Devaney’s Doctor Daddy by Honey Meyer

Chapter Thirteen

She was starting to really love waking up in this bed. Which was a little surprising—who liked feeling like they were in a hospital of all places?—but she tried not to work herself into a tizzy.

Being here, in this bed, in this room, with Eric, meant being safe and taken care of. Like being given comfort and help and attention was her due and not some outrageous demand made by an unreasonable diva, and that seemed like something very reasonable to enjoy.

There was a thin ray of light coming in from under the blackout shades which meant she’d slept for a long time. The clock on the table beside the bed confirmed it—after nine-thirty already? When was the last time she’d slept that late and so soundly? Especially during a migraine?

Her head definitely still hurt like someone was attempting to jackhammer through her skull and into her brain but it was actually an improvement from the worst parts of yesterday. She’d have to ask Eric if she could have more of those meds because they seemed to help.

Speaking of Eric, he’d left her a note. She kind of wanted to laugh because doctors had a reputation for atrocious handwriting and Eric’s was no exception. It was both spiky and scrawly which was an impressive feat in itself.

Devy,

I have a patient this morning but I should be done by ten and then I’ll be back to check on you. If you need something before that, use the buzzer I showed you yesterday—I’ll be up as soon as I can. Be a good girl for me and don’t get out of bed without help, doctor’s orders!

Yours,

Eric

Her heart fluttered when she read that. Hers? Even when she and Carter had been newlyweds he’d never felt like hers. She’d always felt more as though she was his. Which could be a nice feeling—like you belonged to someone, like someone had claimed you—and she thought she’d very much enjoy being Eric’s. But with Carter it had felt more like she was his along with his car and his golf clubs. A prized possession, but a possession nonetheless.

She stretched her arms over her head, careful of her IV, and then nestled back into the comfortable bed. It was really cozy and safe in here. And while part of her itched to get up and do something—because there was always something to do—she’d been ordered not to do anything.

The weight she always felt to be cooking or cleaning or working or doing things for the boys’ schools lifted a bit though she still felt some of the pressure. Not enough to disobey Eric, though. No, she would stay tucked in bed as she’d been told.

Her mouth did feel kind of dry and sticky, though, and she was glad he’d left her a sippy on the nightstand. She picked it up—this one had yellow sunshines and bright rainbows all over it—and brought it to her lips, taking a few sips. She couldn’t drink too much or spill because the cup wouldn’t let her. Even holding the handles that curved around the sides was comforting—she had to use both hands, and she’d never drop it that way. She even let herself close her eyes and draw on her cup while she drowsed. Everything about this room, everything about Eric, made her feel small and safe.

It could’ve startled her when she heard the door open a few minutes later, she could’ve taken the sippy from her mouth because it was embarrassing for him to see her like this, but she didn’t bother. No, she liked the sound of Eric lowering the rail on her bed and the feel of his weight sinking the mattress, how it made her roll toward him. She smiled around her sippy and her heart glowed as he smoothed her hair and bent to kiss her forehead.

“Morning, Devy baby. How’s my little patient today?”

Reluctantly, she pulled the sippy from her mouth and blinked her eyes open. Worth it when she saw Eric smiling down at her, still wearing his white coat from seeing his patient, with a stethoscope slung around his neck.

No wonder medical dramas were so popular—there was something undeniably, baseline hot about doctors. The competence? The caring? Did it matter? And Eric was impossibly handsome besides, not to mention that he seemed quite enamored of her. Devaney would enjoy this alternate universe for as long as possible.

“Okay, Daddy.”

“Still got your migraine?”

She let herself stick out her bottom lip in a pathetic frown and nodded. Before Eric, she wouldn’t have dared—get up, get to it, no time to be self-indulgent when there are things to do, a certain way to look, a country club event to get to so just grin and bear it and get over yourself because it can’t be that bad.

But Eric petted her hair and bent down to brush his lips over her brow, murmuring against her skin. “Oh, I know, baby. You don’t feel good. Daddy’s going to help you feel better, though, okay? How’s your tummy? Think you can eat something this morning?”

“Maybe a little?”

“That’s my brave girl. We’ll give it a try. You like your sippy?”

“Mm-hmm, Daddy.”

She took another drink from her special cup to demonstrate and the smile on his face stretched into a grin. “You’re such a pretty girl in your gown and with your sippy, buttercup.”

Heat flared in her cheeks, but it dissipated into pleasure as Eric kept stroking her. Seriously, if he kept this up she was going to fall asleep again. Which may not be such a bad thing. Once during the summer when Carter had taken the boys camping for a long weekend she’d been able to veg out while she had a migraine and while it hadn’t been fun—there was nothing fun about migraines—the rest and the extra sleep had made it more bearable.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Just telling the truth, babygirl.”

He dropped another kiss on her forehead, and yeah, she was basically reduced to goo when she was around Eric and he didn’t seem to mind. Seemed to, in fact, enjoy holding the puddle of Devy-goo in his hands and treasuring it. Yeah, that was what that feeling was. Treasured. Doted upon. Cherished. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes that she blinked back.

“Alright, I’m going to get you something to eat and then we’ll get you some more meds and get you changed. We don’t have time for a bath now, but after my last patient, how does that sound? Nice big tub filled with bubbles?”

“Like heaven.”

Eric chuckled and kissed her jaw right beside her ear in a way that made her shiver, sent a frisson of awareness through even the haze of her headache. A girl could really get used to this—but did she dare?

