All Chapters of The Doctor's Temptation: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Chapter One EmmaWrite I used to love the way Ethan kissed me after a long day. He’d walk through the door, drop his keys on the counter, and I’d meet him halfway—barefoot, wearing nothing but the little cotton shorts and tank top I lounged in around the apartment. He’d cup my face with both hands, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and kiss me like he was coming home. Soft at first, then deeper, hungrier, until my knees went weak and I had to clutch his shoulders just to stay upright. There was something in the way he smiled against my lips and the low rumble in his chest when I pressed closer that always made me feel desired. Wanted. Enough. Tonight was supposed to be like that again. He came in smelling like summer air and the faint trace of beer from the gym. I smiled, rose onto my toes, and pressed my mouth to his. His hair was still damp from the shower. I slid my fingers through it, tugging gently the way he liked. For one perfect heartbeat, his hands settled on my waist, and ev

One week later, I sat in Vincent's office for my second appointment, feeling more nervous than the first time.The week had been brutal. I'd practiced the techniques he'd shown me. Breathing exercises. Mindfulness. But every time I tried to touch myself, I hit the same wall.Now I was back, feeling like a failure."How was your week?" Vincent asked, settling into his chair across from me.I wanted to lie. But something about him made lying impossible."Terrible," I whispered. "I tried everything you said. But I just freeze. Like my body won't let me feel good."He leaned forward."Mia, when did you first start feeling this way? Not when your boyfriend noticed. When you first felt it yourself."I thought about it."Maybe a year ago? I started comparing myself to articles about what women should be doing, feeling, wanting. And I realized I wasn't any of those things.""So you began performing instead of feeling.""I guess so.""And the more you tried to perform, the less your body respo

I woke to soft morning light and a knock on my door. "Yes?" The door opened slightly and Maya, the somatic therapist, peeked in. "Good morning. Just wanted to let you know breakfast is ready whenever you are. Dr. Kane asked me to show you to the meditation room at eight." I glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen. "Thank you. I'll be there." I showered quickly, pulled on yoga pants and a comfortable top, and headed to the dining room. A beautiful spread waited but I was alone. Vincent didn't appear. At seven fifty-five, Maya found me and led me to the meditation room. Vincent sat on a cushion, eyes closed, breathing slowly. He wore simple gray sweats and a white t-shirt. Without his professional clothes, he looked younger. More vulnerable. Maya gestured for me to sit across from him, then quietly left. For several minutes, nothing happened. Vincent just breathed. So I breathed too. Finally, his eyes opened. "Good morning." "Morning." "How did you sleep?" "Better than I have i

I lay in the guest room bed like a stranger in my own skin. The sheets were impossibly soft, the kind of luxury that should have lulled me under, but every time I closed my eyes the video played behind my lids—Ethan’s voice slithering through the speakers, triumphant and ugly. Come out, Mia.The low hum of security vehicles outside had faded, but the silence felt worse. Hollow. Waiting. The clock on the nightstand glowed 1:47 a.m. I sat up, dragging the duvet around my shoulders, and padded barefoot to the window. The grounds stretched dark and still under a thin moon. Somewhere out there, Vincent’s people were watching. Somewhere closer, Vincent himself was probably still awake, reviewing footage, making calls, carrying the weight I’d dropped at his feet. A soft knock made me jump. “Mia?” His voice, low and careful, filtered through the door. “I saw the light.” I hesitated only a second before crossing the room. When I opened the door, he stood there in a simple black t-shirt and

The cabin sat nestled in a thick pine forest, two hours north of the estate. It was smaller than I expected—warm wood beams, a massive stone fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a private lake that glittered under the moonlight. Remote. Defensible. Romantic in a way that made my pulse quicken even before we stepped inside. Vincent’s security team had swept it hours earlier. Two discreet vehicles followed us at a distance and would maintain perimeter watch. For the first time in days, the walls around us felt like protection instead of a cage. We arrived just after midnight. The long drive had been quiet—charged with everything we hadn’t finished in the therapy room. Vincent’s hand had rested on my thigh for most of it, thumb tracing absent circles that kept the heat simmering under my skin. Inside, he dropped our bags by the door and turned to me. The professional restraint he’d clung to at the estate seemed thinner here, frayed by distance and need. “No more protoco