Doctor's Orders (Complete Series)

by Lilian Monroe

  That’s too much for me. At least, it’s too much for my first one. Maybe one day I’ll want the extra features.

  I need something a bit less… intimidating. I don’t think a big purple vibrating dildo is sexy, and I doubt it’ll help me have my first orgasm.

  The fourth option is a bit slimmer. It isn’t shaped like a penis, it’s just a smooth curve with a white handle. I read the reviews and am pleased to see it’s highly recommended. It has a few different settings but seems simple enough. Before I know it, I’m entering my credit card information. My heart is beating fast again. I’m excited. It almost feels like I’m doing something naughty, and maybe I am.

  My doctor prescribed this, I remind myself. I tick the option for overnight shipping. If it gets me off, it’s worth the extra money.

  8

  Clay

  I get home and collapse onto my bed. I can’t stop thinking about her. Valerie. Her friends call her Val. She’d been so unintentionally sexy in the way she moved and talked and looked at me. And then I saw the fire in her eyes right before she asked the question that must have been plaguing her for years.

  I can’t help but wonder if she’s ordering one of the vibrators I suggested. If she’s playing with herself. My mind wanders with that image, thinking of her lying down with her new vibrator. Maybe she’s thinking of me. I know she was turned on when she opened her mouth and slid out that sexy tongue.

  I’d do anything for the chance to give her an orgasm. There’s no way she’d be able to resist. She was already like putty under my hands, and my skin hadn’t even touched hers. The most I’d done was palpate her abdomen for all of ten seconds.

  I think about those ten seconds, the way my hands moved over her taut stomach, and the way she just stared up at the ceiling. Her small, perky breasts fell back to either side of her chest and I fought the impulse to stare at them, to memorize their shape. I wanted her to make eye contact with me but I was glad when she didn’t.

  I need to stop thinking about her. This doesn’t happen. This isn’t me. I need a cold shower. I stand up and empty my pockets onto my side table.

  There’s a paper there, with some scribbles on it. I pick it up and remember this morning, when the curly haired girl with the big red lips gave her my number. She wrote her name, Emma, with a little heart after her number.

  I crumple the paper with one hand and toss it at my trash can. The paper flutters uselessly and lands a few feet before the garbage. I sigh, walking over and picking it up to throw it in the garbage.

  I most definitely will not be calling her. It was fun but I’ve got no desire to see her again. I’ve got no desire to see any woman again. I think of all the women I’ve been with, the women I’ve picked up at bars and clubs and even the grocery store. I can’t imagine sleeping with any of them. Something seems different inside me. I keep seeing Valerie with her mouth open and her tongue out, begging me to come with those big blue eyes of hers.

  I take off my clothes and jump in the shower with the intention of going straight to bed once I’m clean. I need to sleep. I need to get this chick out of my head and I need to focus on myself.

  On my career. On my goals.

  Today was a blip, a mistake. I can’t let myself get carried away like that. Getting a hard-on at work is so unprofessional it’s not even funny.

  The water washes over me and I stand under the shower head with my eyes closed. I’ve had so many gorgeous women practically throw themselves at me in my office and I’ve never been anything less than professional. I don’t understand why this one is different. Even the way she moves and walks seems so fluid and natural.

  I can’t understand how she’s never had an orgasm because every pore of hers seems to exude sex. I think of the way she looked at me when she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. She had to have been thinking the same thing as me, had to have been. Her eyes left nothing to the imagination.

  The minute I think of her open mouth my cock gets hard. The water from the shower is running down my chest, down my abs and dripping off the end of my half-hard cock. I shouldn’t do this but I can’t stop myself.

  I think of her eyes, her lips, the way her lips parted and her tongue slid out slightly for me. Maybe she’d do that again, on her knees in front of me. I grab my cock and it’s already harder than rock. I start stroking myself, putting my other hand on the shower wall for balance. The water is running down my back as I stroke myself faster and faster.

  I remember the way her smell filled my nostrils when I was next to her. I want to smell that again, to be surrounded by her scent. What does she smell like, down there? I think of how she looked when she sat on the edge of the examination table and told me she’d never had an orgasm. The look in her eyes that was pure determination and stubbornness and fire.

  All I wanted to do was rip her tight jeans off and shove my face between her legs right then and there. I want to be the one to make her come. I want to show her how good it can feel. I want to hear her sexy little voice when she’s screaming my name, or what it feels like to have her hands threaded into my hair, pushing my face into her slit.

  I bet she’s never had someone who truly enjoys the taste of her pussy. She must taste so good. The thought of her juices on my tongue makes my balls tighten up toward my shaft. I feel my orgasm start in the pit of my stomach and all of a sudden, it’s ripping through me and I can’t help the guttural scream I make as I come.

  I feel every inch of my body twitch and tingle as my orgasm grows and fades. I’m breathing heavily, water still running all over my body. I close my eyes and let the water wash over me. I don’t remember the last time I came that hard, and that was just at the thought of her. How hard would I orgasm at the real thing?

