Dr. Feelgood

by Marissa Monteilh

Genres: African American; African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

From the author of MAKE ME HOT comes a steamy tale of a popular heart surgeon and his four women, told in their own voices. They call him Dr. Feelgood. . . One woman would never be enough to satisfy noted cardiologist Dr. Makkai Worthy, better known by his sex partners as Dr. Feelgood. Womanizer extraordinaire, he's a chip off the old block of his rolling-stone papa and commitment isn't an option. At 37 and single, he's happier than he's ever been, living the lifestyle of the rich and fine. A gifted surgeon, Dr. Feelgood knows how to operate in the O.R. by day. But by night, it's his smooth operations in the bedroom that are driving his four main squeezes crazy. First, there's demanding-diva Georgia. She's bound and determined to be the doctor's one and only until suspicions arise that she's keeping something on the down low. Mary Jane is a sweetheart of a nurse who works in Dr. Feelgood's cardiology unit. He tries to stay hands off, until a player friend starts to make a move and he's forced to stake his claim. Self-absorbed Monday is as fast as the day is long, and she boasts that she can bag any man without getting serious; but the sexually talented Dr. Feelgood flips the script and uncovers another side of Monday. Spicy Salina's white husband is not one to share, so when he's sent to jail for choking the good doctor, the drama really begins. Dr. Feelgood's escapades as a true player could force him to finally settle down, or they might just motivate him to begin another affair of the heart. Watch out, because the ladies are lining up, and the doctor is in . . .

Release date: March 1, 2011

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 401

Sample

Hello again! I’ve wanted to give birth to a book called Dr. Feelgood for quite some time now, and here it is, resting in your wonderful little hands. I want to thank the “doctor” who had the Dr. Feelgood nameplate on his desk when I was very young. That name stayed in my innocent memory as one who made people feel good medically, but now that I’m older, the name has a new and pleasurable meaning. And feeling good ain’t bad!

As I did before and always will, I thank God for my gift, for my journey, for my health, my family, and my relationships.

My loving children—Adam, Ron, and Nicole, my son-in-law Darrien, my heart-stealing granddaughter Alexis, my devoted brother, Greg, my wise and wonderful Ma Bette, my special Kelvin, big-F Friends—Annette, Ollie, Charles, Tami, and Pamela.

My closest and beloved author buddies—Victoria Christopher Murray, Mary B. Morrison, and Carmen Green, author and the owner of Book-remarks.com Cydney Rax.

My girl Marjorie Coley Davis at KISS 104.1 radio in Atlanta, Angela Jenkins at KBMS radio, Cheryl Robinson with Just About Books (Harambee radio.com), Radiah at Urban-reviews.com, Shunda Leigh at Booking Matters Magazine, Carol Mackey at Black Expressions, Curledup.com, Romance incolor.com.

Cherished bookstores who allowed me to add them to my tour like Black Images (a VIP shout-out to Emma Rodgers), Black Bookworm, Nubian Books, B’s Books, Howard University Bookstore, Urban Knowledge, Sepia-Sand-Sable, Karibu, Medu Books, Horizon Books, Pyramid Books, Truth Books, Barnes & Noble Palmdale, Waldenbooks CNN Atlanta, Waldenbooks Cumberland Mall Atlanta, Bernard Henderson at Alexander’s in San Francisco, Bernardsbookshelf.com.

The 2006 Make Me Hot contest participants, each and every valued Make Me Hot contest sponsor, the Make Me Hot contest winner Pamela Bell-Melton.

My charming and wonderful agent Maureen Walters and her assistants Christina Morgan and Jenny Fitzsimmons.

My phenomenal Kensington family—Karen Thomas, Nicole Bruce, Latoya Smith, Walter Zacharias, Steven Zacharias, John Scognamiglio, Stacey Barney, Adeola Saul, and Lydia Stein.

Those devoted Myspace.com readers.

