Chapter 2
Doctor’s Orders
Jackson Whitney’s wife, Josefina, had always compared him to a dog with a bone—once he had it, he wouldn’t let it go or leave it alone. They’d met toward the end of his four years training in medical school, before the three years he spent training in internal medicine and the three years following that in specialized training to become a cardiologist. She’d been by his side through a lot, but now that he had his own private practice and was out there doing what he’d trained so long to do, not much had changed.
He still tackled things the same way. He latched on to an idea and wouldn’t let it go. No argument persuaded him. He didn’t bark or bite, but he protected his interests as ferociously as needed and he didn’t relax until everything he’d set out to do was done.
In practical terms, this made him a workaholic. He knew it was a bad habit to keep things to himself as much as he did, but he didn’t know any other way to be.
All day, each day at his practice, everything rested on his shoulders. The tough calls and the search for solutions that could save a life never ended and no one else could make them. The pressure was immense. His employees and his patients depended on him just as much as Josefina and their two kids, Jada, who was five, and Kayla, who was three.
Sitting in his Lexus, the engine started but the car parked beside the professionally manicured landscaping outside his office, Jackson blew out a breath and tried to let go of the tension built up in his body. His neck was stiff, his back in knots, his stomach unsettled. The two antacids he’d taken earlier hadn’t done much.
The dim glow off the dashboard soothed him, a welcome contrast to the harsh fluorescents from the patient rooms he’d been in and out of since eight that morning.
The past year had showed him his plate was only going to get fuller as time went on. Jada was in school now and enrolled in cheerleading as well as gymnastics. Josefina—Jo for short—struggled to manage the home, the nanny, and the kids without much help from him, especially with her father in ill health as dementia set in. She leaned on Jackson as much as she could, and he did what he was able to for her. She did likewise, but he knew there was a lot he had to shoulder on his own.
Or, well, almost on his own.
He called Oliver Hughes before making any conscious decision to do it. Instinct took over.
Oliver answered, laughing. It was a deep, throaty, sensual sound. “Had a feeling. Guess it was right.”
Jackson imagined him in his penthouse apartment, standing by the windows overlooking the city, sipping some scotch, wearing a perfectly tailored suit with the silk tie loosened just a little at the neck, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His brown hair would be swept back, his hazel eyes fiery and searching, full of energy that never lessened in its intensity or dulled its edge.
The mental image soothed like nothing else could.
Blowing out another breath, letting Oliver hear how bone-tired he was, Jackson said, “Can’t go home yet. I’m just sitting here… stuck.”
“Jo expecting you?”
“No.”
“Then don’t go. Where’s here?”
“Parking lot at the office.”
“Good. I’m close then.”
“You are,” Jackson smiled, something unknotting in his chest. It was strange to depend so much on a man over ten years his junior—and a white, unabashedly privileged one at that. Many people would have judged Jackson harshly for it, but luckily no one else’s opinions mattered, other than Oliver’s, his own, and Jo’s. They all understood the arrangement, had been equally involved in setting the ground-rules, and had been satisfied with the results for quite a while. “I’d like to stop by, if you’re free.”
“Excuse me,” Oliver said with passion and dominance, “you’d better fucking stop by. That’s an order. I forbid you to go home.”
Jackson’s smile grew. The thrill of Oliver’s low voice tickling his ear spiraled down through Jackson’s body, twisting behind his balls, stiffening his cock. He palmed it through his pants, squeezing. “Mmm. Yes, sir.”
Oliver was the cleverest, most intelligent, cunning human being Jackson had ever met. He was wicked hunger incarnate. He feared nothing. Never met a challenge he couldn’t best with one arm tied behind his back. Everything he encountered only made him stronger and more determined to master it all.
Right away, Oliver knew exactly what Jackson needed to hear. Jackson didn’t know how he did it, but he always came through.
“Do you need me to call her for you?”
“Please.”
Jackson always struggled most with justifying his most selfish needs.
“What else is bothering you? Is it something you can say over the phone?”
“I don’t know.” He didn’t want to get into it, but it was Oliver on the phone and Jackson felt able to just let it go and get the words out. He didn’t have kids running around his feet, or staff lingering nearby, or worries about his father-in-law to cloud his mind. It was a lot less complicated in Oliver’s world. “One of my patients is dying. They’re just a year older than I am. There’s nothing I can do.”
Oliver jumped right in, without a hint of tiptoeing around the touchy subject. “You’re not God. You do your best, always. You’re a fucking excellent doctor and you’re doing everything you need to for them. Does Jo know?”
“I can’t tell her right now. She’d just worry,” Jackson admitted.
“You can’t manage other people’s emotions for them. First chance you get her alone, just tell her. Total honesty. Promise me.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Oliver effortlessly hacked all the bullshit away. Jackson let Oliver’s confidence and assurances wash over him like cooling waters. Some of the tension was already gone, diverted from his shoulders to his cock. He used to feel a monstrous amount of guilt about how much he’d given himself over to Oliver, pieces that should have belonged solely to his wife, or so he’d thought. Oliver had worked him through it. Time had shown him the power of trust and true love as they’d opened their relationship, allowing him the ability to devote himself to acting as Oliver’s submissive while Josefina took a boyfriend to help sate her own needs. If anything, it had strengthened their marriage. Now, the only thing that scared him was how badly he needed Oliver when the urge struck.
