Dr. Bad Boy

by Ainsley Booth

  “I think you want it to start.”

  “Babies are adorable.”

  Right now I feel like babies are parasites intent on stealing their mother’s energy and appetite. But when mini Max arrives, I’m going to love him or her and think they’re truly adorable.

  And Ellie will be there to assure me he or she is.

  I press my hand to my belly. Well, I already love Littlebit. I’d just prefer if she stopped making me want to throw up every thirty minutes. That came on hard and fast in the last two days, and I don’t care for it at all.

  “What do you need?” Sasha asks, trailing her fingers over a rack of flowing blouses.

  Not those. Not yet. “Black dress pants. And some longer shirts, maybe, but none that will make me look like a circus tent. But only stuff on sale, everything else can wait.”

  “Got it.” She whirls away.

  I look at Ellie. “She should be a personal shopper.”

  “It would be a good use of her PhD in business management,” Ellie says dryly.

  “But she has a gift.” My gaze drifts back to a basinette in the window. It’s the third time I’ve looked at it.

  It’s way too early to think about baby furniture to go with that giant teddy bear.

  And it’s possible that living with Max might be a temporary thing. I can’t set up a full nursery. That tiny cradle, though…

  This is how, when I get to the cash register, and the sales person says they have a gift with purchase—a basinette for anyone who buys five hundred dollars of clothes—I get Sasha to hustle back for two more pairs of pants and some truly hideous maternity underwear.

  And that’s why Max finds me on the floor next to Bob the Bear, cursing a blue streak two hours later.

  “What are you doing?” he asks from the doorway, and I jump at the unexpected question, shrieking a little.

  I press my hand to my chest and stare at him. “Putting together a basinette.”

  And maybe doing a mental spiral of doubt thing about why this still feels weirdly temporary.

  “Let me do that.”

  Not in a million years. “I’m fine.”

  He glowers at me at the brush-off, but he stays in the doorway. Good. I’m feeling prickly.

  “What are you doing back so soon?”

  “Finished early. Is it a problem that I came home?”

  “No…” I sigh and brush my hair out of my eyes. “You just freaked me out a bit. Damn it. I thought I could hear the door up here. I’m not used to the space.”

  “You also forgot to lock the front door when you came back from shopping.”

  Shit. Hot, stressed tears press against the back of my eyelids. “I’m used to my apartment door just always being locked.”

  “Hey…” he crosses the empty room and crouches beside me, his hand sweeping across the back of my neck before he squeezes the muscles there. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. A lunatic just let himself into my house,” I mutter, and he laughs gently.

  “You’re wound tight.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I could help with that.” The way his voice drops tells me he’s offering more than a neck rub.

  “I need a screwdriver.” I ignore the elephant in the room and focus on the instructions in front of me instead. I pick up the screw and frown at it, then reach for the toolbox just on the other side of him. “Excuse me…”

  He circles his fingers around my wrist. “What do you need?”

  “A screwdriver. I just told you.”

  “Which one?” His fingers rub back and forth, back and forth along the soft, delicate skin at the inside of my wrist. I find myself starting to squirm.

  Not helpful, traitorous pregnant body.

  “The cross one.”

  “Cross-slot or Phillips?” He tries to sneak a peek at the screw in my hand.

  “I’m really not sure, but I’d probably be done this step if you’d just shoved the toolbox over,” I snap.

  He chuckles and pushes it further away. “Or I could teach you.”

  “God, you’re such a man.”

  He ignores that jab and picks up two screwdrivers. They look pretty much the same, except I guess one of the heads is wider than the other. I snatch the one that looks more familiar, and it fits the screw in my hand.

  I attach the first leg to the bassinet base, then move to the second one.

  Max sits down and picks up the instructions, then pokes at me after he reads it. “Many hands make light work. Pass me the Robertson screw driver.”

  It annoys me that he uses the proper name, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just been a long day. “Which one is that?”

  “The square head.”

  “Why didn’t you just say square head?”

  “Because tools have proper names.” Maybe he doesn’t mean that to sound patronizing, but it does.

  “Because men named them, assuming they’d have assistants from whom they’d get to imperiously demand said tools. If a woman was in charge of naming tools, she wouldn’t have bothered, because she knew she’d just be reaching for them herself.”

  “Because she’d be too stubborn to accept help.”

  “Help! You don’t want to help me. You want to control me.”

  Max exhales roughly and leans back, giving me a confused look. “Whoa, are we having a fight?”

  “I don’t know, are we?”

  He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Is it possible this is a hormonal thing?”

  I push to my feet. Yes, it’s possible. The way I just went from zero to sixty inside my head actually makes it more than possible, but holy fuck, really? “Are you going to throw that at me every time I have a pregnancy-fueled reaction?”

  “I don’t know. Are you going to tell me what you’re upset about?”

  “I’m feeling a little out of control, okay?”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “No? I haven’t been in control of anything since the night I met you, and the fact that you’re knocked up underlines that fact in case there was any doubt. And yet I’m still here, still rolling with the punches because I want you, Violet. I want you, and I want this baby, and I want to fucking help, and sometimes you won’t let me.”

