Dr Big

by Sienna Swan

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  A Little Taste…

  Copyright

  Melissa

  Kane

  Putting the Baby in the Babysitter Excerpt

  About the Author

  Dr. Big

  Sienna Swan

  Contents

  A Little Taste…

  Copyright

  1. Melissa

  2. Kane

  3. Melissa

  4. Melissa

  5. Kane

  6. Melissa

  7. Kane

  8. Kane

  9. Melissa

  10. Kane

  11. Melissa

  12. Kane

  13. Melissa

  14. Kane

  Epilogue

  Putting the Baby in the Babysitter Excerpt

  About the Author

  A Little Taste…

  “I don’t mean to put you out,” Melissa tells me, making me grab a hold of her shoulder before she could spin around and run.

  “You’re not putting anyone out,” I assure her as Matilda marches past us, fuming.

  The women share a look and now that I have them next to one another, it’s painfully obvious that Matilda doesn’t hold a candle to Melissa. She’s more of the put together, ironic kind of hipster girl, while I think Melissa has no clue what kind of a vibe she’s giving off. She’s authentic, in that weird way that makes both me and my dick resonate toward her.

  “I’ll call you,” I yell after Matilda, slamming the door behind her.

  I don’t have her number.

  “So,” I say, rubbing my hands together as Melissa turns to face me, her expression nothing but dubious. “What can I do for you, Miss Malone? Or are we firmly on first name basis by now?”

  “You’re a real ass, you know that?” she part asks, part tells me, which I kindly ignore as I show her to the couch.

  She takes one look at the spot where Matilda was sitting and picks my recliner instead. No one sits in my chair, but I’m currently willing to make an exception for her.

  “I personally subscribe to the school of thought that calls me a dick, really,” I tell her, my mood lifted and my evening looking up. “Anyway, the question still stands,” I tell her, while going back to dealing with the wine bottle.

  I exchange it for one of the good bottles and pluck two glasses from the cabinet. When I uncork it, Melissa gives me a look. I smell the cork. Special wine for a special occasion.

  I’m way too fucking giddy that she showed up here. Maybe it’s just that I love a good chase, but if this woman honest to god thinks that her little pink treasure chest is sealed shut, I can’t wait to be the one to pry it open.

  “Doctor’s orders,” I tell her as I pour out two glasses. “No arguments.”

  I walk the glass to her and then settle in Matilda’s former spot on the couch. The room looks different from this angle and I’m not sure I like it. I like things my way and Melissa has been consistently throwing me off with her defiance to submit to my understanding of normal. My willingness to indulge her tells me a little too much and I brush it aside.

  She takes a measured sip and I do the same.

  “You know what I’m here for,” she tells me, her voice steely but her hands shaking a little.

  She looks like she’s about to throw herself in front of a firing squad, not on top of a sexy doctor, which I have been told to be by several renowned specialists in the male form. One of them was a Dallas Cowboy’s cheerleader, which I think is all the confirmation any man needs.

  “You’re here for the dick,” I tell her smugly, loving the way she almost chokes on her wine.

  Copyright © 2017 Sienna Swan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dr. Big

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Sienna Swan. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover © Jack of Covers

  One

  Melissa

  “I really should get a cab,” I insist, but my words fall on deaf ears. My best friend Riley has more pressing plans, which don’t include heading home at any kind of reasonable hour this evening, even though it’s a Thursday and most of rest of the planet has work tomorrow.

  She’s technically on vacation, and in theory so am I, but her reality is much more glamorous than mine – a week of pampering and spa days with our ex-college girls, while I’m taking time off to solve my… unfortunate issue.

  Hopefully.

  The consultation is costing me enough to keep my optimism levels high, at least.

  “I’m sure Dr. Bigshot isn’t going to kick you out of your appointment for having a slightly higher than usual blood alcohol level. Does blood alcohol even register in vaginal exams?”

  I shush her as a group of guys pass by and she rolls her eyes at me. “So what if you’re going to see a special vagina doctor? No need to feel embarrassed, Melissa. Everyone needs to go get their pink lady checked out at some point or other. Britney had to go last summer with those itchy scratchies she caught from that waiter in Portugal, remember? You didn’t hear her being all coy about it.”

  Britney Caswell isn’t coy about anything, but she’s hardly my idea of a pin-up of decorum.

  Ouch, I’m a bitch. But I’m a bitch with sore feet from stupid heels, and at approaching twenty-four years old I’m beginning to feel a little bit past rolling into bed at 5:00 a.m. on a weeknight.

  At least it’s my bed I’ll be rolling into. I’m pretty sure Riley is all set to wake up with some random in the morning. That’s why she’s so averse to cabbing it home before sunrise.

  I’m still being tugged along by my elbow when I see the neon glow of a club on the corner of High Road. We never usually head up this way, downtown is more our style, but I can only imagine Riley is out to ride on a cock with money tonight. Having officially reached what she classes mid-twenty-hood a couple of weeks back, she’s looking to settle down, and this city isn’t exactly teeming with high-class partying options mid-week.

