A woman whoâ€™s never had an orgasm before gets more than she bargained for when the head of a new research study walks into her exam room.
Victoriaâ€™s been called frigid by every boyfriend sheâ€™s ever had. Having never gotten off during sex with even one of them probably has something to do with it. But none of them knew how broken she really is. She not only hasnâ€™t gotten off having sex, sheâ€™s never orgasmedâ€¦EVER.
Then she sees an interdepartmental memo for a university study that claims it can help with her little problem. Once she signs her name on the dotted line, Dr. Hotlidge, finds all the right buttons to push.
Heâ€™s been looking for the perfect subject for his grant study, but somethingâ€™s been missing from each of the women heâ€™s questioned so far. Everything changes when Jane Smith #129 steps into his exam room.
Itâ€™s supposed to be anonymous, clinical research and nothing more. But when he finds her inner submissive hiding just below the surface, they both find more than they bargained for.
The Members Only Series
Within the walls of The Library, a members only BDSM club, anything goes. Itâ€™s a dark oasis for every Dom and sub to discover their happily ever after. Screams of pleasure and pain echo through the walls every night, but beneath each cry lies a confession. Unrequited love, cravings of domination by more than just one, even the desire for someone of the same sex. Each member learns, to find their forever, they must unearth the strength to revealâ€¦everything.
Buy Links â€“ Orgasm University
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Print Amazon â€“ https://goo.gl/4RhQoN
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No matter how tightly she crossed her legs she couldnâ€™t stop the shimmy. Tiny tremors raced up from her stiletto heels, which continued to vibrate at a nervous frequency.
She tried focusing on the magazine sheâ€™d already flipped through three times, but couldnâ€™t have told anyone in the doctorâ€™s waiting room if sheâ€™d read Marie Claire or Horse and Hound.
Throughout the day in her office across campus sheâ€™d decided to cancel her appointment a gazillion times. The same number of times, plus one, sheâ€™d convinced herself there was no harm in coming.
Coming. That pretty much said it all, or not at all in her case.
A two-syllable word, completely absent from her sex life and the reason she sat in the non-descript tan vinyl chair waiting for her name to be called.
Jane Smith #129, at least thatâ€™s what it said on the top of her mandatory anonymous paperwork. Sheâ€™d already filled out and handed back the stack of signed forms to the friendly receptionist behind the sliding glass partition.
Victoria tossed the magazine onto the glass of the metal coffee table in front of her. The multi-colored stack of pages slipped from the slick surface, landing in a puddle on a rather beautiful rectangular rug. Her aim was remarkably akin to her ability to orgasm, close, but no cigar.
She stood on shaky legs, her grey linen pants falling precisely to the top of her arched foot while she straightened her tailored white blouse.
She retrieved the offending pile of articles and advertisements, laying it safe and secure onto the low table. If only finding her â€œOâ€ face were as easy, she wouldnâ€™t have to be here. If any of the other John Hopkins department heads found out sheâ€™d signed up for this study, sheâ€™d be the laughing stock of the whole university. She could even lose her job as assistant dean of the physics department if word got out sheâ€”
A door off to the side whooshed opened and her heart lodged in her throat as a nurse said, â€œJane Smith #128?â€
A shy brunette maybe a few years older than her, grabbed her purse, making her way toward the woman who held the door along with a clipboard.
Victoria collapsed back into her chair, thankful she was the only woman left in the light blue-walled room. The colors were lovely, the dÃ©cor probably tasteful if she could focus on anything other than her rapid pulse.
She glanced out the window, trying to calm herself. The sunset from the top floor of the graduate research building warmed her.
Being called â€œfrigid in bedâ€ by her last three boyfriends had really started to wear on her confidence. Something, sheâ€™d never had to deal with before, growing up in a wealthier than average household.
Nervousness was the sign of a weak mind, her late father had always told her. She never got anxious at doctorâ€™s visits. Normally, there was no point, but her appointment with Dr. Hotlidge was as far from normal as anyone could get.
She smoothed her shoulder-length curly hair, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath.
