Doctor's Orders (Complete Series) Read online

  Doctor’s Orders

  The Complete Series

  Lilian Monroe

  Contents

  Foreword

  Doctor O

  1. Valerie

  2. Clay

  3. Valerie

  4. Clay

  5. Valerie

  6. Clay

  7. Valerie

  8. Clay

  9. Valerie

  10. Clay

  11. Valerie

  12. Clay

  13. Valerie

  14. Clay

  15. Valerie

  16. Clay

  17. Valerie

  18. Clay

  19. Valerie

  20. Clay

  21. Valerie

  22. Clay

  23. Valerie

  24. Clay

  25. Valerie

  26. Clay

  27. Valerie

  28. Clay

  29. Valerie

  30. Clay

  31. Valerie

  32. Clay

  33. Valerie

  34. Clay

  35. Valerie

  36. Clay

  37. Valerie

  38. Clay

  39. Valerie

  40. Clay

  41. Valerie

  42. Clay

  43. Valerie

  44. Clay

  45. Valerie

  46. Clay

  47. Valerie

  48. Clay

  49. Valerie

  50. Clay

  Epilogue

  Doctor D

  1. Emma

  2. Emma

  3. Elliot

  4. Emma

  5. Elliot

  6. Emma

  7. Elliot

  8. Emma

  9. Emma

  10. Elliot

  11. Emma

  12. Elliot

  13. Emma

  14. Emma

  15. Elliot

  16. Elliot

  17. Emma

  18. Emma

  19. Elliot

  20. Emma

  21. Elliot

  22. Emma

  23. Elliot

  24. Emma

  25. Elliot

  26. Emma

  27. Elliot

  28. Emma

  29. Elliot

  30. Emma

  31. Elliot

  32. Emma

  33. Emma

  34. Elliot

  35. Elliot

  36. Emma

  37. Elliot

  38. Elliot

  39. Emma

  40. Elliot

  41. Emma

  42. Emma

  43. Elliot

  44. Emma

  45. Emma

  46. Elliot

  47. Emma

  48. Emma

  49. Elliot

  50. Elliot

  51. Emma

  52. Elliot

  53. Emma

  54. Elliot

  55. Emma

  56. Emma

  57. Elliot

  58. Emma

  59. Emma

  60. Elliot

  61. Emma

  62. Elliot

  63. Emma

  64. Elliot

  65. Emma

  66. Elliot

  Epilogue

  Doctor L

  1. Dave

  2. Izzy

  3. Dave

  4. Izzy

  5. Dave

  6. Izzy

  7. Dave

  8. Izzy

  9. Dave

  10. Izzy

  11. Dave

  12. Izzy

  13. Dave

  14. Izzy

  15. Dave

  16. Izzy

  17. Dave

  18. Dave

  19. Izzy

  20. Dave

  21. Izzy

  22. Dave

  23. Izzy

  24. Dave

  25. Izzy

  26. Dave

  27. Izzy

  28. Dave

  29. Izzy

  30. Dave

  31. Izzy

  32. Dave

  33. Izzy

  34. Dave

  35. Izzy

  36. Dave

  37. Izzy

  38. Dave

  39. Izzy

  40. Dave

  41. Izzy

  42. Dave

  43. Izzy

  44. Dave

  45. Izzy

  46. Dave

  47. Izzy

  48. Dave

  Epilogue

  Bad Boss

  1. Harper

  2. Zach

  3. Harper

  Also by Lilian Monroe

  Copyright Ⓒ 2017 Lilian Monroe All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author except for short quotations used for the purpose of reviews.

  want THREE books delivered straight to your inbox?

  how about three rock star romances that were way too hot to sell?

  CLICK HERE to get the complete Rock Hard series.

  (www.lilianmonroe.com/rockhard)

  Doctor O

  Book 1

  1

  Valerie

  I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling for the thousandth time. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on my hand as it moves down between my legs, savoring the electric warmth that ripples with every movement of my fingers. I concentrate hard, trying to think of something sexy. Abs, or…muscles. Hands gripping me. The touch of a man’s tongue over me.

  Uh…throbbing…members?

