So Good for Me: Bad Boy Forbidden Love Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

  I really don’t know what to make of her invitation. We just met each other and she is my physical therapist and she’s saying we can’t date because she’s a professional but then she’s inviting me to Texas with her?

  I want to go wherever she wants to go – to bang her brains out and to just be near her and look at her, to follow her around like a puppy dog, like Rex follows me around. Anywhere, that is, except home to Texas.

  That’s not something I’ve ever wanted to do. I’ve avoided it for this long and I don’t think I can go even if it’s for some tail I’m chasing.

  It may be the hottest tail I’ve ever met, which makes me feel like a dog in heat. But still. Texas? No way.

  We move over to the couch in the living room. We’re sitting close together.

  “While I’m gone, you’ll be working with the new therapist, Troy.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  Great. Just when I’m getting used to the physical therapist I didn’t want but was assigned anyway – and not just because I want to rub her clit and eat her pussy hole until she’s screaming my name in pleasure, but also because I think Anne was right that she’s a pretty damn good therapist – I have to have another one, at least for a while.

  I don’t know which fate is worse. This or Texas.

  “Troy,” she says.

  “Troy,” I repeat. “He sounds like a douchebag.”

  “No, he’s very nice.”

  She gets up and closes the curtains.

  Then I think, why the hell not? I haven’t seen my mom in so long. I should really see if she’s still alive and hasn’t drunk herself to death. Or worse. I would hate it if she had OD’d.

  But I tell myself it’s just the wine talking. And my raging boner.

  I shouldn’t think with that head. I’d better get out of here.

  “Well, I gotta get going,” I say and stand to leave.

  “Sure,” she says. She accompanies me to the front door. “Thank you so much for dinner.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She puts her hand out and I shake it.

  “See ya,” I say.

  “Bye, Lincoln.”

  I start out the door and then turn to her.

  “OK, I’ll seriously think about doing it.”

  She furrows her brow. “Doing what?”

  “Going to Texas with you.”

  “Oh, Lincoln,” she says and places her hand on my shoulder.

  I look at her hand on my shoulder and she removes it.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “No, I will,” I say.

  “OK, we’ll talk about it.”

  I nod and turn to leave.

  “Good night,” she says and clicks the door shut behind me.

  If going to Texas means being with Amanda, then I really will think about trying to do it.

  I just hope I don’t end up regretting it.

  Chapter 9 - Amanda

  I don’t know why I asked Lincoln to come with me to visit my family. It just felt right at the moment, but I guess now I’m having my doubts.

  I start to clean up when Margie, my roommate, comes home. She’s as flustered as ever and breezes in with her characteristic irritation.

  “How was your day?” I ask, knowing full well what kind of answer I’m going to get.

  “Horrific as usual,” she says and plops down on the couch.

  She takes out her phone and checks it.

  “You really need to mellow a bit, my love,” I say to her.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Margie is a woman in a man’s world. She’s kind of an antique: while many women have gone all out on femininity these days, she’s kind of stuck in the 1980s, and I don’t mean just the songs she likes. She dresses in mannish suits, wraps up her hair in a bun, and wears severe glasses and no makeup because she thinks that’s what she has to do.

  Of course, the firm she works for, Ambler & Wharton, is still so old school, even for the twenty-first century, but I tell her that that’s no excuse. She dismisses me with her comments about my being too much of a girly girl, but I think that’s why Lincoln likes me.

  Lincoln, always in my head. I can’t get him out of my mind.

  But I love Margie. She’s my best friend and the first person I met upon relocation. I want to talk to her about Lincoln but she’s tired.

  I retreat to the kitchen.

  “Something smells awfully good,” she says.

  I start to reheat the beef stew, put some bread and cheese on a plate, pour a glass of wine and take it out to the living room.

  “Here, love,” I say.

  She looks up at me and smiles.

  “Sorry for being such a bitch,” she says.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yeah, I am,” she says.

  She throws her phone to the side, takes off her glasses, lets down her hair and kicks her shoes off.

  “This really tastes so good,” she says, as she eats the bread and cheese. She looks up at me. “Thank you for being so kind to me.”

  She strokes my arm with her hand.

  “I’ll have some nice stew for you in a moment.”

  “Thank you,” she says and sips her wine.

  She places the glass on the coffee table and turns to look at me.

  “So, tell me, who was that guy I saw?”

  “What guy?” I ask.

  “Yeah, come on,” she says.

  “That was Lincoln,” I say, and plop myself next to her on the couch. “Lincoln Drake.”

  “You mean the boxer?” she asks and lifts her legs onto the couch and sits on them.

  “No, MMA.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Well, I don’t know all the lingo and I’m not a fan of it, but even I’ve heard of him. He’s pretty legendary here in New York, and he was really big for a while on the Vegas circuit.”

  “Cool,” I tell her.

  I try to sound nonchalant, but it turns me on to think of seeing him sweating in skimpy clothes, fighting some other guy and winning because he’s so strong. Maybe afterwards we’d celebrate his win by fucking in a jacuzzi. He’d hold my pussy up to the jets so the pressure will be even more intense as he fingers me and then puts his undoubtedly big cock up inside my pussy which is wet because of more than just the jacuzzi water.

