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“Hold on.” Nicolas interrupted her and when I opened my eyes he was sliding his hands under my legs and around my back.
“What are you-?” I asked but he just sat down with me in his lap in the chair I’d been in and turned it so I was still facing the doctor head-on.
“Continue,” He nodded to her as I panted in… fear?
Uncertainty?
No, it was excitement from feeling his body pressed to mine again, but I’d never admit to it.
I didn’t have time to wonder about it for long though because the doctor pulled my hand back into her space and I tensed up, anticipating the pain before she even started probing the swollen joint.
“Relax, Little One,” Nicolas said, sliding his warm palm against my cheek and forcing me to turn to look at him. “If you tense, it may not go back into place correctly, and then she’ll have to do it again.”
“How am I supposed to relax?” I argued in a whisper, not clarifying that it was from the proximity to the man underneath me and not the pain that caused my discomfort.
“Like this.” He lowered his face to mine, using the hand along my cheek to hold me still as his lips kissed me. I gasped and he absorbed it, using the startled reflex of mine as his chance to swipe his tongue between my parted lips. “Relax,” He commanded me again and I sagged into his chest as he deepened the kiss.
“Fuck!” I hissed against his lips when the doctor placed the second knuckle seamlessly thanks to my distracted state, but tensed yet again when she moved to the third and last dislocated knuckle.
“Almost there.” She affirmed and my body trembled in Nicolas’ lap.
“Relax.” He repeated, kissing me still and laying his other hand down on my thigh, pressing his fingers in the open slit of the robe until they found their way between my thighs. He was only a couple of inches from the fabric of my panties, and I cringed knowing the doctor was seeing his permissionless exploration of my body.
Then I remembered that I was his wife now, and to those looking in, this perhaps looked normal. Even if our union was anything but.
His hand on my cheek slid around my neck and anchored around my nape, pulling me even tighter against his chest as something vibrated under the soft fabric of his button-down shirt.
“Good girl,” he whispered against my lips and pushed his tongue into my mouth again, nibbling on my lips with each leisurely pass. “Relax.”
Even as he said the words though, I could feel how tense his body was underneath mine and I shifted against him. That’s when I felt it.
His erection.
Pressed tight against my ass as his hand wandered higher between my thighs. A small whimper left my lips and his turned up into a snarl I recognized from last night when he looked at me before dropping them to my vagina.
Snap.
The third and final knuckle slid into place as I flinched and hissed, biting down on his bottom lip so fast I didn’t have time to tell myself not to do it until I felt him flinch and tasted the metallic blood on my tongue.
“That should do it. You’ll be sore and tender for a few days, but take some ibuprofen and put ice packs on it a couple of times a day and you should be right as rain. I’ll check back in on you in a day or two,” Dr. Travis said, and I tried to pull back away from our intimate embrace but my husband’s hold on my neck tightened as he in turn pulled back just enough to create sufficient space between our lips to address the doctor.
“Thank you, you can see yourself out.”
“Yes, Mr. Capasso.” She answered demurely as I opened my eyes and found his staring directly into mine. I listened to her footsteps on the thick carpet and then the click of the door closing behind her as he continued to hold me immobile.
“You bit me,” he said firmly, running his tongue over the small nick in his bottom lip. “Twice now you’ve latched those pearly white teeth into my flesh.”
“I’m sorry,” I answered impulsively, having apologies ingrained in my brain from years of fear of recourse.
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he relaxed his hold on my neck, finally letting me put an appropriate distance between our faces even as I continued to sit on his lap. “How does your hand feel?” His thumb on the hand nestled between my thighs gently stroked back and forth over the inner part of my leg, weaving a dizzying spell of arousing sensations over my confused brain.
“Hurts,” I answered truthfully and then looked down at my hand which was turning more purple.
“I suspect today and tomorrow will be the worst of it, and then it will start to feel better.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
He lifted one side of his upper lip in a sort of smirk and leaned back into the chair, “I’ve dislocated my knuckles more times than I’d care to remember.”