  I pause and shake my head before taking a deep breath. I move my fingers back and forth a little bit faster. I bite my lip, focusing on that one spot deep inside me, the pinpoint of light that’s spreading ever so slowly in my center.

  There’s a warmth growing inside me and I move my fingers faster, traveling up and down between my lower lips. My brow furrows as my fingers circle around my bud with more intensity. I hold my breath.

  It’s going to happen. I can feel it. I’m going to feel the shockwaves course through my body, my back is going to arch and my legs are going to fall apart. The anticipation is making my heart hammer in my chest. I concentrate harder, moving my hand faster with the excitement.

  And then all of a sudden… nothing.

  It’s gone.

  My orgasm slips away into oblivion, just like it has every single time before.

  This isn’t going to happen. Not today, not ever.

  Frustration builds inside me until tears are prickling at my eyelids. I don’t want to cry. I should just accept that this is the way it is. This is who I am. I can’t do it.

  Come. Climax. Orgasm. Hurl over the edge into a land of bliss.

  Whatever you want to call it, I can’t do it.

  I blink the tears away and breathe through my nose. I try to do that breathing they teach in my yoga class. In, two, three, four… Out, two, three, four.

  I still feel like I’m going to burst into tears. Apparently, I can’t even breathe properly.

  I let my hand fall to my side and open my eyes back up, looking up at the ceiling again. Every single time I feel something close to an orgasm, it somehow escapes me. Maybe I’m thinking too hard or I don’t know how to touch myself properly. Maybe I’m not thinking hard enough.

  It’s even worse when someone else tries to give me one. I tense up or think too much about what I’m doing or what I look like or what they’re thinking.

  Even when I am able to relax into the moment, it always seems to slip away at the last second. I can feel it. It’s right there. And then, it’s gone.

  I can be in the mood and excited and slick with desire, but for some
reason I’ve just never gone over the edge. I’ve never felt the fireworks that everyone describes. The back arching, leg shaking, head melting feeling of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

  Not even once, and it kills me.

  My ex-boyfriend gave up trying in the end. He’d play with me until I was wet enough for him to enter me, and then take his own orgasm without any worry about my pleasure. I broke it off with him three months ago and since then, like every month and year before that, I’ve been unable to get myself off.

  When I broke it off with him, my best friend Emma was there to pick up the pieces. We were out at our local cocktail lounge and I’d had two or three glasses of wine, just enough to be a bit giddy. I remember looking at her and blurting it out:

  “I’ve never orgasmed.”

  She’d nearly spat out her drink and looked at me in shock. Her mess of brown curls bounced around her face as she turned to look at me. She was wearing her signature bright red lipstick and her mouth hung open.

  “You mean in the four years you spent with that idiot he was never able to make you come?”

  I’d looked around, worried she was being too loud. We were in our favorite booth in the back corner, with a perfect view of everyone in the bar but shielded from any unwelcome attention. I glanced around to make sure no one had heard her outburst.

  She hadn’t cared, as usual.

  She never seems to be self-conscious or insecure. Emma walks into any room like she owns it, swaying her hips and walking in with purpose. All eyes are always on her.

  And then… there’s me. Where she is all curls and curves, I'm wavy-haired, blonde, lanky. I always seem to feel a bit awkward when men talk to me, like somehow, they’re making fun of me, or they’re just passing the time until they get their turn with her. She’s the center of attention and I’m her sidekick wherever we go.

  I don’t mind, not really. I love her to pieces. She’s my rock, my best friend, and my confidante. I couldn’t imagine my life without her by my side. She’s been there for me through thick and thin.

  The past three months she’s helped me move into my new apartment, brought me ice cream, and made me laugh when it felt like there was nothing to laugh at. We moved to New York five years ago together and would not have survived without each other. She is the best friend I’ve ever had.

  That day, in the darkest corner of our favorite bar, it felt good to open up to her about my orgasm-less existence.

  I couldn’t help but smile at the horror on her face when I told her my secret.

  “No, I mean I’ve never had an orgasm. Ever. Not just with Bryce. Never.”

  Emma put down her glass of wine and brought her hands to her temples. It seemed to be difficult for her to understand what I’d just said. She stared at the table intently, processing this new information.

  “Never. As in…Ever? Not once?”

