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Dr. Jack Abbot has been having an off day. Or, technically, an off night.
He didn’t sleep well before his shift, for starters. He’s been having nightmares again. Vivid ones. The kind that feel so real that when he wakes up gasping for air, it takes him at least 15 minutes to get his brain to realize he’s safe in his bed, no signs of danger anywhere.
His poor sleep leaves him with an anxious feeling that follows him into his shift at PTMC.
On top of that, they’ve been getting plenty of their usual nighttime cases. All the psych rooms are taken and it’s not even midnight yet. He’s still waiting on some results, but it seems like most of the cases are drug related. It’ll be a challenge to keep an eye on them and also stay on top of all his other patients.
It doesn’t help that there’s an elderly patient snoozing in Central 8 whose O2 monitor keeps going off due to his sleep apnea. He’s been meaning to ask someone to silence that thing for the past hour or so, but something always comes up before he gets the chance.
When he thinks things can’t get any worse (they can always get worse), Dr. Ellis tweeks her back doing a hip reduction and can barely walk from the pain. After a brief exam to determine that it’s nothing serious, Dr. Abbot sends her home with strict instructions to rest and refrain from lifting anything heavy.
While they could probably handle things as they are with one doctor out, he has an inexplicable feeling that something serious is coming, so he gets Charge Nurse Lena to call someone in for reinforcements.
Not even 10 minutes after he asked her to call in a replacement for Dr. Ellis, Lena comes up to him with an urgency that makes his stomach drop.
“23 year old male with a gunshot wound to the right shoulder on the way. Apparently it was a drive-by shooting, suspected to be gang related. BP is 60 over 40, heart rate 120. ETA five minutes.”
Of course, his gut feeling just had to be right.
“Thanks, Lena. Make sure security is aware in case anyone comes by to finish the job.”
He turns to the staff nearby and says, “Alright guys, let’s get Trauma 1 set up for a GSW. Grab a couple bags of O-neg while you’re at it.”
There’s a flurry of activity as the ED prepares for the incoming patient. It’s a controlled chaos that helps Dr. Abbot distract himself from the nervous feeling still eating away at his insides.
A few minutes later, the patient rolls in with a pool of scarlet leaking from the wound in his shoulder, unconscious and breathing shallowly. After getting a rundown from the EMTs, he’s calling out orders for meds and recruiting some of the nurses to prepare for emergency surgery.
Just as they’re getting set up in the trauma room, he hears a warm, familiar voice coming up behind him.
“Sorry I’m late, I came as quickly as I could.”
He turns to see Dr. Samira Mohan reaching for gloves and PPE from the dispensers on the wall.
His heart skips a beat. She must have been out somewhere because her hair is perfectly styled, her dark curls cascading in delicate waves down her back. She has some kind of smokey makeup around her eyes and a dusky mauve blush on her cheeks that makes her already gorgeous features look that much more stunning. There’s also a delicious sheen of gloss coating her lips that’s making it hard for him to look anywhere but at her mouth.
“Appreciate you coming in,” he says, his attention swiftly pivoting back to the patient. He hopes she doesn’t notice the heat that’s rushing to his face.
It takes effort for him to not just keep staring at her, but he’s lucky that there’s a critical case in front of him to keep him busy. He takes a minute to get her up to speed and then he’s focusing on controlling the hemorrhage with several handfuls of gauze.
Dr. Mohan helps him to apply pressure to the wound, and that’s when he gets a sweet waft of vanilla and spice that makes his mouth water. God, she’s wearing perfume.
The patient’s eyelids flutter and he lets out a nearly inaudible groan.
“Hey kid, can you hear me? What’s your name?” Dr. Abbot asks.
Another faint groan.
Dr. Mohan scans the patient for other potential injuries, anything the EMTs might have missed. She takes a peek at the back of the shoulder, too. Dr. Abbot tries not to notice that a soft strand of her hair brushes against his arm, making him suck in a breath.
“There’s no exit wound,” she notes, “it looks like the bullet is lodged in the bone. Should we do an X-ray or CT?”
He pulls up a corner of the gauze to check the wound, another rush of blood comes pouring out and the patient’s blood pressure drops.
“We need to get this bleeding under control first. Bridgett, give him a unit of O neg.”
