Dr. Good: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  But she’s not my friend. Already, she’s so much more than that.

  And now we’re going to be staying under one roof, I don’t know if I’ll be able to restrain myself.

  Chapter Nine

  Macie

  “It’s not much,” Miller says, standing close to my shoulder as we look over his spare bedroom. “But it’s yours for as long as you need it.”

  I gaze over the massive bedroom, with the king size bed and the floor to ceiling windows with views of the city. The floor is sleek hardwood, with a fish tank taking up one wall, exotic colorful fish flitting here and there. There’s an ensuite and a gorgeous desk that looks perfect for writing.

  “Wow,” I murmur in disbelief.

  But then disbelief has become my resting state ever since Miller came to my apartment. When we went back upstairs to pack, I felt for sure he was going to burst into my bedroom with a vicious grin on his face. I was certain he was going to tell me the idea of me staying with him made him sick.

  Why are you helping me? I wanted to scream, but I already know the answer.

  He’s a nice person.

  There’s nothing more to it than that.

  “Not much?” I say, jolting out of my daydreams. “It’s incredible. Are you sure I can stay here?”

  “Get in there.”

  He laughs deeply as his hand brushes the small of my back, softly nudging me into the room.

  My skin shivers with the contact, my heart drumming with insane speed at the barest touch, awakening things inside of me.

  “Only if you’re sure…” I turn to him, gazing up into his eyes. “I don’t want to take advantage.”

  His dark blue eyes swirl with hidden meaning, or perhaps I’m superimposing how I wished they swirled.

  He drinks me in as he gazes at me. That’s what it feels like, as though he’s greedily consuming every part of me with his eyes, stowing heat-filled vignettes away for later.

  But that’s what I’m doing, I realize as I gaze up at him, my eyes flitting over his tensed jaw and his pulsing temples, the tendons in his neck tight, his whole body bulging like he could erupt.

  “You are not taking advantage,” he snarls.

  A shiver moves through me when he puts the emphasis on you, as though he’s trying to imply he’s the one taking advantage.

  But how the heck is that possible when he’s the one opening his home to me, a complete stranger?

  My mind spins around and around, landing on the possibility that he’s planning on taking advantage of me in some way.

  “What do you mean?” I manage to whimper.

  His smirk twitches and he takes a step back, out of the room, waving a hand as he half-turns away. “Get some rest. I’ll start making arrangements for your apartment to be combed. In the meantime, try to relax. Work on your writing. Do some reading. Whatever you like.”

  “I’ll try and get some sleep,” I say, knowing it’s going to be impossible with all the hectic events of today stacked up in my mind.

  “Good idea.”

  He turns and strides down the hallway, which is becoming his signature, leaving me to gaze at the way his back sways from side to side, to drink in the sight of his taut muscles and the way his suit jacket clings to him.

  I shut the door once he’s rounded the corner, my hand straying down to the lock.

  I hold it there for a few long moments, debating whether or not to turn it.

  It would be the smart thing to do, the expected thing to do, lock the door to give myself some privacy and safety. But the crazy part of me – the part buried deep inside that sends pulsating waves through me faster and faster each moment – screams at me to leave it unlocked just in case…

  I unshoulder my backpack and stroll over to the bed, my footsteps clipping against the floor. I packed light because I shouldn’t be here long, and this is weird enough without bringing a whole freaking suitcase.

  If you decide to stay permanently, that deep-inside voice whispers, you can always go back and get the rest of your stuff.

  I laugh drily and smooth my hands over my belly, shaking my head at the ridiculous notion. There’s no freaking way I’m going to end up staying here on a long-term basis.

  I take my laptop from my bag and wander over to the desk, kneeling down to plug it in. The desk is large but underneath it’s bulky and I almost get stuck under there, laughing at myself because that would be one heck of an impression if Miller did decide to come back and visit me.

  I can imagine him sneaking steamily down the hallway, an intense look of near-release on his face, only to find me wedged under the desk with my ass sticking up in the air.

  Oh…

  But what if he liked that?

  What if he saw my ass sticking up and he let out a carnal growl, and then tore a savage hole in my pants and started dragging his tongue up and down my exposed pussy.

  I imagine him sucking on my clit hard, making it burn, making it feel like it’s going to erupt and send shrapnel of pleasure surging through me, euphoric waves pulsing and quivering.

  I leap out from under the desk.

  I really need to get a grip.

  If a desk is making me horny, there’s a problem.

  I spend the next couple of hours trying once again to immerse myself in the story, but just like last time sinking into the prose is impossible, especially when I’ve got the memory of Miller’s hand on the small of my back, the way his touch lingered moving through me like flowing hot waves.

  I grip the edge of the desk.

  “Focus,” I whisper fiercely under my breath, the same way I sometimes noticed my aunt doing when I spied her at her typewriter.

  She was old school and often worked at a typewriter, saying she preferred the crunchiness of the keys.

  That was always the term she used.

  Crunchy.

  It always made me giggle when I was a little girl with no freaking clue about what she meant.