  “For real?” I groan as she yanks me along to the entrance.

  “Hell, yeah,” she insists. “The night is young, baby.”

  Jeez. I sigh as she holds open the double doors for me, admitting defeat as I step on in and hand my coat to the receptionist.

  The place could be worse, I surmise as we head on through to the main dance area. It’s hardly heaving with revelers – a few small groups in the seating areas, some solitary figures at the bar, and the usual drunk girls you get blazing away to party tunes.

  Yeah, this place is nothing a glass of dry white can’t make palatable. I order at the bar – wine for me and a vodka soda for Riley. She’s barely even looking in my direction, her makeup-heavy eyes are too busy scanning the room for fuckable members of the male populous. She nudges me as she hones in on a booth in the corner.

  “Hot guy alert, six o’clock.”

  I squint through my glasses as I try to make out the features of the guy she is referring to. There are a few of them drinking chasers, slamming down their shot glasses on the count of three.

  She winks before she heads in their direction, and it’s all I can do to trail after her in my stupid heels.

  She slides into a booth off to the side of them, pulling her lipstick from her handbag for a very
obvious touch-up. I swear she’s only doing it to give them the very finest pout. It’s blatant and ridiculous, but it works. One of the guys nudges another at his side, and suddenly the whole booth of them are looking in her direction. Our direction.

  “Hey, ladies,” one of them calls, and Riley feigns deafness over the music to bring them closer. In a heartbeat we’re wedged in and I guess her dancing plans are out for the time being. I couldn’t get out of here if I wanted to, not with four hulking guys pinning us in place.

  Her smile tells me she’s in heaven, and I sip my wine as I tut to myself.

  “We can’t all be that bad,” a voice comments from opposite me.

  My heart does a little jump at the realization its owner is much closer than expected. The guy sitting across from me is big and broad, his muscles rippling under a well-fitting shirt as he stretches out in the booth. I jolt as something brushes my leg under the table. “Relax,” he laughs. “It’s a foot, not a dick. I have long legs.” He smirks like he’s got some inside joke I’m not aware of. “The name’s Kane,” he says and holds out a hand.

  It seems strange to be formally introduced over the backdrop of ‘90s party classics, but I take his hand regardless.

  “Melissa,” I say.

  “You’re looking radiant tonight, Melissa,” he says, and it’s cheesy as all living fuck, but that doesn’t seem to matter because his voice. His voice is like wet satin. Educated and clearly from decent money, but with enough cockiness packed in to send a tingle through the place I rarely get tingles through.

  Yeah, that’s why I’m going to the consultant tomorrow. I lack regular functioning down there, but right now my body seems to be forgetting about that.

  I can’t help but feast my eyes at Mr. Random in front of me. He’s big, like I said. Really big. Big like a hockey player without the shoulder pads. His jaw is angular and firm, but his smile is cheeky. He has dimples that are too cute to be legal and twinkling eyes that I imagine are blue when they aren’t under disco lights. His hair is messy and fair. I wonder if he was a surfer in his youth.

  I say youth, but he can’t be much over thirty.

  The perfect age for a girl like me- Riley. I have to remind myself that it is in fact Riley who’s on the prowl tonight, not me.

  I’m never on the prowl.

  And yet right here, under the confident stare of the blond Adonis that calls himself Kane, I believe I’d be willing to forgo my own bed this evening in favor of his.

  That wouldn’t be so weird in itself unless you knew that this has never happened to me before. I’ve never done a one-night stand in my life. Never even come close.

  This heart-racing, blood-pumping, tingly legged, hot-flushed giddiness I’ve got going on all of a sudden is well and truly new territory for me.

  I turn to engage back with Riley, but she’s being well entertained by the other three. I guess she’ll be taking her pick.

  “Boring you already?” Kane asks and raises an eyebrow.

  “I just wanted to get home,” I sigh. “I’ve got shit to do tomorrow.”

  “Me too,” he says. “How about we get out of here? We can go home together.”

  I laugh. “Nice try.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Worth a shot, right?”

  Somehow I get the impression his shots usually pay off.

  He leans across to me and he smells as good as he looks, aqua and citrus and man. He smells more like man than any man I’ve ever smelled.

  Shit.

  This is all pretty fucked up. The urge to clench my thighs under the table is strong.

  “Wanna dance?” He tips his head to the almost empty dance floor, and I’d have easily said no if my legs weren’t feeling too jittery to stay still.

  “Sure.” I shrug. “Anything to get out of this cramped little seat.”

  Everyone has to move to let us out, but I don’t care. It feels good to be on my feet again, even with blisters, and I feel less out of sorts as I twirl to the beat. The exertion makes it easier to pretend I’m not burning up at the thought of him, that my heart is racing because I’m in my groove, not because I’m desperate for some strange man to head into the uncharted territory between my thighs.

