AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She groans, a sound that comes from the base of her throat, and I laugh.
‘This is just the beginning, baby,’ I promise.
And because I’m pursued by demons that seek to punish me, I wake up at that moment, sweat beading my brow and a cock that’s harder than stone. I drop my hand to it, rubbing my fingers up and down my length, curving my palm over my thickness.
It’s no good.
Having dream-fucked Holly, I need the real thing.
I reach for my phone and check the time. It’s midnight. I’ve been asleep only forty minutes. For Christ’s sake.
I scroll through my calendar, going back to Tuesday last week when I met Dr Scott-Leigh in that café.
Her contact details are in the appointment file. I click on her email address:
Holly,
I need to see you again. Tomorrow.
I consult my calendar once more—these sleepless nights are playing havoc with my short-term memory.
Four p.m. is my only free time.
NM
I drop the phone to my bed and push up. I dress quickly, or as quickly as I can when my dick is like a tent pole, and throw back a tumbler of straight vodka, then call one of my drivers—there are four on rotation.
Graeme is on the roster.
He’s probably the least able to hide his disapproval of my lifestyle, and that gives me a perverse sense of amusement.
‘Where to, sir?’ he asks without meeting my eyes. Did I wake him? Tough. It’s his job, after all.
‘Mon More,’ I say, naming a club in Putney. Julianne has haunted my dreams for a month and now Holly is taking over. The only thing I know is I can escape them both in a loud bar with free-flowing booze.
* * *
It’s not like I’ve been thinking of him since our appointment. At least, not only of him. I’ve had a lot else on my mind. Like working out how I’m going to make a Virgin Mary costume for Ivy before her Christmas concert and when I’ll have time to help her with the gingerbread house she’s determined to give her grandmother this year.
No, I’ve been far too busy to think only of Noah Moore.
Except at night, when my head hits the pillow and I shut my eyes. Then, all I can see is his face, his beautiful, exquisite, tortured face, his haunted eyes and sexy mouth, his body that I want to throw myself at, to curl up against, to be held and comforted by. He makes me want to surrender to his touch, to be safe within his arms.
I’m smart enough to know how absurd that is, but if I can’t have the real thing, I should at least be able to satisfy myself with the fantasy. Right?
I’ve had plenty on my plate this week but, when I arrive at my office this morning, fate seems to have conspired to throw Noah Moore at my feet.
His email detonates in my consciousness like a charge. It’s barely civil and it’s sure as hell not how appointments are made. I can’t even say for sure how he got my email address—it’s not on my business cards and I don’t routinely welcome patients to communicate with me directly.
There has to be a divide between my work and my home life. That’s the way this works best.
Not for Noah Moore, though. I’m surprised to find a wry smile has rubbed across my lips when I scan my calendar for availability and none of the usual clinical detachment chills my emotions.
My day is full, and yet if I were to swap my one o’clock for twelve o’clock and miss lunch, I could move my four o’clock forward and make time for Noah.
I swallow past the doubts.
I can’t say why, but I am compelled to answer, and I am driven by a desperate need to see him again.
