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Dr. Billionaire’s Virgin
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Life isn’t a fairytale, and filthy rich, ruggedly handsome doctors don’t kiss their patients.
As Rose Dorner’s doctor, I’ve watched over her for years. Nothing I’ve tried has worked—she won’t wake up.
The hospital says we have to pull the plug on her, but there’s no f*cking way they’re doing that to my patient—my Rose. They’ll pull her plug only over my dead body. Or better yet, over my dead career, because I risk everything and perform an emergency surgery. Either she wakes up now, or it’s all over.
She doesn’t wake up. At least not until I kiss her. I figure it’s all over anyway, so why the hell not? Her eyelids flutter, and I see those big green eyes for the first time, looking up right at me.
So she’s awake—she’s cured. Everything should be good and in order, but there’s one big problem. I think I’m falling for my patient. But I broke all the rules before, so why not do it again?
**This is a full-length, standalone badboy romance. No cheating or cliffhangers, and a Happily Ever After is guaranteed!**
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I feel the muscles in her body tighten and quiver as I run my hands up her sides.
“You’re sure?” I ask her.
She looks back up at me over her shoulder, and she nods. Her cheeks are flushed red.
“I want to hear you say it,” I hiss.
“I’m sure,” she says.
“Sure of what?”
“That I want you to take my virginity,” she says.
“When do you want me to take it?” I ask.
“Now,” she whispers, her voice barely a whisper. “Right now.”
“What if I want you to wait?” I ask.
“Please,” she says, her green eyes locking onto mine. “I can’t wait any longer.”
Her body looks so hot, so tight, so ready, and the sensation of her warm, smooth skin against my hands is too enticing. I can’t wait any longer either, but it feels good to let her know I’m in control.
I reach a hand between her legs, and I run my finger gently up her swollen and needy folds.
“You’re gushing wet,” I say.
“Please,” she says. “Please claim me.”
It’s not a coma. She’s asleep. And nothing in the world can wake her up. I’ve been her doctor for the last five years, but never once have I seen her as much as stir.
Doctors, nurses, and hospital staff, they all call her Sleeping Beauty.
I peer down at her long, black hair that look so silky and soft splayed out on the pillow. My glance slides to her soft cheekbones and porcelain white skin. Her eyelids are shut, but I’ve seen those emerald green eyes before. Never with the spark of life in them, always pried open to check if the latest drug we prescribed is having any effect. I often wonder how those eyes would dance when she smiles. Of course, I’ve never even seen her smile, she’s always the same, still and quiet, entrenched in a serene, deep sleep.
I roll up my shirt sleeves and pull up a chair next to her bed. “Rose,” I say in a low voice.
A lot of my colleagues think I’m wasting my time. They think she’s a lost cause.
“Dr. Prince,” a woman’s voice says.
I turn around. It’s Dr. Maryanne Bell, director of the hospital.
“Hey, Dr. Bell,” I say.
“Don’t hey me, Dr. Prince,” she snaps. “Cover your arms. How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t care how nice your forearms look.”
She smirks at me. I can never tell if Dr. Bell wants to bang me, or bite my head off. If she wasn’t twenty years older than me, maybe I’d do her. I’m probably misreading her anyway. Or maybe she’s more like a praying mantis: she wants to bang me, and then bite my head off. I have to admit, though, she looks good for a woman pushing fifty-five. At least it wouldn’t be the worst way to go out.
“It’s not like Rose can be offended by my tattoos,” I say, crossing my arms.
I don’t roll my sleeves down.
Dr. Bell rolls her eyes. “Roll them back down before you make your rounds. It looks incredibly unprofessional. A doctor with tattoos, what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I’m the best,” I say. “And that you’d have to deal with it.”
I grin, and she can do nothing but let out a dismissive sigh. She knows I’m right.
“Since when do you visit Rose Dorner?” I ask, suddenly skeptical about why she’s standing in the doorway. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in Rose’s room before.
“Kaden,” she says. Since when does Dr. Bell use my first name? This must be bad. “The bills for Rose’s care are being paid for through a provision in her parents’ will. That money is running out next month.”
“What about her brother Dylan?” I ask.
“Her brother is a barista,” Dr. Bell says. “He’s contributed what he’s been able to over the years, but it’s amounted to only a few days’ worth of care.”
My heart is pounding restlessly in my chest, but I’m trying to give off the impression that I’m calm and unflustered. I can’t let anyone suspect how much this bothers me. I need to offer plausible suggestions for why she needs to remain under my care without it appearing that I’m too personally involved in the outcome.
“She’s one of a handful of people in the world with this condition. This is a rare and important research opportunity. We need to figure out how to line up some research funding to keep her here.”
“Exactly,” Dr. Bell says. “And because there are only a handful of people in the world with this condition, as you said, there is very little special funding available to take advantage of the opportunity, as you so rightly suggest.”
More and more, it always comes down to dollar signs. No one gives two shits about the patients anymore, or the value of a human life. Rose’s brother and I are the only two people left in the world who care about her.