  I open my eyes and tilt my head up to the shower head. Even now, as the aftershocks of my orgasm send little thrills through my body, I know that I can’t see her again. If she makes another appointment, I’ll have to pass her on to another doctor. There’s no way I can be in the same room as her if I want to be a true professional.

  It’s the only way.

  I clean myself up and step out of the shower. I walk to my bed and lie down, hoping that sleep will take me far, far away from Valerie Brooks.

  I’ve got rules: one night only, and no sex anywhere near my work. I have these rules for a reason, and I know she’s not worth the trouble. They never are.

  I close my eyes and Valerie Brooks’ face is painted on my eyelids. Mouth open, tongue out, eyes on fire.

  9

  Valerie

  It’s Sunday. I wake up and practically jump out of bed. My package should be arriving today, since I paid for the overnight delivery. I try to keep the thought out of my mind. When I think about my new toy, I think about Doctor O’Neill, and that’s not a road I want to go down. Yesterday was too embarrassing. I’m not used to not being in control of my emotions or my body that way.

  I get up and make myself a cup of coffee. I need to distract myself. I know I’ll have at least thirty to forty emails to catch up on. Saturdays are big viewing days and are usually one of the busiest days of the week. Taking the day off yesterday was nice, as eventful and stressful as it was, but I need to use today to catch up on work, otherwise Monday will be a nightmare.

  I fire up my laptop and open my emails. Sure enough, I have 42 unread emails. I start at the bottom, working my way up chronologically. I click on the first email and my eyes glaze over immediately as I glance at a reminder that the fridges at the office are emptied weekly on Friday evenings. I quickly click the delete button as my thoughts flick to yesterday.

  To Doctor O’Neill. Doctor O, as he called himself. Depending on how this new vibrator works out, he might just be my Doctor O.

  He was so manly, so raw. Even being near him made me feel excited. I remember the way the cloth from his shirt brushed against my skin when he put the stethoscope on my back. It was like fire trailing in a line down my spine. I wanted to feel his hands, feel the warmth
of his skin against mine. I wanted to know what his body looked like under those clothes.

  I shake my head. No. He’s my new doctor, I absolutely cannot be having these thoughts. He was nothing but professional for the entire consultation. It was me who was a puddle of desire. He heard my heart hammering in my chest and saw my cheeks blushing whenever I looked at him. I practically needed a ‘wet floor’ sign just being near him.

  He could probably read me like a book. He was probably laughing at me right now. The orgasm-less girl who can’t control herself around an attractive man. I feel so… juvenile.

  I get up and pace across my kitchen. I’m not usually like this. When I sell a million-dollar house to some big shot, I’m never intimidated by them. I can close any deal. I’ve had countless rich, attractive men try their luck with me but I’m always unfazed. My colleagues have gone as far as to call me a shark.

  I don’t understand why this was different, why I had so little control over myself. Maybe it was because he caught me at my most vulnerable, but he’s my doctor, for crying out loud. If I can’t be vulnerable with him, then who else? It doesn’t matter that his eyelashes perfectly frame his eyes, and that he has this dark, brooding look about him. It doesn’t matter that every time he looked at me, I just wanted to press my lips against his and see what he tasted like. I need to get a grip.

  I go back to my computer. When I throw myself in my work, I can get anything out of my mind. I click on an email with an interesting subject line: “Leads you might be interested in.” It’s from another agent at the office. I open the email up and read through quickly. There are a few attached photos of a beautiful SoHo loft, not yet on the market. If it goes on the market it’ll be gone within two or three days, judging by the photos and the location.

  He says if I know of any buyers, the sale is mine. I can feel the hum of excitement at the thought of a good sale. I know just the guy who would want to buy this place. I check the address listed in the email and grab my car keys. I always do a drive-by of any property, just to be sure there aren’t any glaring problems. It would probably be faster to take the subway, but I know a drive will distract me.

  I hop in my car and head to the address. It’s such a beautiful part of Manhattan and I always love when I get to sell there. I drive through the busy streets and wind my way through the city.

  As usual, it’s teeming with life. I make it to the address and see a beautiful old building that’s been restored to perfection. I park up across the street and check my phone. Apparently, the place is a huge loft with one bedroom, worth upwards of three million.

  I take a walk around the block to see some of the amenities nearby. I’m happy to see shops, restaurants, galleries, and a school all within walking distance. I spend thirty minutes wandering around, getting to know the area so I can sell it when the time comes. I always like to be prepared, but if I’m honest, this thing will sell itself.

  I stop in at a coffee shop on the opposite corner from the building and order a latte. I take a sip as I step outside. The coffee is good. Just another little perk of coming back here to sell this place. Satisfied, I jump back in my car and head home.

  I can feel the excitement of an impending sale. This is what I’m good at. I love the buzz of a sale and the rush I get from closing a deal. This property is in a gorgeous location, perfect for a number of the rich young professionals I deal with. I have a buyer in mind already, and I can’t wait to show it. I feel like myself again as I drive back home, composing my response to my colleague in my head as I drive.

  I practically run up the stairs to my tiny apartment and almost trip over the box placed at the front door.

  I look down, confused for a second until the last 24 hours come rushing back to me. I pick up the small box and am surprised at how light it is.