  “I won’t let you help me? I let you move me into your house.”

  “You didn’t want to move in?” He stares at me.

  “I wanted…”

  “What, Violet? What did you want that I haven’t given you?”

  My pulse is pounding in my ears. Don’t say it, I tell myself, and by some small miracle, I hold my tongue. But it doesn’t matter. He knows what I’m thinking.

  “I’m not Prince Charming. But I’m doing the best I can.” He shoves his hand through his hair. “I love you. But you’re right. If you’re looking for a fairytale ending, with me down on bended knee, promising happiness forever, that’s never going to happen. I don’t believe in that shit, and neither should you.”

  “Wow. Okay, good to know.” Hot tears prick at my eyelids. That’s pretty damn clear.

  “Violet…”

  “No. Don’t say anything else. Really.” I swipe at my eyes, refusing to let the tears fall down my cheeks. “I love you, too, you jerk, but yes, the hormones coursing through my body want forever. Sue me for being a romantic.”

  “Hey…”

  “I’m going to take a nap. Alone.” I gesture at the basinette, still in pieces. “You can finish putting that together. Or not. It doesn’t matter.”

  47

  Max

  I give her thirty minutes to calm down, then I join her in my bed.

  “You’re not sleeping,” I say when she doesn’t roll over.

  “No,” she says quietly.

  “So stop ignoring me.”

  “I’m not ignoring, exactly. I just…I don’t know what to say.”

  “I do love you. We’re not leaving, remember? You’re not leaving, I’m n
ot leaving, and we love each other. Isn’t that enough?” Even as I say it, I know the answer is probably not. But God damn it, this is hard shit for me to process. It’s not in my nature to be all Ward Cleaver where I do and say all the right things. I’m just Max. The guy who is muddling through unknown territory, completely clueless about how domestic life works. I’ve asked her to move in—an enormous step for me, but still not big enough. She’s expecting marriage and I should have seen that coming, but I didn't. Marriage…I can't give her that.

  My phone rings and I pull it out to silence it.

  “You can answer it,” Violet says, burrowing her face in my chest. “Work's important.”

  I laugh at her assumption that it’s work. It usually is. I show her the screen. Eliza. “Not work. She can wait.”

  “Eliza Black? The Eliza Black?” She says it the same way Blair did the first time he took a message from Lizzie.

  “Yeah.”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  “Not at all. She’s like a sister to me. I told you about her. She’s Lizzie.”

  Violet’s eyes go really big. “Oh. Well, take it.”

  I put the phone down. “I’ll call her back after we finish our nap.”

  “I wasn’t really napping.”

  “Wasn’t, yes. But now you will be.”

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  The next day we’re about to sit down to dinner when the doorbell rings. It’s a totally startling sound, because I’m quite certain it’s the first time the bell has been used.

  Violet gives me a confused look. “Expecting someone?”

  I shake my head. But it could be Lachlan or Tate, or someone else from the hockey team. Except they wouldn’t be so rude as to show up without calling ahead.

  Irritated at my time with Violet being interrupted like this, I stalk to the foyer, ready to blast whoever it is on the other side. As soon as I yank open the front door, my bluster immediately deflates. “Eliza.” I step back and gesture for her to step inside and out of the cold. “What are you doing here?”

  She sweeps in. She's wearing a Canada Goose jacket that looks suspiciously brand new. “I called yesterday.”

  And I’d dodged it because I wanted to take a nap with Violet. “Sorry I didn’t call you back. Nice coat.”

  She winks at my observation. California girl wasn't prepared for the winter wonderland that is Ottawa, clearly. I bet she bought it at the airport. “So you're really okay? Are you—oh!” Her voice turns up at the end and I glance back to see Violet’s joined us.

  I reach out for her and she takes my hand. “I’m more than fine, actually. This is my girlfriend, Violet. She’s the reason I’ve been a bit…distracted lately.”

  “Oh, so lovely to meet you!” And they are off. Somehow I'm left holding Lizzie’s coat as she whirls into my house holding Violet’s arm.

  By the time I get that hung up and find them in the kitchen, Lizzie has a drink and they are chatting like old friends.

  I join Violet where she's leaning against the counter and I put my arm around her. Her question from the day before rang in my ears. Should I be jealous?

  There hasn’t been another woman for me to even look at since the night I met Violet, but even before that, Lizzie had never been like that, not even when we were teenagers. And now there would never be anyone else, period. I only have eyes for one woman, and it was the one in my arms.

  I kiss her temple. “What lies is Lizzie telling you about me?”

  “She says you’re lonely,” Violet says, her lips curving into an amused smile.

  Not anymore I’m not. I hold my love’s gaze. “Am I?”

  “No,” she says slowly, shaking her head.

  “Fine, I’m convinced,” my oldest, dearest, most smart-alecky friend says, and we both laugh and turn back to her. She beams at me. “I just needed to see this for myself.”

  But there’s something a little too bright about her smile, and it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I don’t let her get away with that. “Why’d you really come up here?”