  But now I know, even if I don’t use a typewriter.

  It’s when the writing becomes so passionate that I start hammering the keys, properly slamming my fingers down, and the crunch-crunch-crunch noise becomes the most satisfying thing in the freaking universe.

  I push away from the desk and pace around the bedroom, shaking my head at myself.

  Okay, so this is getting really bad. To try and avoid thinking about Miller with his possessive alpha hands and his searing eyes I’m thinking about crunchy freaking keyboards?

  I drop onto my bed and lie back, staring up at the ceiling, annoyed at myself for only getting maybe eighty worthwhile words done, and that’s being optimistic.

  Writing has always been my safe place, my refuge from the world, the place I can disappear into and not have to worry about everything else.

  Writing has always meant disappearing in that sense.

  Macie goes, the characters arrive…

  But now I feel like my real life is so much more compelling because Miller is in it, as though the fantasies I normally write about have sprung to life.

  Miller is my giant.

  I’m his fairytale princess.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter, as though saying the words aloud will let me realize just how foolish I’m being.

  But even if I know it’s true, I can’t stop my hands from sliding down my body, down, down, until I’m sliding under my pants and down my panties.

  I can feel the heat before I reach my wetness, and then I close my eyes as hard as I can and I picture the way Miller looked when he stood in the hallway, gazing hard at me, the way his jaw tightened as he devoured me with his gaze.

  Only this time he doesn’t stride away from me.

  He strides toward me.

  “You horny fucking thing,” he growls in my fantasy. “I know you’ve been waiting for this since we laid eyes on each other.”

  This fantasy version of Miller grabs my hips, grinding his manhood against me, as he lets out a feral snarl.

  C
hapter Ten

  Miller

  I sit at my desk in my office, staring blankly at the Word document.

  I’m supposed to be typing up a report…

  Well, no, that’s not completely true. I’m supposed to be trying to get some sleep since it’s almost gone midnight and I’ve got an early start tomorrow, but when I close my eyes all I can think about is Macie, the way she shivered when I placed my hand on the small of her back and pushed her into the bedroom.

  I had to virtually sprint from the room after I’d done that, certain I’d leap on her if I allowed myself to drink in the sight of her shivering body from a simple touch.

  If a touch makes her move so captivatingly, what about a kiss or a real touch?

  How would she react if she awoke to my hand sliding up her thigh, toward her sex that must be hot, sticky, tangy, and alive with her young fertile need to give me children?

  I have to feel how wet she is, how bad her body wants to take my massive cock up inside of her. I have to hear the way she moans and shivers when I drive up inside of her, drive deeply and possessively, pressing forcefully deep, deeper until she’s singing out in lust.

  Before I know it, I’ve pushed away from the desk and I’m walking through my apartment.

  It’s like something else has taken over me, some force I can’t quite understand, roaring at me to be with her before the world ends. It’s primal and deafening, a song between my ears that tells me if I don’t claim this woman now, I might never get another chance.

  It makes no sense, but it comes from a primal place where it doesn’t have to make sense.

  It comes from the pulsating need all men must feel when they lay eyes on their true mate, on the woman they’re going to spend the rest of their lives with.

  I stop outside her bedroom door, pressing my ear against it as my engorged helm presses against the inside of my pants. I listen through the oak door to try and find the sound of her breathing, even as I know this is wrong, even if I know I shouldn’t be invading her privacy like this.

  I try to think of her stalker, Derrick, and how I’m doing something similar to what he did.

  But I can’t accept that logic.

  Because he was wrong when he said they were going to spend the rest of their lives together.

  I’m certain this woman is mine, and mine alone.

  I’m more right about this than I’ve ever been about anything.

  “Oh,” she whimpers.

  I stifle a growl and press my ear closer to the door.

  “Oh, fuck…”

  Jesus Christ, this woman has got to be kidding me.

  This is her first night here and she’s already rubbing her horny little pussy for me, already comfortable enough on my silk sheets to ply sweet pleasure from her fertile young slit?

  I let out a growl by mistake, the carnal ferocity writhing through me becoming too much to handle, becoming deafening as I stand here hungry to go inside.

  “Hello?” she calls.

  Fuck.

  “It’s me,” I say, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible. “Can I come in?”

  I shouldn’t have said that but it’s out there now and there’s no way I can magically snatch it back.

  What I should have said is I’m a sleepwalker and I came here by mistake, or I get lost in my own apartment or anything to stop me from opening the door and striding in there.

  I know the second I smell the pussy-tinged air, the second I see the lust in her eyes, I won’t be able to stop.

  “Sure,” she calls. “Just give me a sec…”

  I push the door to find her wriggling under the covers, presumably pulling her pants up after she got carried away and rubbed herself so hard they started to come down. I groan and bite down to stop myself from roaring at her, from telling her to keep her hands where the fuck they are.

  “Is there something you needed?” she murmurs, looking up at me from her place beneath the covers.

  She sits up, causing the sheet to fall down around her hips.

