We’re inches apart. Slowly, I drag my eyes up his chest to his jaw, watch his lips as he opens them gently and finally let my eyes drift up to his. They look so dark, like bottomless pools of brown staring back at me.
My heart is going wild. I can feel it beating against my ribcage as we stand there, transfixed. I can’t tear my eyes away from his. I don’t want to.
Ever so slowly, Zach brings his hand up and gently brushes the edge of my hip with his fingertips. I shiver, closing my eyes gently and relishing his touch. He’s barely touching me but it feels more intense than I could imagine. It’s like his fingers have a direct line to my centre, sending wave after wave of heat towards my core.
His fingers drift from my hip towards my navel, ever so gently brushing the fabric of my camisole. The blood is rushing between my legs and desire floods my veins with every heartbeat banging against my ribcage. I open my eyes and glance back at him. His eyes are half-closed. I can see him looking at me and the intensity of his gaze sends another wave of heat through me. I know my eyes have the same look of pure desire as his. I raise my hand and hesitate, then place it gently on his chest. He’s warm, and hard, his smooth muscles rippling under his shirt. I can feel his heart beating as well and it gives me a surge of confidence. My other hand flies up to his chest and I run it up towards his neck.
The second my fingers touch the bare skin of his neck it’s like something explodes between us. My skin touches his and it sizzles, sending sparks through my entire body. He grips my waist and pulls me into him.
This is so wrong. This is my boss! Zach Lockwood! I shouldn’t be doing this.
But then his lips crush against mine and all thought disappears from my head. He tastes sweet, his lips soft against mine as they part and kiss me. His hand grips my neck, tangling into the hair at the nape of my neck and pulling my head in towards his. My hands are gripping his shoulders, his neck, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into me.
He’s pressing me into the table and I lean back, loving the way his body feels strong and muscular as he crushes it into me. His lips press against my neck, trailing kisses down my collarbone as his hands grab the small of my back and pull me into him. I’m panting, trying to keep my feet on the ground as my body goes into overdrive. The pleasure and desire is exploding through my entire body and I can feel my wetness pooling between my legs.
I want him. I don’t care that he’s my boss, or the CEO, or that we’re at the office. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.

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Doctor’s Orders Series: Book I
Doctor O
A Modern Romance
Lilian Monroe
Chapter 1 - Valerie
I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling for the thousandth time. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on my hand as it moves down and over my mound, savouring the electric warmth that ripples with every movement of my fingers. I concentrate hard, trying to think of something sexy. Abs, or… muscles. Hands gripping me. The touch of a man’s tongue over me. Umm… throbbing… members?
There’s a warmth growing inside me and I move my fingers faster, travelling up and down between my lips. My brow furrows as my fingers move faster, circling around my clit with more intensity. I’m holding my breath.
It’s going to happen, I can feel it. I’m going to feel the shockwaves course through my body and the anticipation is making my heart hammer in my chest. I concentrate harder, moving my hand faster with the excitement.
And then all of a sudden, nothing.
It’s gone. My orgasm slips away into oblivion, just like it does every single other time I’ve ever tried. I sigh.
This isn’t going to happen. Not this time, not ever.
I let my hand fall to my side and open my eyes back up, looking up at the ceiling again. Every single time I feel something, anything close to an orgasm it somehow escapes me. Maybe I’m thinking too hard, or I don’t know how to touch myself properly.
It’s even worse when someone else tries to give me one. I tense up or think too much about what I’m doing or what I look like or what they’re thinking.
Even when I am able to relax into the moment somehow it always seems to slip away at the last second. I can be completely in the mood and excited but for some reason I’ve just never gone over the edge. I’ve never felt the fireworks that everyone describes. The back arching, leg shaking, head melting feeling of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
Not once, and it kills me.
My ex boyfriend gave up trying in the end. He’d play with me until I was wet enough for him to enter me and then take his own orgasm without any worry about my own pleasure. I broke it off with him three months ago and since then, like every month and year before that, I’ve been unable to get myself off.
When I broke it off with my ex, my best friend Emma was there to pick up the pieces. We were out at our local cocktail lounge and I’d had two or three glasses of wine, just enough to be a bit giddy. I remember looking at her and blurting it out:
“I’ve never orgasmed.”
She’d nearly spat out her drink and looked at me in shock. Her mess of brown curls bounced around her face as she turned to look at me. She was wearing her signature bright red lipstick and her mouth hung open.
“You mean in the four years you spent with that idiot he was never able to make you come?!”
I’d looked around, worried she was being too loud. We were in our favourite booth in the back corner, with a perfect view of everyone in the bar but shielded from any unwelcome attention. I glanced around to make sure no one had heard her outburst.
She didn’t care, as usual. She never seemed to be self conscious or insecure. She walked into any room like she owned it, swaying her hips and walking in with purpose. All eyes were on her, always. Her figure was a perfect hourglass and she had the attitude to match.
