Love Doctor

by Logan Chance

“No, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  She stops and looks up at me. “I feel like I bombarded you. That maybe I shouldn’t have asked for your help.”

  I slide my hands in my pockets because there’s an errant strand of hair that keeps fluttering across her lips, and I want to tuck it behind her ear. “Rose, it’s fine. I’m a professional.”

  So fucking professional I have her here at a restaurant instead of the office because I need a stiff drink to be able to handle discussing sex with her.

  “I’m just going to not hold back, ok?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well I don’t want you to be…,” she trails off, nibbling the corner of her mouth for a moment before continuing, “uptight.”

  “Uptight?”

  “Yes. Sometimes you can be a little uptight and I need you to come down to my level. Get in the dirt with me, so to speak.”

  “First of all, I am not uptight.” Why would she even think that about me? I’m fucking fun. “Second, I am not uptight.”

  She steps closer, searing my bicep with her hand. “I’m on a deadline, so I need you to talk to me in ways I’ll understand, not be stiff. Because I’m stiff. Together, we’d be rigamortis.”

  The pager vibrates, interrupting my ‘what the actual fuck? I am not stiff’ moment. Is this how she sees me? I brought her to a burger joint. Nothing says laid back and relaxed like eating beef between a bun with your hands. Well Rose has no idea just how dirty I can get. I’m sediment.

  “First lesson, Rose. Feel that vibration in your hand? That’s your first step to getting off during sex. Do you have a vibrator?” Wide eyed, she shakes her head no. “Get one. Tease yourself with it.” My voice lowers, imagining her legs spread. I lean down to whisper against her ear, “Clit first. Then when your pussy is wet, slip it inside and fuck yourself with it. Find that spot deep inside that makes you grind your hips.” A little shiver passes over her body. “Unstiff enough for you?”

  “Yes,” she says, softly.

  Before I step away, I tuck the tempting lock of hair behind her ear. “Ready?”

  She nods, and we return to the restaurant at breakneck speed. The only thing stiff about me is my dick. I’m semi hard and need to sit down fast before my cock plows through the restaurant. Rose hands the pager over to the hostess, and we are led to a booth in the back by our server.

  Before Rose is even fully seated across from me, she orders a drink. “Can I get a beer? Whichever has the most alcohol.”

  The dark haired guy laughs at her request and I order a Guinness. When he walks away, Rose opens her menu and I do the same. I’ve never studied a menu so long in my life. Finally, the server returns with our drinks and takes our order. For me, burger loaded with everything but the chef himself—because I’m adventurous and not stiff—and a bacon cheeseburger for Rose.

  When he steps away, she takes a long pull of her beer. “I’ll just start,” she says, and for the next fifteen minutes, I listen as she explains her jerk ex boyfriends. “So, what do men like? Oral?”

  Oh, she goes right for the jugular. I take a chug of my beer. Sure, every guy likes a blow job—it’s Heaven on Earth—but sometimes, when you’re getting to know a woman, you want to really get to know her before you worry about your own pleasure.

  The server slides our plates on the table, and I watch as she takes a bite of her burger. She swallows it all down, then takes a swig from her beer. “I mean, I know guys like that sort of thing.”

  “Do you?” Oops. it just slipped out. I shouldn’t care about what type of lover she is, or if she gives amazing blow jobs, but staring at her lips, it’s a no brainer. Those lips would feel amazing wrapped around my cock, or any cock.

  She takes another drink from her beer and then stares at me thoughtfully before finally answering, “Well, yeah, I guess I would. I’ve never actually given one to know if I’d like it.”

  And now it all becomes so clear, like a crystal shining in the light. Rose isn’t just inexperienced—she’s inexperienced.

  “You’ve never given? Have you ever received?”

  “No, ok. Happy?”

  I raise a brow. “Happy? No, Rose, it’s a shame no one has ever taken care of you.” And now I want to be that man. I want to saddle up, trumpets blaring, and ride in on the white horse to rescue the princess from her non-being-taken-care-of tower.

  She shrugs. “It’s fine. My father was a minister in the local church, so I didn’t get out much.”

  “Yes, Grace with Gregory.”

  Her eyes widen. “Oh, you know who my father is?”

  I shrug. “It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What was it like? Growing up with a father…” I tread carefully, “like that?”

  “I went to church every Sunday, and well, I guess you could say I was a good little girl.” She laughs a little at her joke.

  I try to laugh with her, but hearing her call herself that makes my dick hard. Rock hard. And it’s the way she said it—breathy and sweet.

  It takes a moment before I can speak again. “So, no guy has ever….” I can’t finish my question.

  But, she knows what I mean. “No, never.”

  Now I feel bad she’s missed out, and I want to be the one to lick her until she drenches my tongue. But, she’s my assistant, so I stick my burger in my mouth before I offer her all the orgasms in the land.

  11

  Rose

  “The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes.”

  —Andre Gide

  The minute I get home, I’m going to go online and order a vibrator. Wish I had one now. Ever since he whispered in my ear, there’s been this need low in my belly. I’ve read about men who are dirty talkers—heck, I’m trying to write one—but no one has ever said those kinds of things to me. And I liked it. A lot. Talking about sex with him wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. He didn’t look at me with judgement, or cringe. He actually looked at me the way I envision my hero looking at the heroine when I write. But that must be my three beers and being horny.

