expectantly and she'd completely missed it! Way to go, Grace; he probably thinks you're a complete flake!

  "Sorry." She had to stop and clear her throat. Heat flooded her face and she decided there was nothing to do but to face it head on. "I was a little distracted; what were you saying?" she asked in what was supposed to be her calmest, most well modulated voice. Except it came out sounding a little too much like a squeak. Oh, Lord, please, ground, just open up and swallow me now!

  At least the doctor was well mannered enough not to react at all, whatever he might be thinking.

  He depressed the top of his pen, in readiness to write, and the sound seemed abnormally loud in the quiet room.

  "I said, shall we fill in a few of these details, so we can get things processed? I imagine you are reluctant to share, but I can assure you that everything…" He looked up at her then and pierced her with dark eyes that almost read as black in their intensity. "…absolutely everything is treated in the strictest confidence here."

  Grace sucked in a breath. She could hardly argue, after all. "Of course," she agreed, somewhat dubiously.

  The doctor nodded. "Okay, then. Full name?"

  "Grace Elizabeth Miller."

  "Address?"

  She rattled it off, knowing she wouldn't get away with leaving the pertinent information off, this time, as she had in the ER.

  This man struck her as being a stickler for detail, and she doubted she'd get anything past him at all. Still, she couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief when he stopped after filling in just the most basic personal information.

  "Right, that will do for now since, technically, you aren't registered as one of my patients. Why don't you take your shirt off and settle yourself on the examination table behind the screen, and we'll take a look at those wounds?"

  It was really more of a command than a request, but for the moment, Grace was glad to be away from his unswerving scrutiny. The man was doing funny things to her insides, and that was not a sensation she was used to.

  As she stripped off, Grace couldn't help wishing that it were under slightly different circumstances. Jesus! What was wrong with her? Sure, he was hot with his dark good looks and that jet-black hair with the sophisticated touch of silver at his temples, but it was quite unlike her to daydream about what might lie underneath a man's clothes. She usually got hot and sweaty thinking about whether or not a dominant would have a decent whip hand, not what his body was like. That sort of thing was just a lucky bonus.

  Was Dr. Diaz a dominant, or was her overactive imagination just fantasising about such things? As soon as the thought entered her head, she involuntarily conjured up a picture in her mind of the good doctor, his naked chest displayed and an implement of sadistic pleasure in his hand. She couldn't control the full body shiver of anticipation that shuddered through her frame as she settled herself onto the examination table.

  "Are you cold?" came the query from somewhere behind her.

  Oh, hell! Thank goodness her flaming face was averted this time. Would there be no end to her embarrassment today?

  "I'm fine, thank you," she assured him, her voice muffled from where she had
her head buried in the crook of her elbow.

  Still, she had to steel herself against the next shiver that threatened to rip through her when she felt his hands on her back as he peeled away the dressings.

  Down, girl! she warned herself sharply.

  "Ah, these are healing nicely at last," she heard him say, satisfaction evident in his deep voice. "I'm going to apply some petroleum jelly before I redress them. That will keep the wounds clean and moist and also provide an occlusive layer, which will help keep the wounds sealed, decreasing the risk of further infection. It will also hydrate them, which in turn, stimulates the healing process. It would be a good idea for you to keep some on hand for future use, if you incur such lacerations on a regular basis."

  Grace didn't answer him, just nodded her head in agreement. What the heck was she supposed to say to that, after all?

  "Right, we're all done, so you can get yourself dressed again," he instructed.

  Grace heard the snap of a pair of latex gloves being peeled off as the doctor walked away, leaving her behind the privacy of the screen curtain, along with all her less than professional thoughts.

  She dressed quickly and readied herself for a swift return to her office, but despite expecting to make a quick getaway once she was done, she was sadly mistaken.

  "Take a seat, Miss Miller," Dr. Diaz directed when she emerged. "I'd like to go over a few things."

  Despite the embarrassment of her wayward instincts, Grace did as she was told. It was no great hardship to be in the doctor's presence a little longer, and this was probably the last time she'd get to see him, after all.

  * * *

  Looking up from the notes he was writing, Xavier pinned the delectable Grace Miller with a stern look. It was time to take the kid gloves off and start being direct. He just hoped she wouldn't run screaming—figuratively speaking, of course—from his clinic, once he'd said his piece. He didn't like to think of her sustaining injuries without the opportunity of having them properly treated.

  "May I speak freely, Miss Miller?" he asked, more for propriety than response, since he was planning to state what was on his mind, regardless.

  "I have a feeling you're going to, whatever I say," she replied wryly as she crossed one shapely leg over the other.

  Xavier tipped his head sharply, in acknowledgement, and a half smile tipped up one side of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles, hoping the more casual posture would relax her.

  "I can only hope you don't think I'm speaking out of turn, but I have some concerns about the fact that you are incurring such lacerations and yet not receiving adequate aftercare. Do you mind if I ask what club you attend?"

  The intriguing woman sitting opposite him sucked in a breath and sighed. She might not want to give details, but she wasn't going to fob him off completely. He had to give her credit for the fact that she didn't claim ignorance, at least.

  "I attend a club which is rather a long way away. I do that so that I can retain a certain degree of anonymity. It isn't a question of there not being adequate aftercare provided, it's simply the case that I am too far away to access it usefully."

  "I see." Xavier frowned and mulled for the briefest of moments before making his decision.

  "I don't know if you've heard of Club Risqué—"

  "Of course, I have," she interrupted, and Xavier could see her impatience peeking through her outwardly calm veneer. "It's one of the premier clubs on the south coast, but I'm not sure what relevance they have here, being a thousand miles away.

