Why am I meeting the fertility doctor at a coffee shop? And why did he have to sound so hot? My body reacted to his voice with more desire than I’ve felt with any of the men in my past.

Obey? Jesus, I’m going to fall into some cult thing, aren’t I? He’s going to pull out a healing crystal, set it on the table, and tell me to “obey the crystal.”

I pull up to the coffee shop and check my watch. Forty-two minutes early. My extreme punctuality means I’ve never missed a meeting, but it also means I’ve probably spent hundreds of hours every year waiting around because I’m early.

Usually I’d get my laptop out and work—I never waste time. Except for today, apparently.

I find myself triple and quadruple checking my makeup in the rear-view mirror. If “Dominick” sounded that hot, the chances of him also looking so hot are slim to none. Still, just in case, I want to look good.

I re-do my lipstick and press my lips together, then I rotate my head back and forth and check my blush.

I’m almost thirty years old now, but am mistaken for younger often. Then again, being infertile has the effect of making a girl feel like an old hag.

“Dr. Blythe said it works,” I whisper to myself. “Tracy said it works. Both of them had kids after being told it was impossible. I will have a baby too. This will work.”

I continue to psych myself up for the remaining thirty-seven minutes until I’m a shaking bundle of nerves, and then I nearly burst out of my car when it’s time. I try not to rush into the coffee shop like a maniac, but I walk way faster than my heels are designed for, stumbling a few times. By the time I walk inside I’m panting and out of breath.

I look around the tables, realizing I have no idea what Dominick might look like. Aside from “he sounds hot,” I know precious little about him. God, this feels like internet dating. Awkwardly looking around and being afraid to say “hey” for fear that the person you’re eyeing isn’t actually your date.

I scope out all the tables. Most are people alone buried into their laptops. There’s a few couples... and there’s no guy alone who seems to be looking at me.

I stand awkwardly and just look around a few more times, hoping someone I’ve overlooked will call out to me in that deep, sexy voice.

Nothing happens, so I stumble toward the counter and order a decaf cappuccino.

I take a table by myself—I am still five minutes early—and wait for my drink. The drink comes, and then I wait longer, until my phone hits time.

I look up at the door, expecting this guy to be exactly on time. Instead of the door opening, my phone vibrates.

I look at it, expecting a call, but instead I see a message: You will wait there.

Um? Yeah? We agreed to meet here... but does that mean he’s going to be late? Or…

I pick up my phone to type a response, but then I see the three little dots that indicate he’s typing.

I wait, and then it flashes the new message: And Madrigal, you will OBEY. Do not question.

I scoff audibly and glare at the screen. I almost type out some pissed off response, but I force myself to take a deep breath, and I all but throw the phone down onto the table.

Why tell me to meet him here at a certain time if he’s going to be late? And how can he have the nerve to be late, then tell me in that assholish way to wait for him? What happened to: “Hey, sorry, I’m running late. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

I try to sip at my drink, but I end up chugging it down. I look around tapping my foot. I didn’t bring my laptop or anything to work on, so all I can do is sit here and get more impatient and annoyed with this asshole.

I feel the annoyance start to boil over when I realize thirty whole minutes have passed. Is he even coming?

I start looking around, then I grab my phone off the table and stand up. I hoist my purse over my shoulder, and the phone vibrates again.

I said WAIT.

My jaw drops, and I look up. I spin around the room, not seeing anyone with a phone in their hand. Then I look outside. The front of the shop is just a big window, and there’s tons of apartment buildings on the other side with tinted windows. Is this fucking asshole sitting in his apartment and watching me wait for him?

I walk right up to the front window of the coffee shop, throw my phone into my purse, and throw up my hands in frustration as I look up through the window.

I look up at all the apartment windows, realizing he could be in any of them. Or maybe he’s in one of the cars parked along the street? I sigh, grab my phone, and wait for him to say something. When he doesn’t so much as text me again, I shake my head and walk out of the coffee shop.

After I’ve taken only ten steps, my phone rings.

“What?” I shout into it.

“I thought you wanted a baby,” his voice booms.

“I thought we agreed to meet at—”

“I told you to obey,” he says, cutting me off. “And I ordered you to wait there.”

“Then why don’t you—”

“Last chance, Madrigal, or this is over. Obey me.”

I hear him disconnect, and I almost throw my phone onto the pavement, but settle for throwing it so hard into my purse that it slams against my lipstick with a loud clank.

I try to control my breathing, and I count back from ten, then I go back into the coffee shop.

I sit back down and wait with my hands folded on top of each other on the table. I seethe with anger as I wait, but I don’t let my frustration show. I get the idea that this guy is not going to show up until he thinks I’m obeying him to some unknown to me standard.

Only after I’ve finally cleared my mind enough to start daydreaming, the bell on the door rings, and I look up.