Nurse Bridgett sets up an IV line and starts the transfusion. He watches the monitor for a minute to see if his vital signs improve. Dr. Mohan is close by his side.
When the patient’s blood pressure starts entering the normal range and his heart rate lessens, Dr. Abbot lets out a sigh of relief.
He takes another look at the wound. “The bullet probably did some damage to the joint. This poor kid is definitely gonna need an arthroscopy in surgery, I don’t think we’ll be able to remove the bullet ourselves. Need to pack this thing up tight before we can send him up.”
Dr. Mohan leans in to watch as he starts using forceps to fold some sterile dressing into the deep crevice formed by the bullet. The dark metal of the bullet is just barely visible between the flesh and bone fragments.
He’s trying to keep his attention on treating the patient but his head is swimming with the scent of her perfume. An instinctive urge hits him to turn and bury his face in her neck, breathe her in deep.
He’s also trying to ignore the way she looks with her hair down, like a literal goddess. Not to mention the subtle parting of her lips, silky with lipgloss, catching the fluorescent light in a way that should really not be turning him on so much.
She’s always been beautiful, but he’s never seen her like this before.
He has no idea why it’s getting him so worked up. They’re barely an inch apart right now, and the temptation to close the distance is getting hard to fight. He doesn’t usually have this much trouble staying on task around an attractive woman, it’s like he’s a hormonal teenager again.
The arousal mixes with the anxious feeling that was already there, buzzing inside him, and suddenly he feels like he might explode.
“Dr. Mohan, give Surgery a call and see if they’re ready to take him. And see if he has any family we can contact.”
“Are you sure? I was hoping I could-”
“Call Surgery, Dr. Mohan.”
“But I wanted to-“
“Now, Dr. Mohan. Don’t make me repeat myself again.” The words come out sharper than he means them to.
His tone seems to catch her off-guard. He feels an instant punch of guilt when he notices the look of hurt on her face, but he thinks he’ll lose it if he has to spend another second in the same room as her. His hands are shaking slightly.
As soon as she crosses the doors of Trauma 1 he feels some of his uneasiness dissipate. There’s still a pulsing undercurrent of longing in his chest, but at least now he’s free from immediate distractions. He promises himself he’ll apologize to her later.
After a few minutes he manages to get the patient stabilized enough to be taken to the OR. The second the patient is wheeled into the elevator, he chucks his gown and gloves in the red bin and heads straight for the bathroom.
Quickly checking the stalls and finding himself alone, he turns on the sink and splashes some cold water on his face.
He can’t remember the last time he lost his patience with one of his staff like that, he’s usually the epitome of calm and composure. And the fact that it was Dr. Mohan, who he respects so much, has him kicking himself for being so harsh with her. She didn’t deserve that.
But he had no idea she could have such a powerful effect on him.
He’s always found her attractive, because anybody with two eyes and a brain can see that she’s gorgeous. He just didn’t know that seeing her with a little bit of makeup and her hair down would be like seeing an angel in the flesh.
And the lipgloss. That damn lipgloss.
Before he can get control of his thoughts, he’s imagining wiping his thumb over her mouth and feeling the tackiness of it smear onto his finger. He imagines how smooth it would be against his tongue, how it would get all over his stubble if he were to kiss her, messy and exquisite. It’s wrong, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting it.
Then he imagines her lips around his length, a sticky ring of gloss forming around the base of his cock.
He grunts and holds a palm against his growing erection. He can’t be doing this right now, he’s in the middle of a shift, for christ’s sake.
It takes him a while, but he manages to regain his composure. Deep breaths, another splash of cold water, and then he’s making his way back out into the ED.
<><><>
Dr. Mohan is having a rough night.
For the first time in far too long, she musters up the courage to go out by herself. She’s been sick of sitting at home every night on her laptop reading case studies and catching up on the latest medical techniques. She’s sick of being single and lonely.
It’s taken her a while to psych herself up for it, because let’s be real, going out to a bar by yourself is slightly terrifying. But anything is better than rotting in bed until the early hours of the morning.
So she puts on her best fitting jeans, a low cut top, and tries her best to do her makeup in a way that doesn’t feel too clownish.