  "The relevance is that they have opened a club locally," Xavier revealed. "Perhaps it's more likely that you have heard of Perversions?"

  Now it was Grace's turn to frown, the movement highlighting the fine lines that were starting to form around her eyes. They gave her face character, he decided distractedly.

  "Of course," she agreed. "But that's nowhere near the same calibre."

  "It is now," he disclosed, leaning forward slightly, as if sharing a secret. "The men who own Club Risqué bought this local establishment and renovated it into a more modern version of the original club. Perversions has now been renamed Club Risqué, and while it is intrinsically different, the ethos and the standards are most certainly the same as its namesake."

  Grace drew in a surprised breath at the revelation.

  "It is, of course, very exclusive. Membership is limited, and every patron has to undergo any necessary training courses and a psyche evaluation, plus, have the recommendation of an existing member. In return, you are guaranteed top notch security, anonymity, and the safeguard of a non-disclosure agreement."

  "I can't believe I didn't know this!" Grace murmured, her navy coloured eyes wide but undeniably interested.

  "Like I said, it's very private and membership is restricted, so it's not really advertised. However, members are allowed to take guests—subject to certain security checks and the signing of the non-disclosure agreement I mentioned. If you like, I could extend that privilege to you, in order for you to check it out and see if it's an opportunity you might want to explore."

  "You'd do that for me?" she asked in surprise. "But you don't even know me!"

  "I know that you're a masochist, unless you're going to tell me that those marks were the result of somebody not respecting your safeword."

  Grace shook her head to confirm the latter was not the case, and Xavier continued. "I also know that you value your privacy and that you're not getting the most out of your current arrangement, all of which leads you into dangerous territory with your wellbeing. I wouldn't be worthy of my Dom title if I didn't look out for you or any other sub in the same situation," he expanded, re-crossing his legs and leaning back in his office seat again as he studied her closely.

  "But, of course, it's up to you whether or not you take me up on the offer. There are no strings, either way. The offer is simply to give you opportunity to look around and decide for yourself, nothing more."

  Xavier wondered if it was just his own wishful thinking that made him question if he had just detected a hint of disappointment at those last words. If she was truly as masochistic, as the marks on her back suggested, then she was a girl—scrap that, a woman—after his own heart, and the date of birth she'd provided put her at just three years his junior; perfect!

  Plus, he'd be lying if he said he didn't find her more than a little bit attractive, and his libido was alive and kicking, so no one who saw how hard his dick was, again, was going to buy that! He'd already had to cross his legs to stop himself coming over like a horny perv.

  Her hair was a warm honey colour and it settled into a natural style with a slight curl, just above her shoulders. Her breasts were a nice handful. Not too big, not too small, as he'd discovered at the hospital, and her voice had a low, throaty tone, which was, nevertheless, perfectly assured.

  And his head was bombarded with visions of her on her knees in front of him, arms bound behind her back so that her beautiful breasts thrust forward, and with her pretty pink lipped mouth open and ready to receive his cock.

  He had to stop himself from groaning out loud at the mental pictures he was creating, so he covered his reaction with action, leaning forward and taking an exclusive Club Risqué business card from the silver monogrammed case he kept locked in his desk drawer.

  Scribbling something on the back, he offered Grace a business card for the second time in as many days.

  "Here, take this," he prompted. "The dungeon is open from Thursday to Saturday, and I am usually there after 9 pm on Fridays and Saturdays unless an emergency comes up. As long as I'm present at the club, you will be granted entry even if I'm not with you, as long as you present this card. That way, you don't have to commit to anything, and you have plenty of time to consider your options."

  "I don't know what to say," Grace murmured, rising to her feet as Xavier did the same, hoping that his trousers weren't tenting too noticeably.

  "You don't have to say anything." He smiled, flashing a r
are dimple and white teeth that looked all the brighter against his olive tanned complexion. "Just thank me by keeping yourself safe and not putting yourself in a position where you're forced to visit the ER again."

  Chapter 3

  Grace paced the living room of her elegant, understated apartment the following Saturday, card in hand, alternately staring at it and tapping against her lips as her bare feet padded almost silently over the subtle sheen of the matte varnished, solid oak floor.

  The same thoughts had been whirling around her head for the past five days. She couldn't deny that she was intrigued—with Dr. Xavier Diaz, as much as with Club Risqué itself. Maybe more!

  What sort of Dom was he? Yes, that was the big question that everything kept coming back to. I mean, sure, she was attracted to him and maybe the strength of that attraction was enough for her to scene with him a time or two. But the truth was that Grace wanted to settle down. Her body clock was ticking, and at thirty-nine, she felt—hell, she knew—she was running out of time to do anything about it.

  The big problem? She was a fairly hard-core masochist. She'd been with too many men who didn't understand her preferences. Men who had viewed her as flawed or perverted or sick, even Doms who had believed they could change her. Heck, she wasn't sure she understood it herself, considering her career and what she stood for in the on going fight against oppression and subjugation. It was simply the way she was wired.

  What she did know, however, was that she needed someone who accepted her the way she was, kink and all, and who could feed into her own mind set. Xavier Diaz had seemed to take her whip marks completely in his stride, and that in itself intrigued her. She hadn't picked up any judgment from him, but that didn't necessarily mean anything beyond the fact that he was a good Dom.

  Grace cursed the realisation that she was teasing herself with him, building him up into the things she wanted him to be rather than what he really was. And that was a dangerous game when what she really needed was a serious sadist.