“Is there anything else?” Oliver asked, knowing him too well.
“No.”
“You fucking liar. Put the call on speaker.”
He pushed the button to transfer the call to the car’s speakers.
“Okay. It’s done,” Jackson told him.
“How hard are you?”
Jackson squeezed himself. “Enough.”
“Control it. Right now.”
Jackson took deeper breaths, tried to wrest his thoughts away from the filthy, tempting promise in Oliver’s suave voice. They’d practiced this, but it was still a challenge.
“Can anyone see you?”
“No. The others left as soon as we closed up.” It was one of the reasons why he’d waited a few minutes before making the call to Oliver, which he hadn’t realized until just that moment.
“Good. Open your pants. Pull your cock out. Then check the center console.”
Jackson glanced around, just to be sure, but the parking lot was empty. As he unbuttoned his pants and slipped his heavy, stiffened dick out from beneath his boxers, he thought of the set of car keys he’d given Oliver, months ago. When Oliver demanded access, he got it.
Jackson lifted the top on the center console. Inside was a small, sleek metal case and a tube of lubricant. He palmed both and felt his breathing quicken, his energy becoming jittery with anticipation, his worries vanished.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asked.
“Who takes care of you?”
“You do.”
Jackson took care of many people, Josefina most of all, but, as much as he’d always love her, there were some ways she couldn’t fit all of his varied needs. And there was only one person who took care of him the way Oliver implied, no matter what or how or why. Jo wasn’t into BDSM, but Jackson didn’t need her to be. He loved her with his whole heart and always would. She was the mother to his children. She made their home. She was the perfect wife. But tension built up in Jackson in ways she had never known how to vent. It would have changed him, damaged what they had together, if not for Oliver. She gave Oliver Jackson’s darkness. She trusted him with it with her whole heart.
“Do you want it?”
“Fuckin’ hate this thing,” he groaned, slipping it from the case, feeling the thin metal with the ring on the end, cool against his palm. “Yes. Yes, I want it. Something’s wrong with me.”
“No, you’re perfect just the way you are,” Oliver told him, and Jackson could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s going to hurt.”
“Yeah, no shit it’s gonna hurt,” Jackson murmured, spreading plenty of lube on the metal, especially the flared end with the pointed, dull tip.
“Do you want it?”
“Yes, sir,” he answered, without doubt, giving into his fear and letting go of everything else. Oliver was in control.
“I want to hear you. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Jackson said a little stiffly, his nerves getting the better of him, his heart pounding.
“Are you softer?”
“A little.”
“Good. Insert it. All the way. Don’t stop until it’s completely seated.”
“Fuck,” Jackson breathed. He took a few deep breaths, then lined up the pointed end of the urethral plug with the slit in his cockhead. “Oh fuck.”
He let the weight of the metal pull it down. Gravity drew it down and the lube slicked the way. It was slow torture and he did try to hold in his cries at first, but as the flared end spread his opening, and he did nothing to stop it from continuing its way down into his cock, Jackson let go of that too. His cries started short, low, abrupt. They were little bursts as he began to tremble. He steadied the end of the plug with his thumb, barely adding pressure, and his shout rattled the car’s windows.
“How deep?”
Jackson glanced down at his lap, sweating now. “Ha-halfway.”
“Good. Keep it going. Don’t let it stop. You can’t stop it. Only I can stop it, and I want it inside you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you feel that? How much that hurts? Focus on it. There is nothing else besides the pain. Let it take over.”
Jackson added more pressure with his thumb and the pain spiked along with his yell. Then it softened again, and he gasped, shuddering, knowing Oliver could hear all of it. Soon, the plug was stuffed completely inside his cock, with only the ring protruding.
“It’s in.”
“Good. Just sit there. Don’t move. Just feel the pain. Enjoy it. Sink down into it.”
Jackson moaned, his eyes rolling. He was getting harder again.
“Wrap your hand around your tip, then squeeze.”
Eagerly, Jackson obeyed, even though he knew how much it would ache to increase the pressure from outside as well as within. He tried to swallow his scream.
“No, you will let me fucking hear you!”
Jackson let his lips part and it erupted from him in a stream of curses, his thighs quivering, his stomach cramping. The pain was a red hot spike driven into his most sensitive part.
“Stroke yourself until I give you permission to stop. Use plenty of lube.”
Jackson squirted lube into his right hand, then began to tug, his dick slipping in and out of his fist, the squelching loud and obscene.
“Faster,” Oliver barked.
Jackson jacked himself. A guttural moan burst from him. Pain swirled with pleasure and knowing he couldn’t and wouldn’t come made it all so much better. His panting climbed in pitch. Soon, he was begging.
“Please. Please… Fuck. Fuck!”
“Stop.”
Jackson shuddered, his dick so hard and throbbing he let it go with shaking hands, unable to think past it.
“I forbid you to touch yourself until I give you permission to do so. I forbid you to close your pants. I’ll meet you in the garage. Drive safe.”
“Love you too.”
Oliver laughed, then ended the call.