  We finish off our meal, and on our way out, Declan places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me around a small group at the front of the restaurant. It’s intimate and protective, and you’d think he just rescued me from a gang of outlaw bikers by the way I’m acting.

  “You can never see the stars much out here,” I say, glancing skyward, toward a blanket of stars hidden behind the city lights.

  “Yeah, big cities have their consequences. But, I love the city.” He puts both hands into the front pockets of his pants, and I almost half-want him to hold my hand as we walk, which means it’s time to say goodbye.

  “Dinner was nice. Thank you.”

  “You can’t leave yet.” His eyes sweep over my face. “I’m going to take you on a little field trip tonight.”

  “Field trip?”

  “Yeah, you’ll see.”

  He leads me away from the pond, toward a wide covered walkway with shops lining either side. It isn’t too busy out, and it’s a perfect evening for a little stroll. The moon watches from the night sky, lighting the path for us.

  I twine my fingers around my black-leather purse strap, glancing in the shop windows. We pass a cute boutique with a bed that looks like a giant bird’s nest in the front window.

  I stop. “I need this in my life.”

  He moves beside me. “Seriously?”

  I look up at him. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t look cozy. I’d never want to leave.”

  He licks his lips, studying me. “You’re trying to leave the nest. Why would you want another?”

  Hm. “Because peopling is hard. Everyone wants to feel safe and cocooned, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe you need a turtle shell.”

  I laugh. “Maybe.”

  “You have an enchanting laugh, Rose. You should do it more often.”

  I look away from his
intense gaze, because it’s making me think things that can’t possibly be true. We walk again, and I sneak a peek at his profile.

  I wonder what his house looks like? Probably like his office—immaculate with sleek, designer furniture and degrees hanging like artwork on the wall. No bird’s nests, I’m sure. Or maybe he’s someone else entirely within the confines of his own home. I can’t really imagine Declan that way. He’s too well-put together. Too structured.

  But, I wonder how he lets loose? I mean, he’s a sex therapist, so he’s not conservative at all.

  Now, my parents on the other hand, they never even broached the subject of sex. It was understood that premarital sex was as sinful as it comes. I never even had the birds and the bees talk with my own mother.

  But, even though I grew up with strict parents, I do write racy romance novels. So, there ya go.

  That’s my own little F U to my constraints.

  Don’t get me wrong, they took good care of me growing up. I was fed, clothed, nice roof over my head. But, the moment I started talking about my dreams of writing, they shut it down. And back then, I hadn’t even thought about writing romance. Writing was an outlet to get my feelings down and out of my mind where they’d stay scrambled for too long.

  Now, it’s fun. And with Declan’s help, I hope I can breathe life onto the page instead of being smothered thinking through every sentence. Through every meaning.

  I want to live the words I write. And I want to be able to do it for full-time work. Could you imagine? Writing full-time would be a dream come true.

  We round a corner, and Declan puts his hand on the small of my back once again, but this time doesn’t remove it. I really like his hand on me.

  He finally stops in front of a blue door, knocks three times, and a big, burly man with a shaved head answers the door.

  “Oh my God, you brought me to a sex club.”

  Declan whirls around. “What? God, no. This is a VIP club. I wanted you to let your hair down and have fun.”

  The man at the door allows us entrance after Declan pays the admission cost for both of us.

  “This is the field trip?” I look around at the mass of people filling the interior of the club. It’s like a secret sin society. All the accents are red: walls, plush couches, even the light sconces hanging on the walls cast a red hue of flames on the dance floor. A dark cherry-wood bar is set in the back of the place, with bartenders wearing red suspenders. This is how he lets loose? Well color me surprised.

  “I think you’re the type of girl who doesn’t go out and have fun very often.”

  “That’s not true,” I defend myself. I have lots of fun with Julie. Sure, we don’t go to places like this, mainly because I had no idea it existed since it’s hidden, but we have fun in our own way. Browsing the bookstore is just as satisfying as this place. “This is what you do for fun?”

  “Well, no,” he says, moving closer, “but different things can be fun. Even if they seem out of your comfort zone.”

  “I’m comfortable here,” I say, glancing out at the sensual sway of bodies on the dance floor.

  Declan crosses his arms. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” I want more than anything to show him how wrong he is about me. But, I’m so out of my element here.

  He takes a seat on a nearby sofa eyeing me like a hungry wolf. “Dance. Go out there, close your eyes, and just feel the music.”

  “I can dance,” I lie, turning toward the gyrating bodies. Dancing is not my thing. Unless I’m alone. Then I’m Beyonce.

  I slip into the crowd and turn to face Declan.

  The music is a fast, upbeat song, playing at a deafening level to get people pumped, but I find the hidden rhythm, close my eyes, and slowly sway my hips to the beat. A few bodies brush against me, but I keep my eyes shut, raising my arms above my head and letting the melody slam through me.