She hasn’t done her makeup in months, and it’s honestly kind of fun to sort through her eyeshadow palettes and lip products and just try things on. She even digs out a bottle of perfume her mom gifted her years ago and gives her wrists and neck a few spritz.
Unfortunately, her experience at the pub is not exactly what she was hoping for. Mostly she sits at the bar nursing a vodka cranberry, trying not to look too desperate. A couple guys come up to her, but none that really catch her attention. The whole thing is honestly kind of a flop.
So when she gets the call from PTMC asking her to fill in for Dr. Ellis, she’s actually relieved.
She was already waiting for an excuse to leave, and at the very least, work will give her a distraction from her disappointing night out. It’s sad to think that she’d rather be working, but she can’t help it. Being a doctor is where she feels most at home.
Luckily, she’s only had one drink and is sober enough to drive. Right as she walks up, a critical case is being wheeled into the ED. She has just enough time to change into the spare set of scrubs in her locker before joining the crew in Trauma 1. No time to put up her hair or take off any of her makeup.
She’s immediately excited to see that Dr. Jack Abbot is on shift today.
They rarely get the opportunity to work together, but when they do it’s seamless. He never belittles her for her pace, never hesitates to praise her for a job well done, and it’s nice to finally have an attending that trusts her.
She thinks things are going well with the GSW patient, same effortless teamwork as always, until Dr. Abbot randomly snaps at her out of nowhere.
“Now, Dr. Mohan. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”
It’s embarrassing how hurt she is by his sudden dismissal, but he’s never talked to her like that before. It’s jarring. For that matter, she’s never heard him talk that way to any of the staff before.
This is something she might expect from Dr. Robby. The subtle hints that he questions her abilities as an emergency medicine doctor, the lack of respect, the way he brings attention to all of her minor mistakes. She thought she’d gotten used to this kind of treatment.
But all those feelings that she’s learned to swallow with Robby come bubbling right back up at Dr. Abbot’s sharp words.
That’s why for the rest of the shift she tries to avoid him, to only communicate with him when it’s absolutely necessary. She doesn’t want him to see how affected she is by what someone else might think is a completely innocuous interaction.
He gives her remorseful glances every once in a while, clearly picking up on her avoidance, but she ignores him.
Later, when she has a case she wants to consult with someone on, she scrambles around the ED looking for an available attending. But, of course, the only senior doctor available is Dr. Abbot.
She takes a deep breath and steels herself to face him. She knows she can’t hide from him forever.
“Dr. Abbot,” she says, determined to pretend as though the scene earlier never happened.
“Dr. Mohan.” His voice is low, gentle, as if he’s trying to lace her name with an apology.
She clears her throat. “Can I get your advice on a case?”
“Of course,” he says.
“I have a 26 year old female with lower right quadrant abdominal pain, fever, and vomiting over the past 12 hours. She says she started feeling the pain about 3 days ago, along with urgency and burning with urination. I thought it was a UTI but her leukocyte count is normal on both the dipstick and the CBC, which also rules out appendicitis.”
As she presents her case, she notices that Dr. Abbot has a hard time looking her in the eye. She hates the tension, hates how it’s so different from the way they normally interact. It only makes her more hell-bent on trying to act like things are normal.
“What am I missing?” she asks.
“Any history of kidney stones?”
She shakes her head. “No, I considered it but she seems a little young. Most people present with the first kidney stone in their mid-30s.”
“Kidney stones can happen at any age. Try a CT scan, check for hydronephrosis.”
“Thanks,” she replies, turning to leave and escape the unbearable awkwardness.
Before she’s out of earshot, he stops her.
“Wait, Dr. Mohan.”
She spins hesitantly back around, noticing that he’s still avoiding eye contact.
“Yes?”
“About earlier…“ He trails off, seemingly unsure of what to say.
“It was nothing,” she says before he can continue. A lump starts to catch in her throat.
“I just wanted to say-“
“Dr. Abbot,” she interrupts, “it was nothing. Let’s just forget it ever happened.”
Not waiting for a reply, she beelines back to her patient at as quick a pace as she can manage without full-on running.
As much as she wants it not to, things remain tense between them for the rest of the shift. The hurt feeling doesn’t go away either, despite Dr. Abbot’s previous attempt to say sorry. She just needs to make it until the morning, and then she can go home and cry everything out like she usually does.