  She shrugs. “It was on my way to Toronto.”

  “On your way by how many extra flights?”

  “I had that warm coat to keep my company, it was fine.”

  “Eliza.”

  “Max.”

  Violet laughs. “Can I get you a glass of wine? We were about to sit down for dinner.”

  Lizzie waves her hand. “No, thank you, but I’d take filtered water if you have it, or green tea?”

  “I’ll put on the kettle,” Violet says.

  I plate up our dinner, knowing that Lizzie won’t mind if we eat while she works her way around to spilling whatever is on her mind. “What are you doing in Toronto?”

  “We begin filming on a new project next week.” There’s an edge to what she says that makes me jerk my attention back to her.

  “Not the Vince Jenkins thing.”

  She swallows hard. “No, not that. I got out of that.”

  “Good.”

  “No, this is something else. It’ll be good.”

  We sit at the table and she sips her tea as she tells us about this new project. She keeps mentioning one of the producers, a British guy who was supposed to be a silent investor, but he’s going to be on set and she seems frazzled by that new development.

  But my earlier concern fades as she talks more. She’s on edge, definitely, but she’s not scared. And maybe what she needs is a little English distraction.

  “Maybe we could come down to Toronto and visit you on set,” I say.

  She beams. “I’d love that. I’m here for a bit, then I’ll be back in April, and again in August for some final shooting. It’s a weird schedule.”

  I nod. “April should work. We’re busy in August.”

  Violet blushes and Eliza looks back and forth between us. “Are you travelling?”

  I laugh. “We’re having a baby, actually.”

  “What?” She claps her hands. “That’s so exciting!”

  I nod. “It is, actually. We’re…” I take Violet’s hand. “We happy.”

  “Good,” she says, giving me a quick hug, then one for Violet, too, that one longer and tighter. “Be good to him,” she says quietly.

  “I can hear you,” I mutter.

  “And make sure he’s good to you, too,” she adds. “Tell me if he’s not.”

  Violet just smiles. “We’re pretty good at sorting that out when we run into bumps.”

  “Excellent.” And with that, Lizzie was gone again, into the waiting hired car in my driveway.

  I shake my head. “Well, that was my friend Eliza.”

  Violet laughs. “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  She crooks her head to the side. “You’re loved by good people.”

  And the best person is right in front of me. I reach for her. “I am. I don’t always see that. But I always see you.”

  She folds into my arms with a sigh.

  "I think it's time we get back to normal, kitten." Our very kinky normal.

  Violet looks up, a spark of interest in her eye. "Yes?"

  Oh, yes. "I want you to go downstairs. Strip and wait for me on the ottoman."

  48

  Violet

  I’m flying high as I prepare for Max. It’s been over two weeks since the holiday play party, and it’s been even longer since we’ve played down here alone.

  He’s just told his oldest friend in the world he’s happy about the baby, and he didn’t choke on the words. And that’s enough for me right now.

  My belly squeezes a little when I hear Max descending the stairs to the dungeon.

  I adjust my posture slightly, forcing my knees a little wider. I want to be perfect for him. I want everything to be perfect for him.

  Circling me, he trails a finger across my shoulders as he walks behind me, then my collarbone as he moves in front. “Very nice, kitten.”

  He tweaks my nipple and the sharp pain zings strai
ght to my clit. I want him to hurt me tonight. I don’t want him to hold back, but I don’t know how to tell him this.

  “I’ve let things slide too long, Violet. A mistake I will try not to repeat. And as your pregnancy progresses, we’ll have to make modifications to protocol and activities, but we will continue.”

  I smile up at him. His expression is stern, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. He’s happy.

  “So beautiful. Stay put.”

  I can hear him rummaging around in the toy cupboard and my pussy clenches in anticipation. I listen hard, trying to guess what he’s going to torture me with tonight. And when I hear the tell-tale squeak of the wheel on the medical tray, my wait is both nearly over and just beginning.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Max and the tray as he wheels it past me and over to the spanking bench. My entire body quivers with excitement.

  Moments later he’s standing in front of me again. “Wrists, kitten.”

  I hold my arms out in front of me and watch as he fastens the black leather cuffs and clips them together. We don’t have a collar kind of relationship, but I do like it when he pulls out the cuffs. There's something about the physical act, it's like a signal that kickstarts the scene. And the claiming is hot, too.

  “Up you get.” When I climb off the ottoman, Max hooks his finger over the clip joining my cuffs and leads me across the room. I try to sneak a look at the tray to see what he has in store, but there is a cloth draped over it. Evil man.

  Unclipping the cuffs, Max helps me onto the spanking bench, then adjusts my position before finally attaching my wrists to hard points on either side of the bench.

  He crouches in front of me and cups my face, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone. “No blindfold tonight, Violet. We’re alone and I want to be able to see the tears in your pretty eyes.”

  My heart beats faster at the revelation that yes, he’s going to hurt me. I can't wait.

  He stands, unbuckling his belt and I lick my lips, ready to take him in my mouth. Instead of feeding me his cock, he moves to the side of the bench, gliding his palm down my back until it rests on my ass.