The man coming in is so tall he has to crouch his head down just to fit inside. It can’t be Dominick, because he looks nothing like a doctor. He’s wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing tattooed forearms. He’s got an insufferable grin on his face, and he might as well, because his body is nothing short of perfection. His wide shoulders fill the room as he enters chest-first, and my eyes wander down his body, clinging to his muscular thighs hugged tight by a pair of stone-grey jeans.

I watch his strong forearm as he runs a hand through his luxurious, dark-black hair. Then he smiles, and I swear every woman in the coffee shop drops what she’s doing to look up at him, just wishing that that smile was for her and her alone.

Then I realize he’s smiling at me.

I point to myself and tilt my head at him, showing just how confused I am.

He grabs the chair across from me, turns it around, and sits in it backward. He leans forward, resting those beautiful forearms on the back of the chair. He rests his chin down onto his forearms and studies me. His eyes are grey-blue, and as soon as they lock onto me, they betray a burning intensity.

His eyebrows scrunch up, and he lifts his head back up and shakes his head at me. “Madrigal, Madrigal.”

It’s him. That voice. Jesus.

“I thought you said you were going to obey?” He says, his gaze intensifying. “You just had to push it, didn’t you?”

“I…” I stammer, but my voice catches and I realize I don’t even know what to say. Why the hell is he sitting in the chair backward like that? People are staring at him. At us.

“Can you turn your chair around?” I ask, looking around.

He laughs. His laugh is almost musical. “You obey me. I give the orders. I’ll turn it around when I want to.”

Okay? What the hell is this and why am I putting up with it?

“Look, Madrigal,” he says. “You’re going to pay me a lot of money for my services. The thing is, I have more potential clients than I can possibly serve. So if I decide you’re not going to give this your all, I’ll just move onto the next client. I almost walked out on you a few times already.”

“I’ll do what you say,” I say, my voice becoming all steely resolve.

“Oh?” he asks. He gets up, spins the chair around, and sits back down. Not like a normal person at a coffee shop, of course. Instead of sitting with his legs under the table, he tips the chair back, crosses his arms, and looks down his nose at me.

I stop myself from asking him to sit straight in his chair. I’m on thin ice with him. I’ve decided I will obey him from here on out. No matter what he asks of me.

“Madrigal,” he says. “On a first meeting, I usually don’t ask too much of my clients. Since you’ve misbehaved so much, and since my time is incredibly valuable, I’m going to put you to the test right here and right now. How do you feel about that?”

What could he possibly make me do here? My earlier fear that he’s going to make me swear obedience to a healing crystal comes back, but Dominick doesn’t strike me as the healing crystal kind of guy.

“I’m ready to obey,” I say, still shaking from nervousness.

“Good,” he says, and he finally slides his chair forward and sits across from me like a normal human being.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small pouch. It’s red and silky, and it’s tied shut with a golden rope. He puts the pouch onto the table and slides it toward me.

I wait a few moments, but he says nothing, so I snatch up the bag and reach for the string.

“No,” he says. “Madrigal, did I ask you to open it?”

I put it back down without saying a word. I look up at him, into those intensely gorgeous eyes. “Tell me what to do.”

“Take the pouch with you into the bathroom. Open it. Then put it inside.” He grins wide at that last part.

“Inside?” I ask. “What do you—”

“Shh,” he says, “You’ll know what I mean when you see it. Once you’ve done that, come back out and sit down across from me. Understood?”

I nod. “Understood.”

I grab the bag and go into the women’s room. It’s the kind of bathroom where there’s just one toilet, and I have to lock a deadbolt behind me.

I don’t sit down on the toilet, I just grab the bag and tug at the strings. I open it up, reach inside, and pull out…

Jesus.

It’s a vibrator. It’s shaped like a U with one side thicker than the other. It takes me all of two seconds to realize that the skinny side will rest directly over my clitoris.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I whisper to myself.

Then I hear Dominick’s voice loud in my head. “Put it inside.”

I consider just throwing the vibrator into the garbage, walking out in a huff, and…

And what? And never getting pregnant? Somehow two reputable women have told me this works, and it doesn’t hurt that Dominick is one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“I promised I’d obey,” I whisper, justifying it to myself. “Just do it.”

I pull my panties down and run my finger over my slit realizing I’m already soaked.

“Shit,” I whisper, “This is insane.”

I slide the vibrator inside of me, my breath catching slightly at the sensation. When the other part comes in contact with my clit, I have to stifle a moan. This really is insane. I can’t believe how easily he’s got me turned on.

“Come back out and sit down across from me.”

That means... he expects me to wear this out there… in public. I shake my head and fix my panties. I let my skirt drop back down, and I put my hand on the deadbolt, realizing that once I walk out with this thing inside me, I’ve reached the point of no return.