Dr. Good - A Man Who Knows What He Wants

I let out a shaky breath.

I can’t allow my mind to skip down such impossible avenues, telling me impossible things that make no freaking sense.

“Oh, okay,” I murmur, with a long-as-heck pause of my own. “Do you think there’s a problem with me?”

“What?” he snarls. “No, Macie. I just… I have to think about this.”

I stand, my hands clasped in front of me. “Okay, that makes sense. Will you be in touch?”

He nods shortly. “I have your details.”

That’s right. He has my phone number and my email, and now my body is aching at the thought of him calling me up later, his husky voice sounding down the phone.

“I couldn’t say this at the office,” I imagine him growling, “but I need to taste your pussy. I need to fuck you until your body has no choice but to get pregnant. There’s no way I’m allowing you to become a single mother. Because you’re mine.”

I curse my stampeding imagination as I turn away from the desk.

There’s no way he’d say that.

“Have a good day,” I murmur as I stride for the door, hoping he can’t detect the wavering nervousness in my voice, the nervousness which slams through my body in time with my reverberating heartbeat.

“And you, Macie,” he growls. “We’ll speak soon.”

How soon? I want to scream, but instead, I pull the door open and stride into the waiting room, my eyes low, fighting the shame that pricks my cheeks and the lust that makes my sex sizzle.

He’d never want me.

But I need him.

Chapter Four

Miller

I pace up and down in front of the floor to ceiling windows of my penthouse apartment, still in my workout gear, watching as the sun sets slowly over the city below.

The light kisses the top of the buildings, and sometimes I’d pause and watch it for a while, but right now I’m too amped-up.

Even killing my body in the gym hasn’t distracted me from thoughts of Macie, bouncing around my head all damn day.

After my meeting with her, I had several more consultations and appointments, and it took everything I had to focus professionally on the work in front of me instead of letting my mind sprint off to worlds made of her curvy-as-fuck ass, her bulging breasts, the innocent blush in her cheeks telling me she’d melt for me in the bedroom, biting her lip as she stares up at me and I drive savagely between her legs.

I clench my fists, pacing, letting out a ragged breath.

My cock is rock hard in my gym shorts, pressing against the fabric, causing me to clench my fists harder.

I don’t want to touch myself. I don’t want to waste my seed unless it involves my woman.

My fucking woman.

When my mind isn’t captivated with thoughts of her curvy body and her wide eyes, it flits to darker scenes, to places where she’s being kissed by other men, claimed by other men, and that prompts the monster inside of me to howl and beat its chest in primal rage.

No other man gets to touch her, fucking ever.

She’s mine and mine alone, and she always will be.

Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

I sigh, turn away from the window and walk across my open-plan penthouse to the kitchen.

I haven’t eaten all damn day, but the thought of food seems pointless when her fresh young body is out there waiting for me to feast on it, kiss her hips, her thighs, move my way to her tangy hole as she moans and begs for me to give her the release she desperately needs.

After I touched her hand in the consultation, I had to force myself to be detached, cold, because it was the only way I could stop myself from being too forward with her.

But the longer we stayed in the room together the more difficult it was becoming not to roar out my true desires. I kept trying to imagine what her reaction would be to her doctor telling her how I really feel about her, telling her I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life with her the second I saw her.

I laugh gruffly, shaking my head at the thought.

It doesn’t even make any fucking sense.

How can I know that with so much goddamn certainty?

My thoughts are interrupted by my landline blaring through the house, telling me it’s my mother. She’s the only one who bothers to use the landline these days.

She’s the only reason I bother keeping it, in fact.

I walk over to the living room, across the hardwood flooring and the fur rugs, and pick up the cordless phone.

“Mom?” I say, answering.

She chuckles lightly. “You always do that, Miller. What if it’s somebody else?”

I grin, strolling back to the floor to ceiling windows. “It never is. You good?”

“Oh, yes, just waiting for my nails to dry. I’ve got you on the loudspeaker thingy. Are you proud?”