  She looked up at me, searching my face. I shrugged, not knowing what to tell her.

  “I mean, I’ve tried. Don’t get me wrong.”

  I looked at her sheepishly.

  “Val, girl. You need to sort this out. I’m telling you this as your oldest and dearest friend, and as someone who has had many mind blowing orgasms. This is a very, very important part of any woman’s life. Did Bryce know? What did he do to try to get you off?”

  I’d felt the tears welling up in my eyes when she mentioned him. I didn’t want to tell her how bad our sex life had gotten. How selfish he’d been in bed. How selfish he’d been in general.

  She understood without me saying anything, as usual. She just waved the waiter over and dramatically ordered another round of drinks for us and then turned and winked at me. I laughed and the constriction in my throat disappeared.

  Emma had been so concerned, so intent on helping me. She gave me tips, she described her most intense orgasms. She told me how they rushed from her center outwards in waves of warmth and pleasure.

  She had been so open and candid with me, talking about the way her back arched and her legs trembled. She told me that her partners had actually enjoyed giving her pleasure, it wasn’t a chore to them at all. I listened to her describing her experiences and wished I could feel the same.

  Since then, I’ve tried every trick that she taught me. It just seems like I… can’t. I can’t do it. No matter how hard I try I still haven’t felt an orgasm rip through my body. I haven’t been with anyone since Bryce, but I can’t bring myself to go through that again. It’s torture to explain that it won’t happen. I always have to tell the guy that it’s not him, it’s me. Then, I have to see the disappointment in his face as he tries and tries to get me to orgasm only to ultimately fail.

  Some guys take it on like a challenge, but it only makes me feel worse when it doesn’t work.

  I’ve learned to live with it. Sort of. I’ve thrown myself into my career and most days it feels like that’s enough.

  Not today, though. For some reason, today feels different. I’m still staring at the ceiling above my bed, and I think that I might go insane. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe there’s something in my body that stops me from orgasming. Maybe it’s not mental at all. Maybe it’s physical.

  I turn and reach for my phone. I pull up Google and within a millisecond I’m presented with ten thousand reasons that I’m not able to get off.

  Doctor Google certainly seems to think there’s something wrong with me.

  Apparently, I need to relax—but the next article tells me to tense my leg muscles more.

  Oh, wait, no. I just need to try masturbating, duh, as if I haven’t tried that a million times. One webpage tells me to light candles to ‘get in the mood’, and I almost throw my phone across the room.

  Candles? Really?

  I sigh as I click from one result to another. Hormonal dysfunction, chronic illness, nerve damage, there seem to be countless things that might be wrong. I feel the familiar frustration bubbling up inside me as I keep reading page, after page, after page. All I want is to feel what everyone else can feel. I want that for myself and I want that connection with someone else.

  I don’t think that’s too much to ask. It’s a basic human biological function.

  The tears are gathering in my eyes again. I don’t want to cry. I’ve been crying for three months. I take a deep breath and gather my resolve.

  I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow for a check up. I’ll ask the doctor if there’s something wrong with me. My cheeks burn at the thought of asking that, of admitting once again that I’ve never felt the rush of an orgasm through my body.

  I’m going to a new doctor, and I can’t decide if that makes me feel better or worse. Better, maybe? At least if it’s a disaster, I can just change doctors and pretend it never happened.

  I look at my email confirmation from the doctor’s office and see the name: Doctor O’Neill. I frown as I read the email again. There’s no first name. I hope it’s a woman, and I don’t have to embarrass myself in front of yet another man. I let my phone fall beside me and look up once again at the ceiling. It’ll drive me nuts to keep thinking like this.

  I can endure a few minutes of embarrassment if it means I get an answer. I’ll ask the doctor tomorrow. Male or female, it doesn’t matter. Doctors have heard worse.

  All I want is a simple, little orgasm, is that too much to ask? It doesn’t need to be earth shattering. I’ll settle for a regular old, middle-of-the-week, Wednesday-night orgasm.

  That’s a thing, right?

  2

  Clay

  “Good morning, Doctor O’Neill!”

  I look over and smile at our receptionist. She’s sitting up straight in her chair, pushing her tits out at me. She bats her eyes as I walk by.