  I don’t know where these thoughts are coming from. I’m not usually this sex-starved. I try not to blush.

  I get up, go into the kitchen, and scoop the stew into a bowl and serve her. I place a linen napkin on her lap, and she starts to eat.

  “So, so, good,” she says. “If neither of us is married soon, I think we’ll need to marry each other.”

  I laugh and twirl my hair. I watch her eating.

  “OK, so what’s going on?” she asks and sips her wine.

  She places the glass back down and looks at me.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Yeah, right, let’s hear it.”

  I explain to Margie about how Lincoln and I grew up near each other in Texas, and that I asked him to go with me to visit my family.

  “Bad idea,” Margie says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Too soon, you don’t know this guy, he’s your client, bad move, bad business.”

  I say nothing and watch her dip the roll in the gravy of the stew.

  “Why don’t you speak your mind?” I ask and get up.

  I’m hurt.

  I don’t know what I expected. Margie is not one for risks or adventures. She wasn’t going to applaud my spontaneity. I knew myself it was a bad idea and yet I’d asked him anyway.

  “I am,” she says.

  “Whatever,” I say.

  I go into the kitchen and pour the rest of the stew into a Tupperware container and load the dishwasher. I think about what Margie said and bring the bottle of wine back into the living room. I refill her glass.

  “Honey,” she says
and pats the couch next to her. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

  “I know,” I say.

  Margie loves me. She’d never steer me wrong.

  “Why don’t you tell me how tonight went?” she asks and smiles.

  I tell her all about Lincoln and our date that wasn’t supposed to be a date.

  “It sounds nice. I’m sorry,” she says. “I trust your judgment.”

  But I’m not sure I trust mine, I say to myself.

  Margie has work to do and goes to the study to crunch more impossible and boring numbers. I don’t know how she does it or why she would even want to do it. She’ll probably stay up until midnight at the earliest.

  I begin to doubt myself about asking Lincoln to go with me. I can always change my mind.

  Still, I had a nice night with him.

  I call up my friend Catharine because I know I’ll get more support from her. She’s a hopeless romantic like me. Sure enough, she says she thinks I should go for it.

  “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll be on that plane with you to Texas,” she says. “And I have a feeling he will. Who could resist your charms?”

  “Awww, thanks, Catharine,” I tell her.

  I decide to take a bath and relax.

  I have a lot more thinking to do concerning Mr. Lincoln. And a lot more fantasizing, too, but sadly, my tub isn’t a jacuzzi and it doesn’t have jets. That’s okay, though, because I prefer to wait for the real thing and I think that whenever I have sex with Lincoln – and I just know we’ll end up doing it, even though we shouldn’t – it’ll be really fucking epic.

  Chapter 10 - Amanda

  I can hear Margie hacking away at her computer at her desk in the study, and I think, I do not want to be like that.

  All work and no play can make Margie a dull girl.

  Still, I’m thinking about what she said. She can be such a stick in the mud, but I know she’s just looking out for me and she does make good points.

  Perhaps I’m letting my emotions get the best of me. Or perhaps I’m letting my hormones get the best of me.

  I hate to sound like this but Lincoln, on a physical level, is such a choice piece of meat that I just want to bite into. I had told myself to wait for the real thing. And yet I’m not sure I can resist.

  I turn on the bath and let my hand linger under the rush of water. I try to find the perfect temperature between too hot and too cold.

  Once I do so, I plug the drain and pour in the bubble bath. The pink sudsiness grows and smells good. I could really use a relaxing bath. The only problem is that I wish Lincoln were here to share it with me. And then it wouldn’t be so relaxing, at least not at first. I would be a lot of crazy fucking.

  My heart and body ache for him right now. So much so that I feel as if I want to cry.

  Don’t be such a wimp, I tell myself. I’m being overly emotional.

  Still, that’s how I get when I like a man, and a man I usually end up falling in love with.

  And, now, that would be Lincoln.

  Lincoln. A true hunk of a man. I’m ashamed to say it but every time he sat in my examining room, I was checking him out. His arms, shoulders, and that chest. I can’t tell you how much I love a man’s pecs, especially as they ascend to his shoulders and that thick muscle between his neck and shoulder.

  I just want to bite it until I draw blood.

  Anyway, I go back out to the kitchen to find candles to place around the bathroom so I can dim the lights and create atmosphere.

  Margie still hacks away. I ask her if she’d like something to drink or eat. She says no, but I make her a cup of herbal tea to help her sleep. She works so hard.

  She thanks me and I retreat to the warmth and softness of the bathroom.

  I undress and check myself out in the mirror. Not bad but I could always improve.

  It’s funny how when you suddenly find yourself attracted to someone new, that you begin to want to improve yourself physically, watch your diet, and above all, mention his name in every other line of conversation you have with everyone else. And also how you begin to reinterpret your life through his eyes.

  What would Lincoln think if he heard me talking to Margie?