Learning why she couldnâ€™t orgasm was something sheâ€™d wanted to know for a long time and honestly didnâ€™t think anyone was out there who could help her. The interdepartmental memo that crossed her desk a few weeks prior said differently. It was a memo like so many others sheâ€™d seen and tossed in the round file. But the research this study was granted money for? A spot light might as well have illuminated it from above as little kinky angels sang the Hallelujah Chorus.
They were looking for women just like her.
Ages twenty-five to forty-five, open ethnicity, healthy, with a recent check-up from a physician proclaiming them functional in every way. Well, almost.
But itâ€™s not research on a new skin care product or a diet pill. No, this was something much more important. This was about orgasms. Well, the lack of her ability to have them during sex, or in the shower, or with toys. She batted a big fat zero at the ripe old age of thirty-three.
She almost grabbed another magazine for distraction, but an unbelievably sexy guy stepped up to the counter behind the glass partition.
He gestured toward a folder, saying something she couldnâ€™t hear. Whether the glass was soundproof or if all the blood rushing in her ears blocked the vibrations she didnâ€™t know.
He flipped through the contents of the folder then looked right at her.
The world paused for a few brief seconds.
Her heart pounded away in her chest and at the top juncture of her thighs. That realization alone made her look away. Tunnel vision clouded her sight because sheâ€™d stopped breathing. She took a deep breath, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. When she could see again, she stole another glance but he was gone. The same female nurse whoâ€™d been calling for patients stood in his spot.
Wondering if it was relief or disappointment running through her veins would have to be left for another day.
The locked door opened into the waiting room and by process of elimination it was her turn.
â€œMs. Smith, weâ€™re ready for you.â€
After grabbing her things, she prepared to bail.
Excuses disguised as explanations swam in her head. This isnâ€™t for me. I got called away. You canâ€™t help. Iâ€™ll figure it out on my own.
But she surprised herself, going so far as attempting to smile at the nurse ushering her through the doorway.
Jennifer KaceyÂ is a writer, mother, and business owner living with her miniman in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice sheâ€™s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.
- About the Author
- Posts in the Past
Iâ€™m going to just jump right in and get the easy stuff out of the way up-front. I am a wife, mother and business owner in Texas with very long black hair and a penchant for high heels and pretty outrageous toe nail polish. I have a very supportive family that I love unconditionally and am fortunate enough to genuinely like and respect them as well.
I started reading romance back in college, liked it so-so, and then I found erotica. Stories a bit on the dark side, a lot on the naughty side, and at the risk of sounding cheesy, it felt like coming home. Finding a genre made just for minds like mine was an amazing revelation, and I swear the characters in my head havenâ€™t stopped hounding me since!
Something I always love reading about other authors are the funny quirks and idiosyncrasies that make each of us unique, so I thought Iâ€™d share a few of mine. These are in no particular order and pretty random, so brace yourselvesâ€¦
I am a morning person who doesnâ€™t drink caffeine, and I am definitely a glass-half-full kind of girl. I have an extreme case of being left-hand stupid and am bad at all sports that end in â€œballâ€! Hot weather is my favorite because I’m cold all the time, and I adore lying in the sun. Youâ€™ll find a closed sign hanging off my forehead at 10 p.m. pretty much every night when my brain clocks out. Whatâ€™s weird is I can write â€˜til the wee hours of the morning though. Probably because the characters just shove me aside so they can say their piece.
Ooh, and I never procrastinate! If something needs to be done today, it should have been finished yesterday. I call this fantastic; several people, who shall remain nameless, call it having a bug up my A**â€¦ I think Iâ€™ll stick with fantastic.
I refuse to use a flat sheet to sleep, I love perfume but only one kind, and before I die I want to own flip-flops in every color of the rainbow. And last but not least, the yea or nay on a particular food being deemed good or gross is based off of texture first, taste second.
I hope my writing speaks for itself, and I hope it speaks to you. The fact that I have the opportunity to share a little piece of myself with you absolutely floors me. On a daily basis I am overwhelmed by the good fortune that is my life, and vowed years ago never to take it for granted.
Best advice Iâ€™ve ever been given â€“ find the real you and never settle for anything less! Well guess what? I found her! Lord help the rest of you.