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The doctor is in. Every inch of him…
I’m the youngest, brightest, and most hotshot medical director the fertility clinic’s ever seen. Nothing gets between me and my job, until Ada Chase walks in.
I know what you’re thinking – this sounds like dirty, filthy doctor-fantasy smut. And if you’re thinking that, the good news is, you’re entirely correct ;). This book is hot and heavy insta-love and lust at it’s finest, with a dominant alpha hero completely obsessed with breeding and claiming his untouched heroine. Safe, no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.
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The elevator dinged, and my heart raced as I shivered.
The doors slid open, and I could feel my breath catching as I stepped out into the reception area of the clinic, my teeth chewing my bottom lip as I approached the check-in desk.
This was all wrong. You weren’t supposed to have thoughts like this about men like him. You weren’t supposed to walk into an office like this and get wet.
…Your weren’t supposed to have filthy, dirty, unstoppable fantasies about your doctor.
But then, if it was so wrong, why hadn’t I been able to stop thinking about him? Why had I spent every single second since that first time a week before burning the thought of him into my mind. I’d spent hours remembering the feel of his powerful, commanding hands on me, and the way his deep, low voice had struck something primal inside of me.
…And I’d spent every night trembling in my bed as my fingers and my fantasies wondered what could have happened, if there’d been more.
I blinked, my dirty thoughts scattering as I looked down at the receptionist arched brow and bemused expression.
“Everything all right, dear?”
No, I have an uncontrollable crush and the dirtiest thoughts I’ve ever had about one of your physicians.
“Oh, yes,” I said quickly, swallowing the heat from my face.
“I said you can go right in. Dr. Petite will be with you shortly.”
I said it fast, my hands tightening to nervous fists at my sides as I marched past her desk, through the big wooden double-doors, and down the hallway to the exam rooms.
Doctor Petite was not my forbidden fantasy, and thank God for that. No, those were reserved for the gorgeous, intensely sexy, hardened, panty-meltingly perfect Doctor Brody.
Doctor Jackson Brody.
Seeing him on my last visit a week before had been a mistake. And I don’t mean that like “because I regretted it” I mean that quite literally. Someone had messed up some of the doctors’ schedules, and instead of Doctor Petite, it was him who I’d had the appointment with. It’d started innocently, and I knew that the entire thing was probably in my head.
But it made no difference.
Jackson Brody — God he was gorgeous. Tall, broad shoulders, and built like a freaking Greek statue. That dark hair, like mine, and those piercing dark eyes — different from my crystal blue ones.
Those powerful, warm hands, and the way he’d touched me.
I shivered as I paused at door to Doctor Petite’s exam room.
This was ridiculous. Doctor Brody was just that, a doctor, and this was me being, well, weird. I shouldn’t have been fantasizing about my doctor. I mean, it was bad enough what happened before, during the last exam. He hadn’t said anything though.
…I hope he hadn’t noticed, well…that.
God I hope he hadn’t.
But thankfully, even if part of me wished I was, I wasn’t seeing him today. And I probably wouldn’t ever. The scheduling issue had been fixed, and it would be pudgy, grey-haired, sixty-year-old Doctor Petite who would be examining me today to make sure I was fertile.
Yes, I did actually just say that.
I was nineteen years old, I’d barely ever even been kissed, and I was in the most expensive fertility clinic in New York City to make sure I could pop babies out.
If you want to know why, the short answer was: “because my family is insane.”
When you came from a family like mine, with the pedigree that came with it, there were certain…expectations. No, it’s not like I had an arranged marriage or something barbaric like that, but this was way worse. Definitely creepier.
You see, my parents had sent me here for these series of tests and exams to make sure I’d be able to have children. It was all part of the machine of how the rich married rich and stayed rich. My being “capable” was all part of the package, so when the time came — and it would be soon — for me to find someone of suitable equal ranking socially and economically, they’d already know there’d be no problem popping out kids.
Yeah, it’s as fucked up as it sounds.
It’s not that I was against kids, and I wasn’t, at all. I loved kids, and I’d have probably have gone into early childhood psychiatry if I’d had my way. Except, I hadn’t had my way, and studying psychology or pre-med was all wrong for a “girl like me,” or so my parents thought. No, for me, if I even went to college, it would be for something easy like English Lit. Something useless, and something to talk about at cocktail parties.
So that’s why I was there — nineteen, with zero experience, seeing if I was capable of giving birth. I mean, jeez, I’d have to have sex first. I instantly blushed, thinking of Dr. Brody.