by Ash Harlow
Table of Contents
Epilogue
EPILOGUE
Title Goes Here
Copyright
Introduction
1 ~ Noah
2 ~ Steffi
3 ~ Noah
4 ~ Steffi
5 ~ Noah
6 ~ Noah
7 ~ Steffi
8 ~ Noah
9 ~ Steffi
10 ~ Noah
11 ~ Steffi
12 ~ Noah
13 ~ Steffi
14 ~ Noah
15 ~ Steffi
16 ~ Noah
17 ~ Steffi
18 ~ Noah
19 ~ Steffi
20 ~ Noah
21 ~ Steffi
22 ~ Noah
23 ~ Steffi
CRAVE
Who on earth is Ash?
ARC TEAM
Doctor O
A Friends to Lovers Sexy Romance
Ash Harlow
Contents
Title Goes Here
Copyright
Introduction
1 ~ Noah
2 ~ Steffi
3 ~ Noah
4 ~ Steffi
5 ~ Noah
6 ~ Noah
7 ~ Steffi
8 ~ Noah
9 ~ Steffi
10 ~ Noah
11 ~ Steffi
12 ~ Noah
13 ~ Steffi
14 ~ Noah
15 ~ Steffi
16 ~ Noah
17 ~ Steffi
18 ~ Noah
19 ~ Steffi
20 ~ Noah
21 ~ Steffi
22 ~ Noah
23 ~ Steffi
Epilogue
CRAVE
Who on earth is Ash?
ARC TEAM
Copyright
© Ash Harlow 2017
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
INTRODUCTION
My bedside manner will put the Oh! into her O
By day, I'm Dr. Noah Osbourne, emergency physician.
By night, I'm Doctor O, medical romance author,
and master of the O-Zone chat room where fans confess their darkest fantasies.
If the medical board knew about my side gig, I'd lose my license.
But no one knows what I do... until Steffi finds out.
She's my best friend's little sister and my mentor's daughter.
And seven years ago when I left town, she was a lanky tomboy with a ponytail.
Now she's all grown up, with all the curves to prove it.
One look at her and something from the depths of my primitive brain screams Yes! when I should be saying No.
I can resist her even though we’re sharing a house.
Even though she's working with me while I run her parents' medical practice.
But then she asks for help with this little problem she has.
Steffi has never had an O.
She needs a helping hand... or more... but if I oblige, will I lose not only my job but also my heart?
1 ~ Noah
O-Zone Chat Room
Who doesn’t have something to hide? Answer me that.
I know I do. I’m there right now, in the kind of online chat room that could destroy my career. I’m Dr. O, and it’s my chat room. My creation. My groupies. My big secret. Welcome to O-Zone. The place where we talk about orgasms the way others talk about dog breeds. With enthusiasm, celebration, and great detail.
969: All-time record, Dr. O *fist bump*. Book 5 is best in series yet. Love me a gang bang. Jealous as hell of that lucky patient. How long was that story? 30 pages? Came three times.
Dr. O: Happy to be of service. Glad I made your…day.
Vibalicious: @969 what was your weapon tonight, a jack-hammer?
969: LOLs. My trusty Hitachi Wand. Maximum revs. Legs still shaking an hour later.
HotCandy: Agree. My basement flooded by the end of the first chapter. Total puddle pussy.
HerePussy: I got one in while hubs was taking a shower. He was disappointed cos he wanted to watch.
The chat room thread continues in this vein with people dropping in and out. It’s always pretty wild in O-Zone when I release a new book. Members race each other to be first to finish in every way. The ’gasm girls—their choice of name, not mine—bring a whole new meaning to the term “story climax”.
I hang around, moderate, answer questions, flirt a little. It’s fantastic for book sales, and it’s a safe place for members to discuss anything to do with sex.
I’m Doctor O, writer of medical erotica.
I’m also Doctor Noah Osbourne, emergency physician, and if the Board of Emergency Medicine knew about my side-gig writing doctor porn, I’d be Noah Osbourne, unemployed.
It’s a risk. A fucking big one.
But a risk that’s worth taking because the lovely, smutty royalties I earn from these books meant I was able to finish medical school without a cent of student debt.
I wrote the first series for a laugh after reading an article in the New York Times about people making a killing writing erotica. Quick research showed me the doctor trope was popular, and if anyone was qualified to write that stuff, I was, on two counts. I love being a doctor, and I love sex.
With success comes fans. Within a month I held a seemingly unassailable position at the top of the erotica charts, and found myself spending more time answering fanmail than writing new stories. Or studying. My roommate set me up with his techie brother who created a private chat room for my fans, and O-Zone was born. No photos, no profiles, no hook-ups, just a way to connect and engage with the readers.
In the early days they’d do stuff like send me their fantasies, and I’d take one each week and write it into a story. It was all harmless fun until one night a fan asked that question. Chat was going no different than usual when…
WetAndWild: Are you really a doctor?
I don’t know why I hadn’t considered someone would ask that. My pause was pregnant, and if I could have stretched it for nine months, all the better. Others chatted on…
—Yes, he is.
