Dr. Good - A Man Who Knows What He Wants

“You’re crazy, Miller.”

She’s right. I’m completely certifiably crazy about her.

Her words dance through me, tempting me to claim her right here.

The savage buried deep inside of me – my whirring seed and my pounding desire – tell me to leap across the table and wrap my arm around her waist. The need tells me to bend her over the table and pull up her skirt, grabbing her ass cheeks as I guide my engorged helm to her hot pink hole.

But I have to hold myself back, at least for a little while longer.

Chapter Nineteen

Macie

His hand squeezes onto my thigh as we ride in the limousine back to his penthouse apartment. I can feel the need burning through his body, triggering an answering call of lust deep inside of me, my womb screaming out for him to slide his hand further up my leg and press down on my sex.

I shift my legs, feeling the wetness between my legs, the way my panties grind against my clit and my lips.

He smirks as his gaze moves over me, every part of him bulging in his suit. His tendons stand out on his neck and his facial features are tight like he’s trying to hold back a beastly roar of release.

He leans down and kisses my neck, softly, and then kisses up to a place behind my ear that sets my whole body tingling like he’s just pushed a button. I shiver and shift against him, moving closer, seeking more of the warmth his lips offer.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he whispers in my ear, his warm breath painting me.

“You do the same to me,” I whimper, as his hand tightens against my thigh and sends more whirring lust between my legs.

Then he breaks it off with a gruff laugh. “I can’t keep touching you, my sweet virgin, or I’ll end up taking your hot needy hole right here. You deserve privacy. You deserve soft silk sheets for your first time.”

I nod, even if part of me wants to leap atop him and spread my legs, driving my sex down against his manhood and grind against him until he’s gasping with the need for me. I imagine grabbing his manhood through his pants, feeling how irrepressibly solid he is, stroking him up and down as I whisper dirty words in his ear.

One day, maybe, I’ll have the confidence to be so forward.

Right now I’m more concerned with thinking about what happens when we get home, oscillating between hungry want and aching nervousness, unsure of which is going to win.

“How many do you want?” he asks, squeezing his hands together as though it’s the only way he can stop himself from grabbing me again.

“How many what?” I ask, captivated by the way he looks in profile, every feature chiseled, his hulking body emanating volcanic heat.

“Children.” He glances at me, a smirk touching his lips. “Because let me tell you, Macie, I’d have a hundred with you if that’s what you wanted.”

“A hundred?” I giggle. “Don’t you think that’ll be, you know, impossible?”

He laughs, his eyes lighting up, and for a second he’s not my savage lover but the future father of my children, with kindness in his eyes, and I can imagine him sitting in front of a crackling fire with a book open on his lap as he reads to our gathered children. Who knows… maybe he’ll be reading one of my books to them.

“How many do you want?” I ask.

“Oh, no, you’re not getting away that easily.”

“What?” I giggle.

“Number one, I asked first. And number two, you’ve been thinking about being a mother for far longer than I’ve been thinking about being a father. I’d resigned to the fact I would never meet the woman of my dreams until you walked into my office.”

“Yeah, but…” I sit up straighter, aiming a challenging look at him. “Before that, you used to think about it, right? You used to dream about having a family. You thought you might meet the woman of your dreams. So when you used to fantasize about that, how many children were there?”

“You’re too damn clever,” he says, wrapping his hand around mine.

I notice he holds my hand with purposeful softness.

It’s like he can’t bring himself to squeeze me as hard as he wants because then it would lead to other things, to unleashing something inside of him he wouldn’t be able to stop.

The pre-Miller Macie would feel silly for thinking I could read so much in a handhold, but I’m starting to get sick and freaking tired of questioning myself. I can feel something burning through his body, the same way I can sense my womb whelming up inside of me, two primal forces calling to each other through the intimacy of our touches.

“But I still asked first,” he goes on. “Or are you going to make me add to the spank tally?”