Where she is all curls and curves, I'm wavy-haired, blonde, lanky. I always seem to feel a bit awkward when men talk to me, like somehow they’re making fun of me, or they’re just passing the time until they get their turn with her. She’s the centre of attention and I’m her sidekick wherever we go. I don’t mind, not really. I love her to bits. She’s my rock, my best friend, my confidante. I couldn’t imagine my life without her by my side. She’s been there for me through thick and thin.
The past three months she’s helped me move into my new apartment, made me laugh, brought me ice cream when I needed it. We’d moved to New York five years ago together and would not have survived without each other. She is the best friend I’ve ever had, and it felt good to open up to her about my orgasm-less existence.
I couldn’t help but smile at the horror on her face when I told her my secret.
“No, I mean I’ve never had an orgasm.. Ever. Like, not just with Bryce. Never.”
Emma put down her glass of wine and brought her hands to her temples. This seemed to be difficult for her to understand. She stared at the table intently, processing what I’d just told her.
“Never. As in… Ever? Not once?”
She looked up at me, searching my face. I shrugged, not knowing what to tell her.
“I mean, I’ve tried. Don’t get me wrong.”
I looked at her sheepishly.
“Val, girl. You need to sort this out. I’m telling you this as your oldest and dearest friend, and as someone who has had many mind blowing orgasms. This is a very, very imp
ortant part of any woman’s life. Did Bryce know? What did he do to try to get you off?”
I’d felt the tears welling up in my eyes when she mentioned him. I didn’t want to tell her how bad our sex life had gotten, how selfish he’d been in bed. How selfish he’d been in general!
She’d understood without me saying anything, as usual. She’d just waived the waiter over and dramatically ordered another round of drinks for us and then turned and winked at me. I’d laughed and the constriction in my throat had disappeared.
I smile as I think back on that conversation. She’d been so concerned, so intent on helping me. She’d given me tips, she described her most intense orgasms, the way they rushed from her centre outwards in waves of warmth and pleasure.
She had been so open and candid with me, talking about the way her back arched and her legs trembled. How her partners had actually enjoyed giving her pleasure, it wasn’t a chore to them at all. I’d listened to her describing her experiences and wished I could feel the same. I’d tried the tricks that she’d told me and tried to relax into it.
It just seems like I… can’t. I can’t do it. No matter how hard I try I still haven’t felt an orgasm rip through my body. I haven’t been with anyone since Bryce but I can’t bring myself to go through that again. To explain that it won’t happen, it’s not them, it’s me. To see the disappointment in the guy’s face as he tries and tries to get me to climax only to ultimately fail.
Some guys take it on like a challenge but it only makes me feel worse when it doesn’t work. I’ve learned to live with it, sort of. I’ve thrown myself into my career and most days it feels like that’s enough.
I lay in bed wondering if maybe there’s something wrong with me, and it makes me not able to orgasm. When the thought crosses my mind, I turn and reach for my phone. I pull up Google and within a millisecond I’m presented with ten thousand reasons that I’m not able to get off. I start clicking through the top few results.
Maybe there really is something wrong with me. Doctor Google certainly seems to think so. Apparently I need to relax more, but the next article tells me to tense my leg muscles. I just need to try masturbating, duh, as if I haven’t tried that a million times!
I sigh as I click from one result to another. Hormonal dysfunction, chronic illness, nerve damage, there seem to be countless things that might be wrong. I feel the familiar frustration bubbling up inside me as I keep reading. All I want is to feel what everyone else can feel! I want that for myself and I want that connection with someone else.
I don’t think that’s too much to ask. It’s a basic human biological function.
I can feel the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I don’t want to cry, not again. I’ve been crying for three months. I take a deep breath and gather my resolve. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow for a medical, maybe I’ll ask the doctor if there’s something wrong with me. My cheeks burn at the thought of asking that, of admitting once again that I’ve never felt the rush of an orgasm through my body. To make matters worse, I’ve just changed doctors and I haven’t met this one yet.
I look at my email confirmation from the doctor’s office and see the name: Doctor O’Neill. I hope it’s a woman, and I don’t have to embarrass myself in front of yet another man. I let my phone fall beside me and look up once again at the ceiling. It’ll drive me nuts to keep thinking like this.
I can endure a few minutes of embarrassment if it means I get an answer. I’ll ask the doctor tomorrow. Male or female, it doesn’t matter. Doctors have heard worse, I tell myself. All I want is a simple little orgasm, is that too much to ask? It doesn’t need to be earth shattering. I’ll settle for a regular old, middle of the week Wednesday-style routine orgasm. That’s a thing, right?
I feel the familiar stubbornness growing inside me. When I set my mind to something, nothing can stop me. I’ll get my answer tomorrow.
I turn to my side and close my eyes, just wanting to go to sleep.