—No, of course not.
—He’d lose his job.
—He could be a she!
But the question dangled like a noose, awaiting my answer.
If I confessed I was a doctor, it would give unnecessary weight to my advice. That sort of advice was much better coming from an author who could toss in a rider about this being an opinion and they should always seek advice from a medical professional, right?
If I confessed I was a doctor there’s a chance someone would track me down. If the hospital found out, I’d lose my job, and probably my registration.
So I lied.
I’m not proud of it, but there’s a lot at stake.
Dr O: LOLs…if I bring you pleasure then I guess I’m a doctor of orgasms.
And with that little dodge, the chat returned to normal.
Three years later, O-Zone has matured. I should have guessed this type of set-up would encourage people to share their sex problems, and the most common one to surface was the ladies out there who’ve never had an orgasm. That’s something I find tragic, but at least their lack of orgasms hasn’t killed off their sense of humor, and I’m proud of the ’gasm-girls who are really supportive and come up with tricks and techniques I doubt most sex therapists have heard of.
I’m just about to log out when @Zer-O, one of my favorite people on O-Zone logs in. She com
es across as funny, and intelligent, and sadly, has never had an orgasm. I hang about for a moment as my heart gives a couple of quick thumps at the sign of the green light popping up by her user name. The happy little burst of dopamine is a conditioned response. I enjoy chatting to her and we’ve developed an online relationship that’s deeper than those I have with any of the other ’gasm-girls.
You’ve got to understand, my hours at the hospital mean I don’t get the time to invest in real life relationships. I’ve made a couple of attempts but they don’t last because there isn’t a woman I’ve met who likes to be second in line to the ER department. Dating a doctor loses its appeal fast, and relationship breakups are an emotional suck that put me off my game. When it comes to women, I keep things casual. No promises beyond awesome sex…unless, of course, I’m called in to work.
The indicator alongside Zer-O’s avatar tells me she’s writing a message.
Zer-O: Is there a new book this week?
Dr. O: I’m traveling, so, we’re skipping this week.
Zer-O: OK. Be safe.
HerePussy: Yeah, Dr. O. Be sure you wrap that beast before you put it somewhere warm.
Zer-O: I meant, have a safe journey @HerePussy.
Dr.O: Thank you, @Zer-O. @All. Behave yourselves for the next few days when I’m not around. I’ll check in when I can.
There’s the usual flurry of overtly sexual messages and well wishes and I sign off, even though I’d prefer to stay online for a while and jump into a private chat with Zer-O. We’ve been doing that a lot lately, and I’d do it more, but having my deepest emotional connection with somebody on the internet is not a healthy way to live. But, fuck, she’s addictive.
Tonight, though, I have to make a final check of my apartment to make sure the moving company has packed everything properly for storage. What the ’gasm-girls don’t know is that I’m moving to the other side of the world to fill in at the medical practice of Arch Paxton, the man who has been a mentor and father figure to me since I was a badass teenager tearing up the small, but lively town where I grew up.
His son, Cam, was my best buddy at high school, and has remained so ever since. Cam’s like a brother to me, and he does stuff with money that makes my eyes water. He handles my investments, and he’s building a massive medical center, a private facility the area needs. Arch and his wife, Felicity, are taking three months off to travel and decide whether Arch is ready to retire, or up his game and join the new facility.
For me it will hopefully be three months at a slower pace that will give me the opportunity to think about where I want to go next. Stick with emergency medicine, become a small-town general practitioner, or specialize in something new.
Goodbye Parkland Emergency Room, Dallas. Hello Queenstown, New Zealand. Adventure capital of the world. Mountains, skiing, lakes, great wine, and an ever-changing parade of tourists. They can keep the bungy jumping, though.
I haven’t been back for seven years. I’m expecting the change of pace to take some adjusting to, but I’m looking forward to filling my lungs with crisp, clean mountain air.
2 ~ Steffi
“The usual, Steffi?” Hank, the bartender asks.
“And a bowl of fries. We doubled the Jack’s Point trail today,” I tell him.
“Thirsty and hungry. My kind of customer. Go find a table, and I’ll bring your order over.”
“We’re there, in the corner.”
The friend I’m with, Terra, has managed to snag us a table in the busy bar. As I cross the room, my walk is ungainly. We’ve cycled directly to the bar after a day of mountain biking which means my gait is hampered by a combination of my padded bike pants, tired legs, and my cycling shoes with their inflexible sole and cleats.
Terra snorts as I drop into my seat. “You’re right. You do look like a waddling duck with bad hips.”
“I watched you from the bar, and you looked the same. Anyway, do ducks have hips?” I ask.
“You’re the medical person. You should know.”
“We treat humans, not animals. And I’m a practice manager, not a doctor.”
Hank delivers a bowl of hot, golden, hand-cut fries, and two glasses of the local IPA beer made in the craft brewery out the back. I take a mouthful, let the bitterness flow over my tongue, close my eyes, swallow, and sigh.
“How’s that?” Hank asks.
“Bitter perfection, with bubbles,” I say. “What is it?”