  I don’t dare open my eyes. Declan is probably laughing at how bad of a dancer I am. Not following his directions, I peek open my eyes to see he’s not laughing—he’s gone.

  12

  Declan

  “What doctors do is a privilege. People let them into the most intimate aspects of their lives, and they look to them to help guide them through very complex and delicate situations.”

  Damn, she’s hot. I can’t turn away from the sexy sway of her hips as she does this seductive slow dance all for me. Or at least I pretend she’s dancing just for me.

  A few other men watch her shake her ass in her tight jeans, and I stand and cross the dance floor to end up right behind her.

  She’s sexy and she doesn’t even know it, which makes her a hundred percent sexier.

  And every man in this club tonight knows it too.

  I wrap my arms around her tiny waist, bringing my dick mere inches from bumping into her ass.

  I’m crossing a major line with her, this I know, but I can’t help myself. And then I take it one step further.

  “Imagine a man touching you and getting you off right now,” I whisper into her ear.

  She turns to face me, her eyes full of innocence. “Will you?”

  I breathe out a single ‘fuck.’ There’s no one paying any attention to us on the dance floor now, so, I move her closer to the back, by a wall. I turn her around, and slip my hand along her thigh.

  “This is just for educational purposes,” I husk out. But I know it’s more than that.

  She nods and I unzip her zipper, reaching my hand into the top of her jeans.

  When I reach the delicate lace of her panties, I groan. Slowly, I run a finger over the fabric and she’s already soaked for me.

  She moans, leaning her head against my shoulder, exposing the graceful line of her neck. If I were a good man, I’d stop immediately, but I guess I’m not, because there’s no stopping what I’m about to do. I lean forward to taste her sweet skin as I move her panties to the side, and take my time getting intimate with her pussy. She’s so wet.

  “Declan,” she breathes out in a whisper.

  “Close your eyes.” Her hips buck a little when my lips reach the erogenous zone just below her ear.

  She’s succulent, like a ripe peach, and I keep sucking there while she glides her body in time with my finger, and I enter her, filling her up. Her hand reaches over her head to grab me by the back of my neck. Fingernails dig into my skin, and it urges me on.

  I go a little faster now, giving her clit ample attention with my thumb, as I finger fuck her.

  She grips me tighter, and I lean into her ear, whispering, “Just let go.”

  And then someone bumps into us, and she pulls away. “Sorry,” the lanky guy says, slurring, before dancing away.

  Rose looks like a deer caught in headlights. Her chest moves in short pants, and the realization of just how much I want her levels me like a ton of bricks.

  She’s as speechless as I am. We stare at each other until she finally finds her voice. “I, uh, have to go.” She turns to leave, rushing out of the club.

  And I let her go.

  13

  Rose

  “Write while the heat is in you. … The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with.”

  —Henry David Thoreau

  What the hell just happened? The night air cools my overheated face as I nearly run toward the lot where I parked. Thank heavens I drove my own car to meet Declan, because the only riding with him I could do right now is astride his cock. Yeah, I said it—cock. It feels like a little chip of naïveté was just removed and even saying cock in my head is easier.

  I was so turned on, I should be ashamed. For the record, I’m not. It’s scary how much I wanted him. Imagination has nothing on the real thing—the sensations that danced along my skin, the thump of my pulse, the ache between my legs when he whispered in my ear in that husky voice. He’s truly a sex god. I wanted to fall at his feet and worship.

  The moon now hides behind fat storm clouds, threatening
to throw droplets of water on me. I find my car, and head home in a daze, ready to transfer all this emotion to my book. For the first time, I completely let go, imagining he wanted me too. The feeling he gave me in that club is what I’ve been trying to capture. It was more intense than I ever could’ve imagined.

  The minute I step inside the door, I hustle to my office, fire up my computer, sit down and let my fingers speak for me. They have a lot to say. I write and write.

  When exhaustion finally takes over, I push away from my desk and stand, reaching my hands over my head, stretching the aching muscles of my tired back before I cross the hallway to my bedroom, where I remove my clothes, tumble into bed naked, and dream of sultry green eyes.

  The next morning, I wake to a knock at my front door. Ugh, it’s too early. I kick the covers off and slip on shorts and a T-shirt before answering my front door. A bright eyed Julie, in a light blue T-shirt that matches her hair, stands on my porch. “Morning.” She places her hands on her black yoga pant clad hips. ”You didn’t call.”

  “I’m sorry. I was writing when I got home.” She steps inside and I make my way over to the couch and plop down.

  “What happened?” She sits down on the opposite end, pulling a pillow into her lap. “What was the plan?”

  “Well, I want you to read something.”

  “Ok.”

  I grab my laptop from the coffee table, open the tab I poured my heart and sexiness into, and lean back on the couch as Julie reads the chapter.

  Her eyes widen. “Oh, hot damn. Did you write this?”

  I nod. “Yes. I was so inspired last night after my first session with Dr. Sincock.”

  Her head whips over to me. “What? This is based on fact? Spill.”

  “I still can’t believe it really happened.”

  She sets the laptop on the coffee table. “What happened?”

  She listens, dumbfounded, as I tell her how he almost brought me to my first orgasm with a man.