“Relax,” he soothed, pulling back to look me in the eye, tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ear, and smoothing the deepening wrinkle between my eyes with a gentle swipe of his thumb. “Syreeta Johnson. Bethany Hyland. Rolanda Diaz. I know what you’re doing for all of them,” he whispered. My eyes moistened, and my nose stung as his features softened to near reverent.
“How do you know this?” I whispered back, rolling my lips in on themselves at the end. After Carmen, any time I ran into a new patient in dire need of support, I gave them my cell number—just in case they needed someone. But even that didn’t feel like enough. I’d become so troubled by the numerous women, even under our care, who didn’t have family or anyone to lean on, I’d taken to stealing their numbers out of their charts and calling them occasionally, just to check in. I’d been doing it for weeks now.
But I didn’t think anyone else knew.
When he touched his lips to my cheek, I felt his smile against my skin. “I’m merely an expert in all things Melody Marco.”
My heart pounding so fast I didn’t know what to do, I did my best to calm it down with a little levity.
“If I didn’t like you so much, I’d probably think that line was a little creepy.”
Will chuckled and moved back to the stove, letting the moment pass exactly like I needed him too. It was starting to scare me how well he knew me.
“How much do you like me exactly?” he asked with a waggle of his brow.
More like love…
Ugh. Not that train of thought again…
I wasn’t sure which freaked me out the most: that I was already thinking that four-letter word and the idea of settling down when it came to Will, or how perfect those things really felt.
Will and I hadn’t been dating for that long, and I’d just gotten out of a very long relationship. The mere idea of being in love with Will was a bit too sudden…right?
“The heart wants what the heart wants, Mel.” My mother’s words of advice rang loud and clear in my head. She’d told me those words time and again—when I waffled about moving across the country to follow Eli…when I decided to come back across to get away. And I agreed with her on the basic sentiment. I was just having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that my heart was so damn willing to fall in love again so quickly.
“Are you okay?” Will asked and tilted his head to the side as he scrutinized my facial expression.
I could only assume said facial expression had changed from relaxed and smiling to deer in highlights. Jesus. Get it together, Mel…
“Of course I’m okay.” I schooled my face into a neutral expression and nodded. “Now…if I do recall, you were asking me how far my like for you goes, aka, you’re fishing for compliments…”
Will grinned. “Too scared to answer the question, Mel? I understand. I’d be overwhelmed by me too.”
“No,” I retorted, rolling my eyes. “I think you should answer the question first.”
“How much do I like myself?” he asked and winked in my direction. “Well…I consider myself a nice guy. I’m pretty good at my job. Insanely hilarious and charming. I don’t think I’m too bad to look at. I don’t have a small dick… So, yeah, I’d say I really like myself.”
I giggled. “I don’t have a small dick?” I repeated his words, and he nodded.
“Well, I don’t,” he answered. “I’m about average.”
Average? Pffffffft. It wasn’t average. Honestly, it was above average. Will’s penis was a one of a kind. Smooth, thick, long, and curved in all of the right places. He had a good penis. A great one. The best one. Michelangelo’s David wished he had Will’s penis.
I snorted in laughter. “You’re so full of it.”
“What did I say that was so wrong?”
“Your penis isn’t average. It’s more than average, Will.”
“Uh…yeah, it is,” he retorted. “It’s a nice, average penis. I think it gets the job done.”
“It definitely more than gets the job done,” I agreed with a waggle of my brows. “But it’s not just average. How many inches, William?”
“How the fuck would I know?”
“Haven’t you measured it before?”
“Um…no. I don’t spend my free time sitting in my living room holding a measuring tape up to my cock.”
“The average penis size is like five to six inches,” I stated and glanced down at the crotch of his pants. “You’re way bigger than five to six.”
He shrugged. “Okay…I’m slightly above average.”
I hopped off the counter and started rummaging through his drawers.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for a ruler.”
I only managed to get through one of his junk drawers before Will wrapped his arms around me tightly and pulled me away from the counter. “You’re not measuring my cock, Mel.”
“Yes. I. Am.”
“No, baby,” he said with a chuckle. “You’re not.”
“Aren’t you a little curious?” I asked and turned into his arms. “Like, just a little bit curious? Seven or eight inches of curious?” I pushed.
He shook his head and kissed the tip of my nose. “I give zero fucks.”
“Ugh.”
Will just laughed and pinched my ass. “Guess what?”
“You’re going to let me measure your penis?” I asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Ugh.”
He pressed his lips to my ear. “Maybe…just maybe…after dinner…I’ll let your tight little cunt measure my dick.”
“Ugh…Fine,” I said on a sigh, but on the inside, I shivered. Man, he gives good dirty talk. He chuckled.
“Now that’s the spirit!” A sharp spank to my ass punctuated his excitement.
I probably would’ve forced the issue more had it not been for the garlic bread…and the fettuccini alfredo…and the cheesecake…and the sex…
A girl could only hold out for so long when carbs and sugar and hot sex were involved.
And her heart can’t hold out at all when Will Cummings is involved.
God, she’s stunning.
I pulled her lips to mine and ran across the seam of them with my tongue. She moaned, a hot puff of air moving from her mouth to mine as she did, and immediately, my dick jumped at the thought of that kind of warmth around it.
Apparently, we were on the same page, pure joy breaking out like a fucking virus inside my chest and spreading until it filled all of the cavities as she sank to her knees and nipped at the rough fabric of my jeans covering my pulsing dick. She was in some mood.
Mental note: Make pasta alfredo and garlic bread for Melody at least once a week.
I wasn’t sure if that really had anything to do with how feisty she was at the moment, or if it had more to do with the three glasses of wine she’d consumed with it. But good God almighty, I thought as she looked up at me from under her lashes, the ends of her lips curling up with mischief. I was more than willing to repeat everything about today ritualistically, just in case.