Invaluable book clubs—Special Thoughts, Ladies of Color Turning Pages, Turning Pages in Oakland, Sisters on the Reading Edge in Antioch, Chapters Book Club L.A., The North Carolina Bookfest, Angel Reid and the Imani Book Club Atlanta, and Moe.

Curtis Bunn with the National Book Club Conference, the North Carolina Black Book Festival, the Antelope Valley Writers, the African American Literacy Awards for the Make Me Hot nomination.

My pastor for saying, “If you can’t get something out of it, put something into it.”

And last but not least—my faithful and down-to-earth readers—for all you do, this book’s for you!

Always and in all ways,

Marissa Monteilh aka The Diva Writerwww.myspace.com/divawriter

Dr. Feelgood is getting his ass kicked but good, curvy Salina Alonzo Woodard thought to herself with her emotions running high as she braced herself for the worst. The sexy doctor’s engraved metal nameplate hit the speckled Berber carpet like a rubber ball and bounced faceup upon the polished hardwood entryway floor of his eighth-floor medical office. Dr. Feelgood it read.

After many years of saving the lives of other people, tall, dark and handsome, Dr. Makkai Worthy, aka Dr. Feelgood, literally begged for his own life at the hands of a muscular white man whose beautiful Hispanic wife had just been caught cheating on him with the educated, gifted doctor.

Nationally known as attending cardiac surgeon at the Cedars Sinai Medical Center, Dr. Worthy had repaired many ailing hearts over the course of his illustrious career. And over the course of his thirty-seven-year life, he had broken many as well. He was a heartbreaker extraordinaire. Only, repairing those hearts was not on his list of daily duties on this sunny morning, but perhaps, from the intensity of the firm, strangling hold around his neck, it should have been.

“Please, honey, stop it. Please, let him go.” Salina Woodard begged and pleaded with her jilted husband to release his gargantuan grip from the neck of her handsome lover. She stood nervously behind her husband, bracing herself upon her tiptoes, peering over his shoulder while pressing her golden acrylic nails into his clothing, pulling toward the back of his flexed upper arms.

With his medium brown complexion now suddenly reddish cinnamon, Dr. Worthy gagged and choked as he forced himself to speak with bugged eyes. “You have the wrong man. I don’t even know her,” he retched while Salina’s husband continued to squeeze, pressing his manly thumbs into the wealthy doctor’s Adam’s apple.

“Don’t even know me?” Salina replied with frantic coated words. Surely her ears deceived her.

She relaxed her stance, releasing her hold on her madman of a spouse. She stood up straight, adjusting her white cotton blouse, smoothing it with her hands and then straightening out her crisp starched collar, securing her leather purse strap along her shoulder. She folded her arms across her chest. A sudden blanket of numbness visited her from head to toe. She held her head up high even though her thoughts sped up. She wanted the attack to end, but she was also insulted by Dr. Worthy’s blatant denial. In an instant, part of her wanted to cheer her husband on, hoping he could snap her man-on-the side’s neck with one jolt. But, the other part of her took a quick trip down memory lane to the happy times she’d had with this heartbreaker of a man, Dr. Feelgood.

Normally, it was just about raw, bucket-naked nasty sex, but one day, one special evening just last summer, the couple held hands while walking along, checking out the shops in the popular Farmers’ Market. She and the brilliant doctor decided to sit at a tiny wrought-iron table at a little outdoor French café. He pulled out her chair with a chivalrous nature. She wiggled her ample hips into a comfortable spot and femininely lifted herself ever so gently as he scooted the chair toward the table after she sat. She felt like a regal queen, proud to be with her lover in public and happy to receive such undivided attention. A feeling she hadn’t had in her marriage in a long time.

They sipped on chilled chardonnay while feeding each other French bread dipped in warm olive oil. The night air was still and calm as he wiped the corner of her mouth with his long index finger, following up the gesture with the soft, sweet deliverance of a peck on the lips. She gazed at the good doctor as he sat looking ever so good with his jetblack, freshly tapered, faded haircut. She gave him an approving eye and smirked warmly, crossing her brown legs that were shown off so perfectly, extending from the hem of her sheer royal blue dress.