  What does he think when he sees me with other clients?

  I want him to admire me, be amused by me, and be proud of me. I want him to make me his focus.

  It’s stupid, of course, and selfish and ridiculous of me. But love does funny things. And people do funny things for love.

  I get into the tub and rest against the back tile. The warmth of the suds envelops me, and I relax.

  Suddenly I’m awake. I must have fallen asleep, drifted off due to being too relaxed, but now I feel so horny.

  I just can’t get Lincoln out of my mind.

  I start rubbing my clit, touching myself, and inserting my finger, thinking of it as Lincoln’s hard dick, even though I know it would be much bigger.

  I can see him fucking me. He’s naked and sweaty. My hands rub over his hairy pecs as he fucks me. He just has this hard and steady look on his face. He looks me in the eyes and just fucks me.

  He fucks me so hard I just can’t take it. He drips sweat on me and I wrap my legs around his neck and rest my thighs on his shoulders. He pauses and adjusts my thighs to fit around his neck. He smiles and I just am so in love with him.

  Not love, I tell myself. It is way too soon. Plus, he’s not my type. Other than for his perfect body, filled with hair, just like I like it. But personality-wise, he’s a cocky, grumpy asshole who cursed at me and stormed out of my office the first day we met.

  How could I love that?

  Still, my fantasy persists.

  He stops and wipes his brow.

  “Jesus,” he says and looks down at me. “Ready?”

  I say nothing and let him fuck me. I feel his cock in me thrusting hard and fast and I just want him inside me entirely.

  He speeds up and fucks me faster and faster, until he is all the way inside me like I’d hoped. Soon he arches back and groans. I feel his cum inside me and I love that he shot his load. I want his baby.

  He collapses on top of me and breathes heavily.

  I stroke his back.

  “That was great,” I say.

  He raises himself, smiles, and we kiss.

  “I love you,” he says.

  “I love you too.”

  In real life, I’m rubbing my clit, feeling myself cum as my fantasy ends. I breathe deeply and just know that I’m going to fall asleep again now that I’m so spent and exhausted.

  When I awake. the candles burn low.

  I’m even more tired and I tell myself to get to bed.

  I also promise myself that this fantasy will come true.

  Lincoln, I say to myself as I get out of the tub and blow out of the candles.

  You will be mine.

  Chapter 11 - Lincoln

  I have a follow-up appointment with Amanda today. It’s been a few days since we had dinner and, to be honest, I kind of have been avoiding her. She’s called and I just answer her with texts. I like this girl but thinking about going to Texas just ain’t cool with me. No offense to her – I just have unfinished business there I’d like to leave unfinished.

  I enter the clinic and have to wait for a while. I see an elderly couple checking out at the desk. She’s crooked and bent over, has a walker, and can’t hear.

  Her husband takes care of business at the desk. He has to yell at her to get an answer. She looks disoriented, but when they finally turn to leave, she pushes her walker out as he pats her on the back.

  “Come, my love,” he says. “Let’s get lunch.”

  “I want a tuna fish sandwich with chips and a pickle,” she says at the top of her voice.

  “Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says.

  He patiently follows her out the door.

  My heart breaks. So beautiful, I think, and here I am at the to
p of my world and I’m bitchin’ about stupid shit?

  I want to tear up but refuse to do so. I’m a fuckin’ man and not a fuckin’ wimp.

  “Mr. Drake,” the nurse says and leads me into the examining room. “Amanda will be right with you.”

  I just smile and watch her walk out the door as it closes smoothly and automatically behind her.

  I look at the charts on the wall about the muscular system and then look out the window. Again, I’m not feeling so great about going to Texas, but I need to deal with it.

  Amanda comes in and gives me a smile.

  “How are you doing?” she asks.

  “Good.”

  She looks at me and frowns but says nothing more.

  She looks over my chart.

  “So, any new developments?” she asks and crosses her arms.

  “Um, yeah,” I say and scratch my chest.

  Suddenly I feel so hot and itchy.

  “And what would those be?” she asks.

  She pierces me with her eyes.

  And then I remember.

  “Oh, my eyes,” I say and laugh.

  “Go on,” she says and sits down on the mobile stool in front of the laptop on the desk.

  She moves the mouse and types something up.

  “Yeah, the doctor said all I need is glasses.” I dig my hand under my t-shirt and scratch my shoulder. “Or even maybe laser surgery.”

  Amanda says nothing and comes over to me.

  “Do you have a rash?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  She grabs my t-shirt at my waist and begins to pull it off me. I raise my arms and let her remove it.

  I blush. Here I am a guy known for going half-naked in the ring and elsewhere and I’m embarrassed in front of this girl.

  She isn’t just any girl, though. That much is for sure.

  She places her stethoscope in her ears and listens to my heart. She then places them on my back and listens again.

  “You’re fine,” she says. “You just seem a little stressed out.”

  I say nothing and put my shirt back on. I don’t know why I’m so embarrassed in front of her.

  She goes back to the laptop and types something in.

  I clear my throat.

  “You know, the doctor says I’ll be OK if I stop fighting.”