I hope that last night was enough to bring both Dr. Big and I to our senses. His monster dick is going to be anything but a cure for me, even if he did manage to put two fingers where no man has ever before managed to put two fingers. Or any fingers for that matter.

Or made me come.

Twice. Almost three times.

Even on a medical exam table as my cheeks burned red.

Two fingers, yes. Maybe.

That cock? That humungous, veiny, ramrod of a penis?

No fucking way.

I tapped out of there in a heartbeat, and rightly so. So why the hell am I still thinking about him and… it, this morning before my alarm? I roll over in bed, all ready to calculate just how much more snooze time I have available, when my ring tone sounds from my cell.

What the..? Who even calls at 7:00 a.m.?

I stare at the incoming call in shock before I answer with a tepid hello.

And there it is. That voice. That cocky, self-assured, wet satin voice.

I shouldn’t feel a quiver of excitement pass right through me, but I do. I can’t for the life of me understand why some big-headed, big-cocked douche has such a profound effect on my usually clammed-up pussy, but he does.

“Morning, Miss Malone. This is your friendly appointment reminder. This evening at 8:00 p.m. onward.”

I smooth my bed-hair back from my forehead as I struggle to fathom his words and regain my ability to talk. “Tonight?!”

“Yes,” he says simply. “Your course of treatment requires a strict schedule.”

His laugh would be contagious if this was in any way funny. I hone in on the background noise and realize he’s already up and about his business this morning. I can hear bustle and chatter, and the honk of a horn.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Seven sharp,” he says without so much as a pause. “I figured you were a morning kind of gal.”

He’s wrong about that actually. I try to give the illusion of being a morning girl, but I’m anything but. I struggle to get to sleep at night, despite downing a couple of mugs of warm milk and sleeping with an eye mask.

I’m a worrier. One of those people who churns through a million different disaster scenarios instead of counting sheep.

I’m not about to tell Dr. Perfect that, though. Even if he probably has guessed by now.

“Late night,” I say.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t thinking about me,” he laughs. “I’m enough to keep any woman up through their beauty sleep.”

I hate how right he is.

I hate how much I’ve been thinking about the cocky asshole since our paths crossed under those damn disco lights.

“So,” he says. “Tonight, yes?”

I sigh. I should say no. I should stick to my earlier reasoning that there is no way in a million billion years that huge thing stands a chance of getting anywhere near penetration, but hearing his voice... Feeling these shivers... Knowing that there’s something infuriatingly irresistible about this guy, with his perfect everything, and that even though I’m certain this therapy is heading nowhere other than a world of embarrassment, I can’t stop wanting to see him again.

“This isn’t going to work,” I groan. “That thing of yours, it’s impossible.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he tells me. “I’ve never yet found a case I couldn’t cure.”

“You haven’t found a case like mine before,” I insist, but my resolve is already crumbling.

I’m expecting another juvenile attempt at humor but it doesn’t come. His voice is surprisingly serious when he speaks again, and I sit up in bed to listen.

“This isn’t just a job for me,” he says. “It’s a vocation. For all my dicking around, Melissa, I’m serious. I want to help. You’re my patient, and I’m a good doctor. Unconventional or not, this treatment is going to work for you.”

How I wish.

His passion is commendable if his methods are bizarre. I sigh as I contemplate my options, but I already know I’m going to be there this evening. There are worse things to say yes to than an evening spent with Dr. Big Kane, even if the mere thought of it makes me blush scarlet.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll stick with the treatment. For now.”

“Smart girl,” he says and I know he’s grinning. “I’ll see you at eight.”

“See you, Dr. Smart-ass,” I tell him, and hang up with a smile.

Luckily I don’t have too much time to dwell on the crazy I’ve just signed up for. My snooze time is all gone and my alarm is making it damned clear I’d better get my butt in gear for the day ahead.

My profession is the orderly type, just as I like my life. I’m an accountant for a software house on Ferndale Avenue. I make sure everything balances and the paper trail leads in the right direction. I make sure everything matches up neatly and everything gets paid in good time.

I take a quick shower as I get ready, scrubbing myself in perfect ritual order for the best start to the morning. I always use citrus, it’s good for the skin. I always make sure to wash my face for the count of thirty, since it’s good for the pores.

It feels good to be safe in my familiar routine. An organized life leads to an organized mind, and mine has to be organized for my job.

It’s why I’m so successful. Attention to detail. Focus and calm determination.

I may not be much of a thrill seeker, but show me an accountant that is. Certainly not this one.

I choose a demure little navy dress suit for the day. Understated but professional, just how I like to dress.

My cat, Harry, is purring around my legs as I step into the kitchen and I spoon him out his breakfast, being sure to wash the dirty utensil in the sink before I leave the house. I can’t bear having a mess around me. If I wasn’t so lonely living alone sometimes, I wouldn’t have gotten myself a cat at all, but a girl needs companionship through dark winter nights, even if it is only the furry four-legged kind.

I take my usual route to work, trying to chase the thoughts of Dr. Big from my mind. I really wish I could wash him away from me and regain some mental clarity, but no matter which direction I force my brain into, he’s always right there. His cocky smile. His cute dimples. The soft blond of his hair.

His lab coat.

The way his latex gloves felt against me.

His huge, towering, glistening dick. The one that will never fit inside me in a billion years.

I wish I could be normal for just one night. How I’d love to ride that smug look right off his face. I can’t even imagine his expression at the sight of me morphing from stuffy little Melissa, to a raging sex-goddess.

The thought makes me smile as I open up my profit and loss spreadsheets at my desk, but this won’t do. I can’t keep dwelling on him or his unorthodox treatment plans. For a start, they aren’t going to work, even if I wanted them to. He could try forever and a day to fit that thing inside me, and my lady parts would still scream out a resounding no entry. I know my body well enough to know that.

Luckily I know my job well enough too to sink into it regardless of my unfortunate preoccupation with my hot doc. I bury myself in the numbers, making sense of the cold hard figures.

I love the way financial puzzles fit so perfectly together. I love how predictable they are. How safe.

Nothing thrills me as much as the way a string of numbers clicks into place. Where everything balances so neatly. Every single little digit accounted for.

The strange thing was that I never envisioned myself as an accountant, not even once while I was growing up. Numbers bored me to tears as a kid. I was far more into the idea of the arts, creating something, but that didn’t last. On reflection, now that I have the necessary maturity to reflect on it, accounting was a good choice for me. The arts are messy and unpredictable. Chaos where there should be order. Like skating on a sidewalk without a handrail, just asking for trouble.

Crossing a rope bridge without a harness.

I hate bridges at the best of times. Childhood disaster, don’t ask. Another one of those horrifyingly embarrassing moments of my life.

Anyway, that’s what I mean. Figures are easy. Safe. Predictable. There is always a truth, always an answer to a problem. Every imbalance can be put right again, every challenge right there to be solved through logic.

That’s got to be so much better than the arts would have ever been for me.

A vocation in chaos wouldn’t have suited a woman like me at all.

And neither will Dr. Big.

We’ll both find that out sure enough, I’m positive of it.

In the meantime, I’ll humor him.

Doctor’s orders after all.