He took possession of her left hand that rested on her lap. “You’re very special to me, Salina,” he said.

“And you to me,” she replied, wearing a smile. For the first time, words of caring were exchanged while vertical, as opposed to horizontally.

They talked and laughed and flirted through dinner as though it were a first date. Then they leisurely strolled along the trendy Grove under the moonlit sky and shining stars, hand in hand together, as if she were just as single as he was.

But, the only person seeing stars now was Dr. Worthy. He flailed his hands about, trying to fend off his jealous attacker. He lay on his back upon his own oval mahogany desk in the middle of his office. Important papers flew onto the floor, as well as an array of pens, paper clips, and framed photos.

Salina snapped out of her moment of reflection, coming back to present time. Again urgency took over her adulterous mind.

“Help,” the attractive woman screeched as she anxiously glanced toward the door and then back. “Honey, stop,” she yelled, with her hands now pounding on her green-eyed monster of a husband’s wide back. At the same time, she heard the sound of a siren from the paramedic unit.

Within what seemed like two seconds, they burst into the office, and it took three strapping men to pry her scorned husband off of the prestigious doctor. Dr. Worthy squinted his dark brown eyes tightly and put his hand on his ravaged throat to chase away the raging pain and ease circulation. He leaned up with one arm as he stood from the desk and panted until he could steady his pace. And then, he propelled his fit body toward his attacker and sucker punched him dead in the face.

“Makkai,” yelled Salina.

Barely flinching his head, Salina’s husband took the blow with ease, cutting his eyes as though he wanted to chop off the doctor’s head with a meat cleaver.

Dr. Worthy shouted through his windedness, “Punk. You messed with the wrong man. You’ll never see the light of day again. I promise you.” The doctor rapidly shook out his throbbing milliondollar hand.

The paramedics literally turned the other cheek to the punch and took the man away, handing him over to the authorities who’d just arrived down the hall.

Salina simply stared at the doctor from the doorway, breathing heavily while shaking her head. “I can’t believe you denied me.”

“Who the hell are you?” Dr. Feelgood cut his eyes and leaned over his desk, massaging his cleanshaven, classic jaw, and rubbing the back of his perfect head.

“You’re the asshole.”

He pointed that same long index finger that had lovingly dabbed the olive oil from the corner of her mouth, the one that had penetrated her depths on many an intimate evening. He thrashed his words her way. “Get out of my office before I press charges against you, too.”

Salina squeezed her stare through tight eyes. She spoke with authority and certainty and promise. “I speak for all of your dick-whipped flock when I say this. One day, you’ll pay for what you do to women, Makkai Worthy. One day, you’ll pay all right.” She sliced him with her eyes and gave an about-faced, runway pivot just before his vengeful words stabbed her in the back.

“You were just another pussy that got hooked. Get over it.”

I love me some Dr. Makkai Worthy. “Mommy, can I have some Junior Mints?” my oldest daughter, curly headed Treasure, asked with a major clump of sleep in her eyes. Considering it’s just after six in the morning, I don’t think so.

With a large mug of my full-strength, morning wake-up brew in one hand, I stood in the kitchen wearing leopard baby doll pajamas and fluffy black house slippers, stirring a simmering pot on the stove with my other hand. “No, it’s time for breakfast. Now go ahead on and wake up your sister so you two can eat this oatmeal while it’s hot. And then go wash up your faces. Now go.”

Treasure flashed an innocent, hurt, eight-year-old pout. Her three-year-old, big-eyed sister was in zombie-mode as if sleepwalking as she came out of her room wiping her right eye with one hand, dragging a Dora the Explorer blanket with the other.

“Mommy,” she cried with a soft, slow whine. “I wanna watch SpongeBob.” With her long, jet-black hair and Indian skin, cranky was her middle name until the time of day hit double digits, which would be nearly four hours from now.

