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He smiled so wide that those perfect white teeth flashed.
“No problem,” said Dr. Roman. “Now tell me why you’re here.”
I took a deep breath before replying. Because what could I say? I’m desperately afraid that I can’t get pregnant even though I’m only twenty-five? Two of my exes have suffered from ED, and I’m starting to think it’s me? Your services are probably really expensive, and there’s no way I can afford them? All of these thoughts were so embarrassing and personal, and Dr. Roman was a stranger after all. It seemed wrong to unload on him.
But one look into those penetrating blue eyes made me catch my breath. Because I can’t lie to a man like this. He’d see right through me. So I decided to stick with the truth.
“Well, um, I’ve been having some concerns,” my voice trailed off uncertainly.
His brow quirked but he nodded with understanding.
“Sure,” he said. “We all have concerns. Go ahead, shoot.”
I bit my lip again.
“Well, I’m a little afraid I can’t get pregnant, which is why I came to your info session,” was my embarrassed admission. “I thought maybe you’d have some tips and tricks.”
He paused for a moment, steepling his fingers under that strong chin.
“Connie,” he said smoothly. “May I ask how old you are?”
“Twenty-five,” was my immediate reply. “But everyone says that women are most fertile at seventeen.”
He nodded, those blue eyes assessing my female form. I blushed hotly. Oh god, my cheeks were probably the color of a tomato, and my nips hardened on their own.
But Dr. Roman pretended not to notice.
“Females are fertile at an extremely young age,” he agreed. “At least that’s what the scientific literature shows. But you’re not out of the hot zone,” he added smoothly. “Twenty five isn’t time for concern. You know that, right?”
I nodded, ducking my head.
“I know, but it’s that I’ve had such a hard time recently.”
His brows lowered.
“Do you have a husband or boyfriend that you’ve been trying to get pregnant with? If so, how long have you been trying?”
I blush again, the heat rising to my face.
“Well, not exactly,” is my low murmur. “I don’t have a partner per se at the moment, but there were two men that I dated. Neither of them could get it up, if you know what I mean, and I was wondering if there’s something about me.”
Dr. Roman’s eyes opened wide for just a moment, but then he nodded professionally.
“Of course,” were his words. “What do you mean, you’re wondering if there’s something about you?”
The words almost wouldn’t come out.
“Well, maybe I’m not fertile,” was my whisper, “and these guys sensed it, so they couldn’t get it up. It was so awful, Dr. Roman,” I said. “We’d be in bed but they never even … you know … got hard.”
I could barely believe I was revealing all this to a handsome alpha male. What must he think? He probably thought I was the ugliest girl in the world, the one who caused limp dick in guys.
But instead, the man’s expression was thoughtful as he reached into his drawer.
“No, I don’t think your fertility was the issue at all. How old were your ex-partners?”
I bit my lip.
“One was probably twenty-two at the time, and the other twenty-seven. They’re in the prime of their youth, so they should have been able to perform. But it was terrible,” I said in a rush. “As soon as they saw me naked, their dicks wilted and grew all soft. I almost cried.” But I was here to get answers, and it was important to be straightforward. So I went for it. “Why did that happen, Dr. Roman? What did I do? Is there something wrong with my body?”
The doctor’s eyes grew so dark that they were almost black instead of blue.
“No sweetheart, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you at all,” he rumbled.
“But why did that happen then?” was my painful mewl. “Twice, too? There has to be something wrong with me.”
The doctor shook his head, eyes heated and intense.
“Trust me, sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re twenty-five and from your curvy form, I can tell you’re fertile. It’s their fault, not yours.”
Tears welled in my eyes as I stared into the depths of his gaze.
“Then why did this happen?” I asked in a pained voice. “Why didn’t those boys like me? There must be something about my body that gives off signals of infertility.”
Dr. Roman lifted his hand from the drawer then, and I saw that he had a tube of something between those square fingers.
“Naw honey, that’s not it at all. Trust me, you look fertile on the outside. Big, lush breasts and wide hips? Those are the first thing a doctor looks for in ovulating women, and you’ve got them.”
But I couldn’t be calmed down.