  It’s my new toy, or “aid” as the doctor called it.

  I think of Doctor O’Neill, and how he’d looked at me right before sticking the tongue depressor in my mouth. The heat between my legs erupts all of a sudden at the thought of his dark eyes drilling into me. All of a sudden, the clarity of my drive is gone and I’m nervous again.

  I hate this feeling.

  I won’t let myself be dragged down like this. I square my shoulders and walk into my apartment, closing the door behind me. I am a confident, successful young woman and I can do this. Most women have vibrators and most women have orgasms! I tear open the brown box and look at the sleek packaging for my new vibrator. It’s black with silver indented lettering on it.

  Girl’s Best Friend

  The top of the box lifts off and my heart beats a bit faster. It’s smoother than I imagined, almost soft when I lift it out. It’s about six inches long with a plastic white handle. The rest of it is a bright pink color. It doesn’t look like the other vibrators I’ve seen. It’s a lot less intimidating.

  I press one of the buttons and it starts vibrating in my hand way harder than I expected. I panic, pressing another button to make it stop. I stand still, listening for the neighbors. Did they hear that? Did they see the box?

  Shaking my head, I take a deep breath. Stop being silly.

  I grin and press the button again, three times this time to see how hard the vibrations get. They travel up my arm and down my core until I can almost feel them in my center. I drop my bag and head to my bedroom, ready to see if it really is a Girl’s Best Friend.

  10

  Clay

  I’m going crazy. I just woke up and looked out my window and could have sworn I saw Valerie Brooks walking out of the cafe across the street and get into a car. I know from her file that she lives nowhere near SoHo, so either she was on the opposite end of town for some strange reason, or I’m seeing visions of her.

  I’m guessing it’s visions. It must have been another leggy blonde. I couldn’t even see her face. How could I know it was her? I shake my head and turn away from the window, reaching up to rub my temples.

  I’m obviously reeling from yesterday. I shouldn’t have thought of her in the shower like that, it only made her front and center in my mind. I’ve always wanted what I can’t have, and right now, I can’t have Val. And my God, I want Val.

  Whoever she was, that girl at the coffee shop moved as gracefully as Valerie had yesterday. She brushed her hair off her shoulder and from where I’m standing, it looked like the side of her face.

  What if it was her? I could transfer her over to another doctor. Then, if I run into her on the street, or in a coffee shop, or wherever, then my golden rule won’t be broken. I could live out exactly what I was thinking about yesterday.

  I take a deep breath. Just because I wouldn’t be breaking my rules on a technicality doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.

  I’m dreaming, anyway. Why would Valerie Brooks be buying coffee from my local café? There are eight and a half million people in New York, there’s no way she would be buying coffee from my neighborhood cafe on a Sunday morning. Would she?

  I need to get this girl out of my head and focus on my rules. Nothing gets in the way of work, especially not women.

  I run my fingers through my hair and sigh again. Last night is the first Saturday night in months that I haven’t brought a girl home. I look at my empty bed and take a deep breath. I need to clear my head. This has already gone on too long. She’s just a girl, like any other girl in the city. She just happens to be one that’s completely off-limits. And that should be okay. So why does it feel so difficult right now?

  I slip on my gym shorts and a t-shirt and head downstairs. Running will clear my head. I put my headphones on and walk out into the Sunday morning sun. It’s actually pretty nice to be up a bit earlier and not have to kick a girl out of my bed. There aren’t any scribbled phone numbers to chuck out this morning, no awkward goodbyes or false promises to keep in touch.

  I zone out a few minutes into my run, and the emptiness in my head is like a sweet release. There’s just me and the pavement and the wind blowing past me. For the first time sinc
e she stepped into my office yesterday, I’m able to calm my chaotic thoughts and refocus myself. This is me. I’m disciplined and driven and am not distracted by something as trivial as a woman.

  Step by step, mile by mile, I distance myself from yesterday. My heart is pounding and I’m sweaty and I feel better already. I’m running fast but I feel like my world has finally stopped spinning around me. I’m in control again.

  I round the final corner back to my apartment when the music in my headphones stops and my ringtone fills my ears. I slow down and pull my phone out of my shorts pocket, looking at the caller ID. It’s my real estate agent.

  “Chris, how are you?” I ask as I take the call.

  “I’m great, Clay, real great. Sorry to call you on a Sunday but I just wanted to keep you in the loop. I put out some feelers about your property and the top sales agent in the area has said she has a buyer in mind who would snap it up in an instant.”

  I pause. This is good news. I wanted to get rid of my apartment in New York to give myself the money and mobility to move to Seattle, where Doctor Willis is located. I’ve been wanting to work for him ever since I took an interest in cardiology. This will give me way more financial freedom. This is the goal I’ve been working toward for years.

  This sale is the first step to reaching that goal. So why am I not excited? I feel a pang of disappointment and an image of Valerie Brooks sitting on my examination table flashes through my mind. I shake my head.

  “Wow, Chris, that’s good news. Thanks for the call, I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem, Clay. I’ll try to set up a viewing for this week, if that works for you.”

  “Sounds good, let me know and I’ll have the place ready. Talk to you soon.”