I banged the ceramic mug down on the tile counter and scooped two big spoonfuls into their bowls, adding some brown sugar and butter. “No, not this morning, now don’t play with me. We’re running late. We only have time to eat and get dressed. Now, come on and get in your high chair.”

“I want the big-girl chair.”

“Sit somewhere, just come on.” I pointed in the direction my youngest needed to place herself right away.

My heart-shape-faced baby’s name is Love Jones, named after her tired-ass daddy, Rydell Jones. I still can’t believe I actually gave her his last name. He acts like he’d rather see us on an episode of “Maury Povich” than say one word to me ever again in life. After being with him for years, he accused me of some tired-ass shit two weeks before I found out I was pregnant. Once we broke up after a dramatic and almost violent scene, I only contacted him when Love was born to ask him to sign the birth certificate. He did, but then called up here starting some mess, trying to deny paternity once he saw the girls and me in the Del Amo mall with Makkai. We’re always ending up in the same places. Whatever. Makkai named her, even though he’s not her father.

I met mister fine and studly Makkai when I was four months pregnant while coming from a doctor’s appointment at Cedars Sinai hospital.

“How are you?” He was wearing his black designer suit like it was a ten-thousand-dollar-bill. He lifted his five-hundred-dollar pair of smoky-gray sunglasses and presented me with a strong, lingering handshake. His wink lingered, too.

I replied, “Fine, and you?” The blush I’d applied earlier that morning was no longer necessary. I sucked in my belly and poked my chest out all in one fell swoop.

He nodded and looked me up and down, glaring at my chest. “Not as fine as you.”

That’s normally one tired-ass line, but this man walked and talked and smelled and looked like he was somebody. Before I knew it, I handed him the digits and it was on.

He seemed to get off on doing me with a baby on the way. He’d back me up and hit it from behind, digging in deep while I lay on my side. And then he’d love to suck on my wide, tender nipples, trying his best to milk me like I was a dang cow. My poor baby would be jerking like she was having a conniption fit. I think doing that man on the regular brought her on eight weeks early. I’m blessed to even have her. She only weighed three pounds.

At first, he was right there. He was even in the delivery room. He checked in on my older daughter when she stayed with my mother while I was in the hospital. My mother seemed to fall in love with him.

“Now that is a good man,” she’d declare like she’d have dibs on him herself if she could do it without stabbing me in the back.

Yes, he can charm us all, young, old, gay, straight. But, being that I was on screw lockdown for six weeks after Love was born, I didn’t see Makkai much.

Anyway, enough about my kids. Right now I’m not even trying to focus my energy on telling you anything other than what Dr. Makkai Worthy is all about.

See, by the time Love was maybe three months old or so, Makkai and I got back to our regular routine of him coming by after work, usually around midnight or one in the morning while the girls were sleeping. He’d crawl into my bed and work his magic. Like Charlie Wilson, he’d perform his tricks on me.

Now, I’ll be the first to tell you he has a reputation for throwing down in the bedroom. You could say he’s an animal in bed. Yes, my Makkai has this way about him. It’s a way that no man in my life has even been able to come close to. It made me fall in love with him.

“I love kissing you, baby,” he said as he planted his lips on mine, looking me dead in the eye with a provocative longing to please.

I was drunk with lust. This man stole my will every time he’d come near me. The scent of him fucked me up, but good.

“Your skin is like milk chocolate.” He said he loved the fact that I had meat on my bones. Everything about me is thick, from my lips to my ass. And what I loved about him was the fact that he was long and strong and down to get the friction on. He’s giving and good-looking, and he always smells like the manliest scent of musky, peppery testosterone juice I’ve ever sniffed. It was like a drug. It was absolutely fucking intoxicating.

