Dr. Good - A Man Who Knows What He Wants

I reach across the table and brush a warm tear from her cheek.

She lets out a laugh, shaking her head. “I’m okay. Look at me, crying all over my burger.”

“Thank you for sharing that,” I say. “Really. It means a lot. I want to support you, Macie. I want to help you in any way I can to become the writer I know you can be. Anything you need, no matter how crazy, no matter how expensive, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Maybe just let me rant about writing every now and then? That was my aunt’s deal. She’d always let me rant about my characters and stuff until my vocal cords were raw.”

“Deal,” I say. “I can’t wait to see your name in lights.”

“Authors don’t really get their names in lights. Unless they become freakishly huge.”

“Then that’s what we’ll have to do.” I grin widely. “Make you the biggest author in the world.”

She giggles. “I don’t know about that. Just getting a book published would be a massive achievement.”

“How far have you got so far?” I ask.

She glances down at the table in that way of hers, a gorgeous combination of shyness and budding confidence I will never get tired of watching her. The war taking place inside of her is one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever had the honor of being a part of.

I can’t wait for the years to progress, for her natural sassiness to break through her natural shyness.

“Not very,” she says. “The problem is I fall in love with a story and then commit myself to that. I think about it all the time. I obsess about it… and then about a quarter of the way in, I think of a better idea and I abandon the project. I’ve done this with nine books. Nine. So this book – my tenth – I made a promise to myself I’d finish it, no matter what ideas I get along the way.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” I tell her. “Having too many ideas is better than having too few, right?”

“Well, yeah… But I also can’t let those ideas derail me like they have been.”

“Then I’ll make that my mission,” I declare with a savage grin. “I’m going to force you to finish this book, no matter what it takes. Even if I have to chain you to the damn desk.”

She giggles musically, lighting up a thousand different parts of me. “How could I type if I was chained up, huh?”

I chuckle. “Okay, fair point. But I can always find other ways to persuade you.”

Her eyes widen as though she knows what I’m hinting at, as though she knows I’m thinking of sliding my hand down between her legs and rubbing her supersensitive clit every time she reaches a writing milestone, bringing her to a shivering orgasm every five hundred words.

“I think that might be more of a distraction,” she murmurs. “But… yeah, I’d like that.”

“Wait.” I sit up with hot fire moving through me, the food forgotten as I take in the much tastier sight of my woman. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“That I’m ready?”

I nod with primal fury moving through me.

“No, I’m not saying that. I don’t know if I am. But I also know what I’m like. And I don’t think I’m ever going to feel one hundred percent ready. I think maybe I have to trust what you said, that I’m not going to disappoint you even if I’m convinced I am.”

“Let me take the lead,” I growl, my voice shivering with carnal need at this new development. “You don’t have to worry, my perfect virgin writer. I’ll show you how goddamn sexual you are.”

She bites her lip, releases it, forks at her plate with a shiver moving across her expression. “It’s funny, but I’ve always felt sexual, you know, in my internal life. In my mind, I’m the most confident person in the world when it comes to that stuff. But it’s never translated to reality…”

“Until last night,” I growl, reading her as I’ll always be able to.

“Exactly.” She nods. “Last night was just crazy. And when it was happening, I wasn’t thinking like this. I was wholly in the moment. I wonder if that’s what it’d be like if we… you know.”

I reach across the table and tuck her hair behind her ear, savoring the way she shivers at the gesture, as though reverberations of lust are moving through her.

“Do you have any idea how cute you are when you get all shy like that?”

She reaches up and touches my hand. “Just don’t be angry if I’m not what you hope I am.”

“What did I say before?” I snarl. “You already are. Now eat your damn food. I need to get you home.”

I pick up my burger and take a monstrous bite, smirking – with my mouth closed, I’m not a complete animal – when she lets out an adorable giggle.