  My illusion rushes away the moment he lays a hand on me. He wraps his tight-muscled arm around my waist and pulls me close, and his breath is warm on my forehead from his position above me.

  My fingers grapple with his shoulders, grabbing hold of the firm ridges of muscle under his shirt.

  He pushes his thigh between mine and I have to catch my breath in a way I’ve never had to catch it before, and as he catches the flash of whatever this is in my eyes he smiles a confident smile.

  “Let’s get that cab,” he says.

  For real, I can’t believe I’m doing this. The cab rocks up at Mr. Random’s apartment in a ridiculously expensive part of town. He takes me by the hand after paying the driver, and the strength of him as he pulls me to my feet from the car makes me giggle.

  I wince as I take the first step forward and he stops in his tracks.

  “Blisters,” I explain and he smiles.

  “Need a fireman’s lift?”

  I think he’s joking before he hoists me up and over his shoulder. I squeal as he dashes up the stone steps to his apartment foyer, desperately trying to keep my skirt in a semi-respectable position on my thighs as he whizzes us into a big glass elevator.

  My long dark hair hangs down loose over my face as I giggle. Too much wine, definitely too much wine.

  I’m sure that’s the only reason I’m not freaking out at being manhandled by a cultured caveman, that and the fact I’m getting tingles upon tingles and I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with any of them.

  Mr. Random seems to know exactly what to do with them. He drops me to my feet as we reach some big wooden doors, and his warm mouth presses to mine as he slides a key into the lock.

  Fuck. I’m really doing this.

  He walks me backward inside and I squeak into his mouth as he hitches my skirt up.

  I step out of my killer heels and kick them aside, and he breaks the kiss enough to tug my dress up and over my head.

  His hands are huge enough to make my tits look small in his palms, and when he tugs my bra down and fastens his mouth on my nipple I can’t fight back a moan.

  “I knew you’d have a nice pair of tits on you,” he laughs, and we’re off again, heading through his open-plan living space to a door at the far end.

  He unbuttons his shirt while he’s kissing me, then shrugs it off as we cross the threshold. His chest feels divine under my fingertips. Hot and smooth and ridged like he’s fresh out of some gladiator arena. He flicks on the light and I know shit’s about to get real serious.

  His bed is huge and perfectly made - an insanely tasteful combination of gray bedding, so crisp and inviting.

  He unclips my bra and tosses it to the side, and now’s the time I should really say something.

  Scrap that - the time I really should have said something was about two seconds after meeting him, and that something should have been see you around.

  His mouth feels far too good on my tits. His tongue is hot and needy, and his breath is divine on my skin.

  Big fingers tug my panties down my thighs, and it surprises me to feel them so damp.

  Oh fuck.

  It’s only when he runs his fingertips between my pussy lips that the euphoric craziness comes crashing down.

  He stops touching me the moment I tense up.

  I’m like a coiled spring, my thighs clamping together like a Venus fly trap as I stare up at him open-mouthed.

  “I, um…” I begin and he raises an eyebrow.

  “You, um, what?” He’s still smiling so brightly.

  I, um, I can’t do this. My pussy is a bitch and she won’t let me. I’m some kind of sexual defect, and my pink clam will snap your dick off if you try to go anywhere near her.

  “I think I should go…” I say
.

  He tips his head. “Go?”

  His lips brush mine and I can’t stop myself from kissing him. I can’t stop my tongue finding his and begging for more.

  My thighs relax enough for his fingers to slip back between them, and his thumb on my clit is enough to make me moan, grabbing onto his shoulders like I can really do this.

  My eyes widen in shock as I feel a finger push inside me.

  My mouth stops kissing his and hangs open as he manages to keep it there.

  “It’s only my finger,” he laughs. “I’ve got more for you, I promise.” He nips at my bottom lip. “So much more.”

  I haven’t even noticed the tent in his jeans until now. He steps back to let me check out the goods and our promising start shrivels to nothing.

  My pussy tightens and in a panic I take his wrist and push him away from me.

  Now it’s his turn to be shocked. His eyes search mine as he tries to work out what the hell is wrong with me.

  “I know it’s a monster,” he laughs, “but I’ll take it slow.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t… I don’t want to, um…”

  “Go all the way?” he answers for me, and it’ll do, so I nod.

  “Yeah, that’s it. I don’t want to go all the way…”

  “I’ve got condoms,” he assures, but I shake my head.

  “They could tear.”

  “Could, yeah, but it’s…”

  “A risk I’m not comfortable with,” I tell him, hoping my bravado will carry me through.

  I expect that to put an end to all this. I expect him to shrug it off and call me a cab and put it down to a case of random frigidity, but he doesn’t. I feel incredibly awkward, on his bed, naked.

  “So no penetration, right?” he clarifies and he’s still smirking.

  “Yeah, no penetration,” I say. “Of any kind.”

  He shrugs. “If that’s what gets you off, sweetheart.”

  He pushes me backward onto the bed in a beat, and I don’t have the time to resist before his mouth is between my thighs.