I lay on my back upon my cream colored sheets as Makkai gave me a slow tongue bath. I slyly tossed the fluffy, in-the-way pillows onto the floor and focused my attention on his handiwork. His perfect mouth traveled to the right side of my neck, one of my most sensitive spots, and then to my goose-bumped breasts. He has a way of twisting my nipple with his thumb and forefinger while lightly flicking the other nipple with his tongue, and then adding just enough saliva to make it super slippery as he meets my nipple with his nipple. It’s so damn erotic to watch and feel. Almost as if he’s playing with my erect clit.

He never rushes, always takes his time when he’s about to … go down. He moves to my belly button, sticking his tongue inside, and then over to my hip bone where it almost tickles, it’s so sensitive, doing all of this while parting my legs with his hand, making sure to rub around my entire area, and slowly slipping one finger inside to check for wetness. He sticks that drenched finger in his mouth and moans, “That is the sweetest taste in the world.” Makkai kisses my upper thighs and then moves in toward my middle, but just as he senses that my wide hips are sending a hurried signal of anxiousness, he travels back down my thigh, still fingering me lightly. He’s the damn tease master.

He glances up at me with those long eyelashes and big brown eyes, and then looks directly into the crevice of my vagina as if it has eyes, and approaches it slowly. The treat that I’m about to receive is one that makes me want to burst already. My heart races, and all I can do is lean my head back and enjoy, while shutting my eyes to brace myself.

I feel a hot, wet tongue, traveling around my outsides, and then flicking my clit. I feel my vulnerable peak pulsate with pleasure. He licks my outer lips, bends my legs back and secures himself in that position, lying flat on his belly with his head in between my legs. He then takes my stiffened clit into his mouth, and he sucks it in a way that makes me look down to get a visual peek at exactly what this expert is doing. If I were gay, I’d want to know how to do that shit. How does he make me feel like I could cum in his mouth within two seconds? Dammit.

I feel my ass tighten, and the blood starts to flow from the minute he secures it in his mouth. His tongue is doing something … some kind of magical, secretive trick that most men would pay money to learn. Hell, their women would fork over the money themselves in a heartbeat. His teeth are in on it. His lips are in on it, too. His tongue is the ringleader. And then he stops, traveling to my sweet sticky hole, sticking his tongue inside while using his long, wide index finger above my mound. He then moves up to the clit again and lowers my legs straight so that he can get a direct hit. I point my toes and flex my quads, and he separates my wet lips with both hands, the same hands that have repaired ailing hearts his entire career, and rests his elbows on my thighs.

This shit is what he does that no other man can do. This shit is what no other man takes the time to do. No other man gets it quite right because their asses are lazy. No one can compare to the hard work of Dr. Feelgood. “Ahhh, Makkai, I love the way you do this, baby.”

He inserts three fingers inside of me while he sucks in a swirling, flicking motion, yet the brotha can still speak. “I know you love it. Tell me what it feels like.” He speedily moves his head from left to right with a deep groaning sound that’s almost barbaric.

“It feels like I’m going to explode.”

“Go ahead and explode then. Explode for me now, baby. Give it to me. Give it to me good.” He holds steady, focusing on my build up, taking it all into his mouth while saying, “Uh huh, uh huh.” He’s even a damn cheerleader.

“Aahhhh, baby, I, I … Ooooooo, aaaawww, ahhh, Makkai.” I try my best to keep it down, but hell, fuck the dumb shit. “I love you, Nigga.” I tighten up and then I literally collapse. I could have sworn I heard this talented pussy master chuckle between my legs.

Yet and still, knowing I’m in sensitivity mode, he tickles me with his tongue and then gives it a fond farewell kiss goodbye.

I jump and flinch, still coming down as I turn to the side in an effort to escape.

“That’s my baby. Now it’s ready.” He moves up, reaching over to the black lacquer nightstand for a condom. “That clit throbs in my mouth like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

I reach down to the floor to now grab that same discarded pillow just as he lies on top of me. I scoot back to rest my sweaty head on the pillow.