* * *

Downstairs, Eric stripped off his coat and left his stethoscope on the kitchen counter before rolling up his sleeves. Didn’t need those to make his buttercup breakfast.

She was so…perfect. He would never wish for her to be ill, but he did love the way she’d sunk into a space where she trusted him and let her walls down. No more “I’m fine” when she clearly wasn’t. And the way she’d looked with her hands wrapped around the handles of the sippy was just…

He shook his head to clear it because he didn’t have time to do anything about a hard dick. He’d focus on the other ways she made him feel besides horny as fuck. He’d focus on her.

A woman like Devy didn’t have a lot of time for herself. Maybe none. No time to get her own needs met, no time to relax, no time to be soft and let someone else take care of everything. Had anyone ever done that for her? Sounded like Carter definitely hadn’t.

But for him she was all melty and sweet and she was letting him see all the soft and small parts she’d probably kept locked up for a very long time. Made him feel like king of the world.

He tossed a spam musubi in the microwave for a few seconds and downed it while he put together Devy’s meal. He’d eat lunch after his next patient, but the quick hit of protein and carbs would keep him going through his break with Devy and his next couple patients. Plus they were goddamn delicious.

Once he’d mixed up her smoothie in the blender, he hesitated. She’d looked so content drinking from her sippy—maybe she’d like a bottle just as well or maybe better? He was looking forward to exploring age play with her, see what felt best to his Devy baby, or maybe she wanted to pick and choose little things from the age play buffet which was also cool.

Most of the littles he knew had a certain age they liked to play in, but some of them had more than one age and some didn’t fit neatly into an age at all. He liked everything from bratty older middles who liked to challenge their caregivers to ABDL. Although if he had to pick, he liked babies. But even if it wasn’t consistent with their age, he liked to be able to talk to them while they were little too. Well, he and Devy could figure it out together. Maybe she’d like to meet some littles at Hive, play with them and see some of her options in action?

Whoa, Southerland, slow it down, you’re getting way ahead of yourself.She was here for the weekend, no promises after that even though he couldn’t imagine letting her go even after only a couple days.

He grabbed a bottle before he could talk himself out of it, and filled it up. If she insisted, he’d get her another sippy or even a grown-up cup, but he wouldn’t present her with a choice straight away. He suspected if given options, she’d pick the grown-up cup not because she wanted it, but because she thought that’s what she should choose. Well, he would give her what he actually wanted her to have but wouldn’t force it.

And when she was better, they’d have a conversation—well, more like conversations since communication was a bedrock of any relationship, but power exchange in particular and especially for the vulnerability that came with age play.

Some people found the negotiating tedious and would do it grudgingly. For him, having those talks was one of the best parts. Peeling back the layers of your partner like skin and muscle and bones and tendons until they trusted you to hold their very beating heart in your hands? Yeah, that’s what he was after.

But first, he’d hold his Devy baby in his arms and get some calories into her, hopefully get to see those blue eyes blinking up at him while she suckled on her bottle.

He took the stairs two at a time, feeling the lack of her skin and hair under his hands, and missing her. It’d been fifteen minutes at most he’d been gone, and yet he itched for her like he hadn’t seen her for days, weeks.

His little girl was resting but not asleep when he came in, opening her eyes when he came in and she smiled at him. She still had those dusky smudges under her eyes but she did look better. Pale, but she always was—at least there wasn’t a grey or green cast to her cheeks anymore.

Her smile faltered when she saw the bottle he was carrying, but he shushed her when she opened her mouth, and put down the other rail on her bed. Would she like to be in a crib? Something to talk about later.

Gathering her up in his arms, he slid underneath her and adjusted the bed so they were more upright.

“What did you say about the baby stuff?” he asked her, picking up the bottle from the nightstand. “Made you feel soft and dreamy?”

“And calm,” she volunteered in a reluctant mumble, gazing at him with wide, skittish eyes.

“That’s right. You like your sippy, and I like to make you feel soft and dreamy and calm. Help you relax and rest. I like to take care of you and baby you. Plus, if I feed you like this, I can cuddle you, and we both like that a lot. So give it a try, please, babygirl.”

She bit her lip—he should get her some chapstick even though she’d been drinking from her sippy, her lips were still dry—seeming to work up her nerve. Whether it was to say yes or no, he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t asked her a question on purpose, but he’d drop it if she said no. Later, he could nudge her into at least trying when he had more time to coax her into it. But he didn’t need to.

“’Kay, Daddy.”

His chest swelled with pride and pleasure—it wasn’t soft and dreamy and calm, but a deep sense of gratification and honor. She trusted him, and for a little while, he could cradle her and fill her with nourishment until they were both replete.

“That’s a good girl. Now open up for Daddy. Oh, yes, that’s right.”

He’d been right about how darling she would look being bottle-fed, and fuck, the way warmth flooded through him when she would occasionally blink her gaze to meet his, as if to seek his approval, to make sure he really wanted this. It was enough to make his head swell to three times its normal size, which to be fair, was pretty big already. He wouldn’t say arrogant, exactly—although he was sure some people would—but confident enough in himself to take on other people’s needs in addition to his own.

“What a good little patient you are, taking your bottle. You can have as much as you think you can handle without your tummy getting upset. Such a good, obedient girl for Daddy.”

Yes, he would keep up a constant stream of praise and encouragement if that’s what his beautiful little buttercup needed.