Dr. Good - A Man Who Knows What He Wants

Or I’m going to make her.

I study her address for a few moments, my mind flooded with protective thoughts.

Does she give her address out this easily to every stranger she meets, or can she sense there’s something between us as urgently as I can?

I let out a shivering growl as I turn and stride across my apartment, heading toward my bedroom.

Part of me wants to sort out this drumming lust that moves through me like a torrent. Part of me wants to pull my throbbing dick out and stroke myself as I picture her bent over my desk, that shy-as-fuck smile on her face, as I drag my tongue up her juicy thigh toward her even juicier sex.

But I know if I give in to this beast inside of me I wouldn’t be able to stop at just touching myself.

If I allowed the cage inside of me to bust open and for my real desires to unleash, it would turn into an impossible-to-ignore chant in my mind.

All I would hear is she’s-mine she’s-mine she’s-mine on a loop until the sound became so deafening I would be forced to act on it. I can imagine the cute surprised way her lips would part when I bring my hand down on her ass, spanking her lightly, but hard enough to show her who’s boss.

I groan, almost reaching down to grip my manhood.

How the fuck am I going to get through this without leaping on her?

I stop in my walk-in closet, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath the same way I did before a test in medical school.

That’s the way I have to look at this, a test of my self-restraint, of my ability to be that close to somebody I desire more than anything and somehow hold myself back.

But even if I know this is what I need to do, I also know I need my woman more…

Far, far, fucking far more than I’ve ever needed anything or anyone else.

Chapter Seven

Macie

I pace up and down my living room with Derrick’s note in my hand, twisting it this way and that, trying to convince myself that somehow this isn’t Derrick.

He’s not back to make my life hell, the same way he made it hell for so many years.

Somebody else is playing a trick on me…

But then I look down at the note and dread-filled certainty moves through me because I recognize the handwriting. I remember it from high school, the way it would lope across the page, always like he was in a hurry even if he had nowhere to be.

My heart is still pounding, and not just from the note. Talking to Miller sent butterflies scurrying around my body, sending waves of anxiety surging through me, like any second I could just scream and let out all the tension.

It seems impossible that he’s actually going to come here to help me.

But he said he would and he doesn’t seem like a liar.

Something about the solid way he speaks, the conviction in his voice, tells me he’s a man of his word, that he’d never let me down.

I try to shut down those silly thoughts inside of me, telling myself it’s ridiculous.

He doesn’t want me like that.

The only reason he’s coming over here is that I got so dramatic on the phone. He probably thinks I’m some immature drama queen making a fuss over nothing, but out of a sense of duty, he’s going to swing by anyway…

Probably when he’s on his way to a date.

Or maybe he’ll even bring his date with him, some tall billboard-type with legs that are sleek and skinny and go on and on forever. They’ll stand at the door, Miller in a suave suit and his date in some glittering ensemble, and they’ll tilt their heads at me like I’m a specimen in a zoo.

“Aw,” I imagine the woman saying. “Is the little girl scared?”

I grab my cell phone from the table, navigating to Miller’s number.

Maybe I should cancel.

It is strange that he offered to come by.

Knock-knock.

I know it’s Miller right away. The way he knocks on the door is so much more assertive than that other man, as though Miller is on the verge of smashing the door down any second. He knocks like he could barge in here and wrap his hands around my hips, pulling me close to him, smoothing his hands down my body until he’s clamped possessively onto my ass.

I take a deep breath, screaming silently at myself to let those vignettes die.

I can’t let myself entertain thoughts like that, because maybe that will lead me down dark avenues, where I entertain other thoughts… thoughts of tasting his lips, of running my hands through his iron hair, leaping on him to make it a reality.

And then he’d step away, a sickened look on his face.