He lifts my legs up and back, as I take on the pleasurable role of missionary wide receiver. All of his thickness and width enter me as he grunts. “Yeah. This is the best pussy I’ve ever had. Damn, it’s nasty wet.”

The feeling is intense and almost illegal. He should be arrested on the spot. Well, maybe after he’s done. “You do it so good, baby. Only you.”

“Only me?”

“Yes, only you. It’s all yours.”

“This is my pussy.”

“Always, Makkai, always.”

He pulls out as he speaks. “Oooh, shit. I don’t want to cum yet. Put your leg over my shoulder.”

Like the master he is, he scoots me to my side and enters me again. His position is at an angle that’s hitting something. Call it a G spot, or an XYZ spot, but it is making something heat up and throb and rush. I squint my eyes, trying to fight it, but the faster he pumps, the faster it comes, and it makes me dizzy. The room is spinning all around me. I put my own hand over my mouth as I release a burst of throbbing and wetness that’s almost frightening.

“Get that nut, baby. Damn,” he says as I feel his thickness expand and go deeper, and then expand again. “Oh, yeah, that’s my baby.” He freezes and his tip seems to hit my deepest point. He then gives way on top of me.

He moves my leg flat, climbs off of me, and turns over on his back. He breathes hard and looks over at me. I breathe hard and look over at him. And we shake our heads at each other. Damn, that man can sure make a woman cum.

Okay, so now you know. The situation with him has served me just fine, actually. I get the oral sex of the century, and he gets, from what he tells me, the best pussy he’s ever had in his entire life. That man loves to fuck him some Georgia Mae Manley. Me, to be honest with you, even though he is packing, I could take or leave the dick. But, I have to give him his props because he is the only man to get enough of a deep, continual rhythm going to ever give me a vaginal orgasm. Truly, I could fall asleep right after I came in his face and feel totally fulfilled. Like my name, I like it dirty south thank you very much. Anyway, he’s already snoozing, and I need my sleep before these two girls wake up in the morning, driving me crazy. But, of course, he’ll be gone by then. But, it’s all good. For now anyway.

Here’s my deal. I’ll tell you as I drive toward the Marina for my weekly wax and electrolysis at Sheena’s Spa and Salon because I’m always on the run. It’s a beautiful day and the sun is shining, a slight breeze is blowing, and all is sweet.

See, I am a wealthy, attractive, sophisticated forty-year-old woman. Okay, I’m forty-four. I like men who are actually and factually one step away from being afraid of me, yet who can stand up to me anyway. I let ‘em know I don’t have time for no childish-ass games.

The love of my life, my mom, died years ago and left me executor of her twenty-million-dollar estate. She owned a chain of Cajun restaurants called Mondays, named after me, of course. I drive a tan Jaguar to match my skin, the Creole in me. I live in her seven-bedroom, exclusive home in Palos Verdes with my little black Shitsu named Soul, who’s like my child. I don’t have kids. I have never been married and don’t want to be married, and basically, I don’t think I’ve ever even been in love. Men are a trip. Love is a four-letter word worth about as much as that other four-letter word that starts with an F and ends with a K I say the L word to get what I want. Hell, I say both words to get what I want. Mainly to attract men and get what they’ve got. I never knew what it was like to be in it, love that is, so I stayed out of it. Basically, I say fuck love. I’m doing just fine, thank you very much. Sex for me is simply recreational.

Mr. Smooth Operator Makkai Worthy calls me Delicious. He tells me my stuff tastes like a warmass, apple dumpling dessert, and he crawls all up inside of it like he’d be fine if he never, ever came out. That man craves it on a regular basis. Tells me it’s the best pussy he’s ever had in his entire life, yes he does. And I ain’t mad at him.

I heard someone say that if you screw a skilled lover too often and have too many grand orgasms, you’ll bond. Must be that I was the last lady in line when they were handing out estrogen because I could give a damn about bonding. I’ll give you one and take mine and get to steppin. I don’t want to see your ass in the morning.

I met him while he was doi. . .