  She’s changed into a tank top and…

  Oh, fuck.

  She’s not wearing a bra. The cut is low and I can see gorgeous thick veins moving across her curvaceous breasts, with her juicy pert nipples poking through the fabric, as though she’s silently begging for me to free them and start sucking on them right now.

  My cock hurts, it’s so damn hard.

  “There’s something I need,” I growl, even if I know it’s a mistake.

  I walk over to the edge of the bed and stare down at her.

  “Yes?” she whimpers.

  I glare hard, my gaze burning into her, causing a flush to spread across her cheeks and down her neck, over her breasts, coloring every part of her.

  This is it, my final chance to stop, to remember I’m supposed to be a professional.

  But then she bites her lip, just for a second, and I can’t.

  “Keep going,” I snarl.

  “What?” Her eyes widen. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes you do, Macie. Keep. Fucking. Going.”

  She tilts her head, still trying to pretend she’s got no idea what I’m hinting at, but we both know she’s lying. “Honestly. I don’t understand…”

  I lean down and stare directly into her eyes, and then I slowly move my hand over to the covers.

  I peel them back, waiting for her to say no, waiting for her to tell me to stop, but she stares at me as though she’s in a dream, as though she can’t believe this is happening.

  She looks so innocent and vulnerable and ready to do whatever the fuck I tell her to do.

  “If you don’t understand,” I snarl, “then why is that sweet pussy so wet?”

  She gasps as I slide my hand up her thigh, clamping it down on the heat of her pussy.

  I was right.

  She’s soaked through the fabric of her PJ bottoms, my fingers deliciously wet, the air tangy with the scent of her needy hole.

  She bites her lip as I start to rub her, her eyelids fluttering.

  “You were close, weren’t you, you horny fucking thing?”

  “Yes, yes,” she moans, bucking her hips like she can’t help herself like something else has taken over. “Oh, God. Am I dreaming?”

  “Does it feel like you’re fucking dreaming?”

  I rub her precious pussy faster, and then slip my other hand down her tank top and start palming her big juicy breasts. Fuck, they feel as voluptuous and perfect as I knew they would, her nipples perking up, even more, when I slide my palm across them, moving from one breast to the other.

  “I need to taste your pussy,” I snarl. “On the covers. Now. Macie. Now.”

  I know I need to restrain the beast inside of me a little, but being so close to her sex-scented body is driving the animal within me crazy, making it difficult to focus on anything except her.

  She wriggles onto the covers as I fall to my knees, reaching up and grabbing her pants.

  I yank down her pants and panties in one savage pull, pushing her thighs apart and burying my hands in her thick luscious flesh, framing her young pussy. It glistens with her wetness, her hole a vivid shade of pink, driving something carnal and primordial inside of me.

  “Are you going to…”

  “Lick your perfect pussy? Yes, I fucking am.”

  “Hmm,” she moans, biting her lip, twitching against the sheets.

  She’s moving as though she’s going to explode any second, as though she’s never felt anything like this before.

  Maybe she does feel what I feel.

  But I can’t stop to ponder that now, not when her soaked hole is right there.

  “Come here,” I growl, sliding my hands around to her ass cheeks and grabbing massive handfuls of her perfect made-for-palming ass.

  I pull her closer to me and then open my mouth so I can take in as much of her pussy as possible. She gasps and whimpers when I press my mouth against her, darting my tongue around so I can taste the juiciness on
her lips and feel how much her clit throbs with urgency.

  “You need this,” I snarl. “I can feel how badly your body wants it.”

  “Yes, yes,” she gasps, wriggling against me. “But…”

  She trails off. I look up between her thighs, over her heaving gorgeous breasts, to find her staring down at me biting her lip in that way that drives me feral.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I…” She shivers, reverberations moving through her, lust mixed with uncertainty that stabs me deep when I think about something wrecking this moment. “I have to tell you something.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Macie

  There’s no way this is really happening, that Miller freaking Marshall really stampeded in here and tore down my pants and my panties. I feel like I could snap awake any second, realizing I’ve fallen asleep with my hands jammed between my legs and my head full of shivering fantasies.

  And yet this moment is too hot with close physical contact, with the searing closeness that sets my body alight.

  He gazes up at me with those intense eyes, a voice screaming inside of me to shut the heck up and let him carry on.

  “Macie?” he snarls, his possessive tenor swelling in the room, seeming to fill it up until it could burst. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  The words dance on the end of my tongue. I’ve heard that expression so many times before. On the tip of my tongue. But I’ve never felt it like this, as though the words have become physical and they’re actually sizzling around my mouth.

  But what if it grosses him out? What if it makes him stop?

  “Nothing,” I murmur. “I can tell you…”

  I trail off, embarrassment touching my features and turning me crimson, making me self-conscious that if I speak so confidently about sex he’s going to think I’m too forward.

  But then I almost laugh at the thought.

  Too forward?

  He’s the one who marched in here and decided to make me his in the middle of the night.

  “After we’re done?” he finishes for me, a wry smirk on his face.