Chapter 2 - Clay
“Good morning, Doctor O’Neill!”
I look over and smile at our receptionist. She’s standing tall in her chair, pushing her tits out towards me. She bats her eyes at me as I walk by.
“Morning, Liz.”
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“I’m okay for now,” I reply, holding up the cup in my hand. She giggles and I try not to roll my eyes.
She shouldn’t try so hard. I like a woman who can hold her own.
I like the feisty ones, like the one I had bent over my kitchen counter last night. She’d been wild, all nails and biting and writhing, loving the way I slammed my cock into her. I smile at the thought of her ass backing into me. Her curly brown hair had felt good when my fingers were wrapped around it. She’d been good. Very good.
It’s too bad I won’t see her again, she’d been a lot of fun. We’d hardly slept at all last night, and I’m definitely feeling it this morning.
It was worth it though. I’d watched her put her tiny skirt back on this morning and walk bow-legged out of my apartment.
They don’t call me Doctor O for nothing.
I hadn’t gotten up out of bed when she did, just watched her put her clothes back on from my bed with my arms behind my head. I liked watching a woman get dressed almost as much as I liked watching her getting undressed. It was hot the way she bent over to slip her panties and skirt back on, and then threw her shirt over her head without bothering to put her bra back on.
I yawn and open the door to my office, closing the door behind me and flopping onto my chair. My thoughts flick back to this morning. I smile, thinking of the familiar charade I play with all the women I hook up with.
Once she’d gathered her things from around my room she’d looked back at me as I laid in bed. She smiled a bit sheepishly at me and awkwardly said goodbye. I’d nodded at her, knowing she wanted me to ask to see her again, to give her my phone number and promise to take her out. No way. Goodbye, curly haired vixen, it’s been a wild night but that’s all it’ll be.
It’s my golden rule: one woman, one night, and no mixing sex with work. I can’t get attached. One night of fun is all they get, and in a city like New York there’s no shortage of women to choose from. My career is too important to me, and women just seem to get in the way. Anytime I see a woman more than once it always ends up being a disaster.
I set this rule for myself years ago when my ex destroyed my world and burned everything I cared about. She ripped through my life, leaving a wake of destruction behind her and me standing in the middle holding nothing but the destroyed remains of my own shattered heart.
I like to think it was a good thing though, it’s served me well to focus on my career, and I’ve had no shortage of women to keep me occupied. I wouldn’t want to hang out with them for more than a couple hours anyways. Long enough to get off and then get them out.
I squint at my computer screen, knowing it’ll be a long day already. I look at my appointments for the day. Saturdays are half days, which is good since I’m going to need the afternoon to sleep. My schedule is full but nothing too strenuous, just routine checkups and a few elderly patients in for their new prescriptions.
One new client I haven’t met yet pops up in my mid morning slot: Valerie Brooks. Sexy name, I think to myself. Can’t mix business and pleasure unfortunately, otherwise I’d be all over the multitude of young beautiful female patients that throw themselves at me.
I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I put myself through medical school, working nights and weekends. I did it myself and graduated at the top of my class. I worked hard in my residency and now just had a few more years until I could call myself a full fledged cardiologist.
This position at my current practice is a crucial stepping stone in my career, and I can’t mess it up under any circumstances. And then once I’m finished here, I’m in line to work under the best cardiologist in the country. Just a few short weeks and I can make the move cross-country to Seattle.
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Still, I smile at the thought of my medical school years. I’ve successfully kept my second job a secret from my medical professional network. I wouldn’t want anyone to know I was a male stripper and made a fortune getting naked in front of screaming women. That’s not exactly the bedside manner they teach in medical school.
Being a male stripper is where I really learned what makes women tick, what drives them wild. I saw the power of having a rock hard body, how crazy it makes them. I loved having women throw themselves at me, rubbing their hands all over my chest and abs as I danced for them.
I lean back in my chair and think back on those days. Bachelorette parties were the most fun, those women really let themselves loose. I hardly had to strip myself of my clothes, they’d rip it off me themselves.
Once I graduated medical school I stopped dancing, but I didn’t stop having plenty of women in my life. I can’t go around half naked on a stage anymore, but I can still drive women wild. Like the chick last night. Her bright red lipstick looked so, so good when it was wrapped around my hard cock. I’d wrapped my fingers into her curly hair and helped her along as she worked her magic. I can feel my cock twitch against my pants at the thought, wanting to feel a woman’s lips around it once again.
I shake my head. I’m at work. I shut my appointment book and prepare myself for my first patient.
There’s a knock on the door and Liz pops her head through the opening. She leans over as she pokes through the door so I can see her cleavage on full display. I wouldn’t mind giving her a full physical, but we work together and I can’t risk my position at the practice. She’s just the type of girl that would get too attached.
Swear to Me_A Second Chance Mountain Man Romance Page 19
