Dr. Good by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Two

Miller

She stands there for a few moments longer, as though the curvy young thing is trying to entice me even more than she already has. My whole body pumps with hot fire just from looking at her, with confusing goddamn fire, because I’ve never felt anything like this before.

And even if I had – which I haven’t – I never thought it would happen this quickly, like a gunshot to the gut I can’t ignore.

She’s a foot shorter than me, maybe a little more, with a body that was made to be grabbed and moved into all the perfect positions. Her hips are wide, built for bringing children into this world, meaning she’s come to the right damn place…

Me, not the clinic.

I’m the man who needs to fuck children into her perfect womb.

I need to move my fingers through her shoulder-length chocolate colored hair, cascading down with quirks and waves here and there, as though she’s silently screaming at me to smooth my hand through her locks and claim her hard.

It’s like she wants me to lean close and stare into her forest-green eyes, roaring at me that those are the eyes we’re going to pass onto our children.

I don’t understand where this vicious fire is coming from, rising up inside of me so I can’t ignore it.

I can’t even try to ignore it. It makes no damn sense.

I gift other people with families. I don’t long for one of my own.

I gave up on finding my perfect woman a long, long time ago.

“Um,” she says again, and then she laughs in a cute-as-heck way.

Shyness reverberates through her, touching her features, but I can see something else beneath it all, trying to work its way into her expression.

“You’re sort of in the way.”

I smirk at her, almost reaching out and curling my hand around her hip right here.

Only the tap-tap-tap of my receptionist’s nails against the keyboard stops me, reminding me that I’m at work, that I can’t just come out and tell this potential patient I want to fuck her in a hundred savage ways, to drag her into my office and bend her over my desk, pull down those cargo pants which aren’t fooling anybody and paint her in shades of my lust.

“Right,” I snarl, turn and stride into my office instead. I call behind me, “Please close the door behind you.”

I’m aware my voice has become rough, borderline cold, but I can’t help it. It’s the fire moving through my body, setting every part of me ablaze, making it impossible to think when her scent trails after me.

She smells young and fresh and ready to open those thick juicy thighs as soon as I tell her to, as soon as I roar at her that she’s mine and she always will be.

Fuck, now I’m thinking about how she belongs to me.

As I walk around my large desk toward my chair, my mind brims with unfair vignettes of other men trying to claim my woman, even if that shouldn’t make sense.

I just met Macie.

How can I be so sure she’s mine, and mine alone, and that I’d do anything to make sure no other man gets to touch her?

I don’t know how I am, only that I am.

I let out a husky breath as I drop into my chair, my gaze flitting over her as she moves across the room.

She bites her lip and clasps her hands in front of her as she makes for the desk. I’m not even sure she knows she’s doing it, but it drives me near-feral.

I grip the edge of the desk as she walks slowly, looking around wide-eyed at my qualifications and awards on the walls. I hang those to impress my wealthier clients, letting them know I’m their man, but right now I regret that goddamn decision.

It’s making her eyes go fuck-me wide, the sort of wide they’ll go when she’s on her knees and she’s got my engorged manhood in her mouth, staring up at me as she bobs her head and lets out shivering moaning noises, muffled by my enflamed helm. It’s the wide they’ll go when she’s bent over and I’m smoothing my hands over her ass cheeks, sliding closer to her soaked hole every second.

“Wow,” she says, finally taking her seat. “Impressive.”

I plaster on my best here-to-help smile, even though smiling has never been my strong suit. I manage a smirk, and even that comes out with a tremor moving through me, difficult to maintain when my manhood is pressing urgently against my zipper.

She’s a client, a patient, I try to remind myself.

This is business.

Making a move on her – mauling her like I want to, like I need to – would be very fucking bad for business.

“Thank you, Macie. Do you mind if I call you Macie?”

“Not at all, Dr. Marshall,” she murmurs.

Her round cheeks are turning a sweet shade of red, the sort of red that makes me want to lean in and kiss her, getting closer to her mouth the same way I’d inch closer to her sex if I was between her legs, kissing until I taste the most intimate parts of her.

I focus, pushing past the lust, trying to pretend this is any other patient meeting—pretending my seed isn’t trying to surge from my heavy balls up my shaft, roaring to be inside of her.

“So, why are you here today?”

“I want to be a single mother.”

No, part of me roars, primal and possessive. That’s out of the fucking question because we’re having children together. And we’re going to raise them. Together.

“I see,” I say, nodding, doing my best impression… well, of myself, when I’m with anyone other than Macie. “And what has brought you to this decision? I know that can seem like a personal question, but I pride myself on only working with people when I can fully support them.”

I’m glad to return to some familiar territory. I make this speech every time I speak with a potential new patient, and it’s true.

I’ve had high-powered couples in here desperate to conceive, but I could tell they would be terrible parents.

I didn’t tell them that, of course.

I make the right excuses and send them on their way. And perhaps they went on to have kids.

But it was without my help.

She interlocks her fingers, pressing her hands close together, letting out a trembling breath that goes right to my core, doing crazy things to me. It’s just a breath, but it almost turns me into a beast.

Or lets the caged beast inside of me out to play.

She bites her lip for a moment, something she wouldn’t do if she knew how feral it was making me.

My whole body is thrumming at the sight of her.

“I’ve always wanted a family, I guess. My parents and my little brother… died in a car crash when I was very young. I hardly remember any of them, truthfully. My aunt took me in after their deaths and—the only reason I wasn’t in the car was that I was sick, staying with my aunt, who’d insisted they go on their day out anyway. They got into an accident shortly after dropping me off with my aunt. Isn’t that crazy? So my aunt either saved my life or I killed my family.”

I grip the edge of the desk, staring hard at her, wondering if she feels comfortable enough to open up like this because she senses the closeness between us as powerfully as I do.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to overshare like that.”

“You were a child,” I growl. “You can’t blame yourself.”

This is something I rarely do, offer judgment based on my patient’s life. My job is to stay impartial, and yet there’s a note of desperation in her voice that tugs at parts of me that were dormant before she stepped into my office, parts of me I find impossible to ignore.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” she says, with a shrug. “But if I wasn’t sick, they would’ve gone directly to the activity center – it was this place with mini-golf and rides and a movie theater, stuff like that – and they wouldn’t have been on that road at that specific time…”

I know it’s a mistake even as I do it, reaching across the desk and taking her hand.

I squeeze hard, staring firmly into her eyes, feeling the shock rioting through her body, watching it cascade across her features.

“You can’t blame yourself,” I snarl firmly, with the beast thrumming inside my voice, telling her that I’m giving her an order she better not ignore. “Do you hear me, Macie? It isn’t your fault. I don’t want to hear you say that again.”