Semua Bab My Boyfriend’s Dad Is My Gynocologist: Bab 11 - Bab 20

BethI stand a little straighter as the door closes behind him. He didn’t say another word—just held my gaze, nodded once, and walked out like he hadn’t just blindsided me in the best possible way.“I don’t do anything halfway.”The words still echo in my head.I exhale slowly and turn toward Brian.“Great job, kiddo!” he says with a proud smile.I narrow my eyes. “Brian, I love you—because you’re my uncle—but can you please stop calling me ‘kiddo’? I’m grown. And I didn’t get this position because of you. I worked my ass off. From the bottom. I refused to let anyone hand me anything just so people couldn’t throw that ‘nepo baby’ shit at me.”He raises both hands, brows lifted in surrender. “Okay, okay. Fair enough.”“Seriously,” I continue, adjusting the hem of my blouse, still catching my breath. “I started as an intern. I pulled late nights. I built campaigns that made this agency millions. The last thing I want is for people to think I coasted in on your name.”His expression softe

BethI close my bedroom door behind me, the quiet click sounding far louder than it should.“Is everything okay?” I ask, settling onto the edge of my bed. “You sounded kind of serious.”On screen, Tommy leans back against a sleek hotel headboard, all angles and charm. He flashes a slow, easy grin. “Nah, nothing’s wrong. I just… FaceTimed because I wanted to see you.”I let out a breathy laugh, tension easing. “Jeez, you had me thinking I was in trouble.”He smirks. “You might be. Truth is, I was kinda hoping I could talk you into an office quickie earlier—but you weren’t alone. And I had to catch a flight.”Heat flares in my cheeks. “Oh. Well… yeah. That would’ve been… ambitious.”“Mm. Maybe. But I missed you.” His voice drops a note, low and suggestive. “And now that I’ve got you to myself…”There’s a flicker in his gaze—hungry, calculating.“Tommy,” I whisper, suddenly hyper-aware of the thin fabric of my skirt, the soft hum of Rachel’s voice drifting from the kitchen.“She’s still

BethRachel doesn’t ask this time—she informs.“You’ve been working too much,” she says, dangling a black satin mask from one finger. “We’re going to Masquerade. Consider it mental CPR.”I start to protest. She steamrolls right over it.“You’ve been glued to spreadsheets, waiting for Mr. No-Labels to text you back. You need movement. Light. Maybe a bad decision.”She’s not wrong. Tommy’s been busy, evasive, and every unanswered call has started to sound like silence disguised as charm.So I let her drive.By the time we reach the club, the sky has turned the color of wet ink.Masquerade glows in gold and red like it’s been waiting for us. The line curls down the block, same as before, all satin masks and glittering edges. My pulse starts to match the beat before we’re even inside.I’m tipsy but balanced—enough wine to smooth the edges, not blur them. My top is black silk that clings like a whisper and dips scandalously low, tucked into low-rise black leather pants. It’s vulnerability

BethHe kisses me again—deeper this time, insistent—and without breaking the connection, he lifts me.My legs wrap instinctively around his waist, a small gasp escaping my throat as my legs leave the counter. His grip is strong, sure. One hand under my thigh, the other steady at my lower back.I expect him to carry me to the bedroom.He doesn’t.Instead, he walks us across the living room, stopping in front of my massive floor-to-ceiling window—the one that spans almost the entire wall. We’re just high enough that most people in the street below wouldn’t see, but the apartments across the way? Crystal clear view.Still holding me against him, he reaches over and pulls the cord.The blinds lift.And my body is bathed in city light.My breath hitches.“Tommy!”His arms tighten just slightly. “Relax.”He’s smiling—but it’s not teasing. It’s knowing.“They don’t know you. And you said it was exciting… people seeing your body.”“I meant like… like a glimpse if my top shifts,” I protest. “N

Dr. ColeMy office smells like eucalyptus and sterile cotton.The scent of control.Of cleanliness.Of everything I’ve built—order, precision, boundaries I never cross.I adjust my cuff as the morning light filters through the blinds. Another day. Another lineup of patients who expect answers, comfort, maybe even a bit of charm. And I’ll give it to them. I always do.But my mind isn’t in this room.It’s still wrapped around last night.The dark edges of the club.The taste of her skin.The way she whispered “I want you to.”I should’ve walked away the moment I recognized her. Hell, I should’ve never followed her into that corner. But there was something about the way she touched me—soft, deliberate, like she already knew me. Like her body remembered mine.And maybe it did.The silk of her blouse sliding under my fingers.The press of her chest against my hand.The sound she made—barely a whimper—but it lit something under my skin that’s been dormant for years.And the feel of her puss