Page 64 of Dr. Intern

This is so fucking embarrassing.

“I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Beau’s expression softens before he pulls me in for a quick kiss. It’s gentler and less hurried than before, like he knows that he has me, and can finally take his time.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” he says, picking me up off him and plopping me down on my feet. “Tonight you’re going to go to your room and explore your body. Take the time to touch yourself. Figure out what you like and don’t like.”

“What about Frosty?” I pout, looking over at the cat lying beneath the shimmering Christmas tree. He’s slept with me every night since Beau brought him home.

“He’ll be fine out here,” Beau assures me. “He’s a cat, Claire. Animals don’t belong in the bedroom.”

“You don’t want to watch?” I ask, tentatively shuffling my feet across the cold wood floor as Beau follows behind.

“More than anything,” he answers, spinning me to press his lips to my forehead once more. “But this is about you, not me.”

Twenty minutes later I’m lying on top of my comforter in just my panties. My head is on my pillow, and I’m contemplating what I should do next.At first, I fingered myself because I know I like that—it’s something I’ve enjoyed since fooling around with guys in high school. While it felt good, it didn’t really do anything special for me, so I stopped after a while.

Then I swept my fingers up higher, rubbing my clit in various motions as I tried to relax. That felt even better, but still didn’t quite get me there . . . wherever there is.

The sensation was warm and enjoyable, helping me to ease the tension still lingering from Beau’s expert hands. But I stopped because it still didn’t snap away like I was hoping it would.

I have no idea what else to do, so I lie there frustrated for a moment longer before I finally decide to text Beau and inform him that the deed is done.

I did what you asked. It felt good.

He immediately responds.

Just good? Tell me what you did.

Ugh—what does he want, a full breakdown of the explicit movements of my fingers? I’m not a freaking erotica writer.

I fingered myself and then rubbed my clit.

That’s all the detail he’s getting tonight.

A text bounces back immediately.

Did you come?

I know he’s going to be disappointed with my answer, but I also don’t want to lie to him because he asked me to be honest about this stuff.

No

Three dots and a response bounce back.

Why not?

I roll my eyes at his text—as if he thinks this is the easiest thing in the world.

Well, I guess it is for men . . . but women’s bodies aren’t like a car manual where you see an icon and know immediately what the problem is. They’re complex and confusing. Something that works for one person doesn’t always work for someone else.

I don’t know. I guess I’m not in the mood anymore.

As soon as I send the text, my phone rings. Not a video call, thank god, or I would probably decline and never look him in the eyes again.

Just a regular old phone call.

I can do this.

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