“A new release. Hop ’n’ Roll. It’s not officially for sale yet, but I thought you’d appreciate trying it out.”
“It’s good.”
“I’ll tell the guys you approve. Why don’t you stay for the band tonight?”
Under the table, the toe of Terra’s shoe digs into my ankle. She thinks Hank fancies me and when he’s gone, she’ll tell me that invitation proves it.
“I can’t. My parents leave in the morning so I’m staying in to make sure they don’t get any last-minute ideas about canceling their vacation.”
“Cool. Well, sing out when you want another beer,” he says, then returns to the bar.
“He still fancies the bike pants off you, Steffi.”
Terra has a beer-foam mustache. She purposely does that every time she drinks beer, and I purposely avoid drawing attention to it. If I ignore it, she’ll wipe it away. Mention it, and it’s there for the next hour. A Nordic-blonde braid hangs over her shoulder, and even with her mustache and bike helmet-flattened hair, Terra draws attention from the men around the bar. Her eyes are impossibly blue, her cheeks still flushed from the exertion of our ride and her super-tight cycling top displays all of her assets.
“I’ve already been out with him. It was fun, but there’s no chemistry.” I’m not telling her anything she doesn’t already know.
“I worry about this chemistry you’re searching for.” Terra swipes her mouth with her sleeve. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea about what it is.”
“A frisson,” I say, grabbing the longest, most perfect fry before Terra sees it. “Electricity. Tingling. I don’t know. Something. I need to feel something.” I bite into the fry and make a little sound of pleasure. It’s cold outside, approaching winter. The sun had vanished from the trail as we finished our ride, and a stiff breeze blew off the lake on our approach to town. Waving the half-eaten fry in the air, I continue. “I want to feel what I feel right now when I bite into this. A thrill. Instant satisfaction of a raw hunger that burns in my gut. Rapture—”
“Oh, for god’s sake, Steffi.” Terra snatches the fry from my hand and shoves it in her mouth. Two quick chews and it’s gone. “You need to find yourself a man who knows his way around your body. That other magic you’re looking for doesn’t exist. Take Mr Tall-Dark-and Confidently-Handsome over there.”
I look to where she’s pointing. The guy’s wearing a tight black sweater that leaves nothing about his gym regime to the imagination. He smiles at us. It’s a good smile, nice teeth, and he’s self-assured, not looking away from our scrutiny. “Yeah, what about him?”
“He’s been watching you. And he’s hot. Look at the size of his hands?”
“Big hands.” I shrug. “What have hands got to do with it?”
“Hands like that will take you to heaven. And that mouth. Smile at him. Let him know you like the look of his hands.”
“I’m not interested in his hands.”
“I am. Look at the length of his fingers. Imagine how deep they can reach.”
“No, I’m not imagining anything,” I say.
“Really? I am. If his hands are that big then, proportionately, his cock must be a good ten inches.”
I turn back to face Terra. “I refuse to think about the length of that man’s cock. I’m not looking for anyone. I’ve been out with all the decent guys in town, and I’m not hooking up with a tourist.”
“Come on, Steffi. He’s gorgeous. If you don’t, I will.”
“That’s not even a threat.”
“We’ve got to find someone to cure
this problem of yours, and that guy looks qualified.”
“Will you be quiet? I don’t have a problem, okay?”
“You’re an otherwise healthy twenty-three-year-old—”
“What does ‘otherwise’ mean? I’m a totally healthy young woman.”
“Who has never had an orgasm,” Terra manages to explain to half the bar because her voice has risen right at the moment the room goes quiet.
I take my health and fitness seriously. The bowl of fries in front of us doesn’t happen every day. Nor the beer. But I burned a zillion calories on the trails today, and I’m ravenous. And now, thanks to Terra, my shameful secret is known to half the clientele in one of Queenstown’s most popular bars. So I laugh, a crazy kind of manic laugh, thump the table with my fist, laugh again, and the bar chatter resumes.
“You have a big mouth,” I mutter at her over my glass of beer.
“And you have a big problem that you’re ignoring.”
“Do you think we could not discuss this in a busy bar?” I ask.
Terra leans across the table and grabs my forearm. “I’m concerned about you.”
I tug my arm from her grip. “Stop it. You’re acting like a crazed aunt. This so-called problem of mine helped me get through my studies in record time instead of being sidetracked by random sexcapades the way the rest of you were. I graduated. Now I can pay some attention to my personal needs.”
“I think you should talk to a doctor.”
“I work with the only doctors in town. One of whom is my father, another being my mother.”
The local district has grown beyond the scope of its small public hospital, so my brother got a group of investors together and has built the type of medical facility this area needs. It’s almost complete, and I’m going to manage it. For now, I’m managing my parents’ private practice.
“Yeah, I can see why you’d find that awkward. Find a doctor in another town.”
“There is nothing wrong with me,” I insist.
“I read this magazine article the other day—”
“I’ve already read it,” I cut in.
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“Listen, Terra.” It’s my turn to grip her forearm. “Your concern is sweet, and I know you mean well, but I’ve got a handle on this, okay? I’m sorting it out.”