She really hopes this doesn’t ruin things between them, she would hate to be on the shitlist of yet another attending at PTMC. And she would really hate to lose the great dynamic she’s developed with Dr. Abbot.
Finally, 7 AM rolls around and the day shift starts making their way in.
“Dr. Mohan,” Dr. McKay greets her, “I didn’t know you were working the night shift.”
She rubs her temples. “I got called in to replace Dr. Ellis.”
“Is Ellis okay?”
“Yeah, she’s okay. I think she pulled a muscle or something doing a hip reduction.”
McKay nods. “That’ll do it. What about you? Are you good?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
She gives her a sympathetic smile. “You remind me of how I used to look after a wild night out in my early 20s.”
“Oh,” she says, self-consciously trying to wipe off any smeared eye shadow from around her lids, “they called me in while I was at a bar. Don’t ask. It’s just been a long night, is all.”
McKay gives her a warm squeeze on the shoulder. “I get it. Why don’t you hand off your cases to me and then head home?”
“Thanks, you’re the best.”
After she’s finished talking with McKay, she makes her way to the lockers to grab her stuff.
Just as she’s finished shoving last night’s clothes into a hospital take-home bag, she notices Dr. Abbot standing behind her. They’re alone in the hallway, leaving her with no route of escape.
She braces herself.
“Dr. Mohan,” he starts, “I wanted to catch you before you left.”
Her locker door closes shut with a little more force than needed.
“This isn’t necessary.”
“It is, actually. Just hear me out.”
“Really, Dr. Abbot. There’s nothing to say.”
“Samira, please.”
He gives her a pleading look that makes her pause. She really doesn’t want to be having this conversation, but when he looks at her like that she feels as though she doesn’t have a choice.
“I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you when you first came in. It was out of line.”
This time she’s the one who avoids making eye contact.
He continues, “Samira, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. Can you forgive me?”
She feels the hurt bubbling up in her throat, the feelings of inadequacy and shame. She wants to bury these feelings somewhere deep and inaccessible, somewhere she can just ignore them and hope they eventually go away.
Heat starts collecting behind her eyes, threatening to spill over. If she starts crying in front of him, she thinks she might actually die.
Dr. Abbot notices her change in demeanor and says, “Come on, let’s take this conversation somewhere a little more private.”
She drops her stuff on the floor and then he leads her to a storage room down the hall, waiting patiently for her to collect herself.
Despite her best efforts, she feels tears welling up at the corners of her eyes and wipes them away as quickly as she can before they get the chance to roll down her face.
When she feels capable of speaking again she says, “Ugh, I don’t know why I’m so emotional, I’m sorry. I guess I was just surprised when you spoke to me like that, it felt like it came out of nowhere.”
He shakes his head. “There’s no need to apologize. It’s my fault.”
She frowns. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“Then why?”
He hesitates, chewing on his lip nervously and clearly mulling something over. His eyes flick to her and then quickly look away. She starts to suspect that there’s something he’s not telling her.
“See,” she huffs, “you can barely even look at me. You don’t have to lie to me, Dr. Abbot. If I did something wrong just tell me, I can take it.”
He lets out a pained noise, brows furrowed. His lack of explanation is starting to frustrate her now. The thought that he might be hiding the truth to protect her feelings makes her want to throw something.
“Well?” she insists.
There’s a long pause, and she stands before him with her arms crossed indignantly. She’ll wait all day if she has to.
When he finally decides to reply, it’s not at all what she was expecting.
“Were you on a date?”
She’s dumbfounded. The question is so far out of left field that she momentarily forgets why she’s angry.
“What?”
“Your hair, your makeup... Were you on a date when you got called in?”
He asks it sheepishly, like he’s not sure he really wants to know the answer.
“No, I wasn’t on a date. What does that have to do with anything?”
He bites his lip.
She stares back at him, searching his face for some sort of clue as to why he brought this up. He’s actually looking at her now, at least. Except he’s not looking at her eyes. If she follows his gaze, it seems like he’s fixated on her mouth.
Something in his expression is almost... hungry.
“Oh,” she says.
All that frustration, the hurt and the shame, dissolves like smoke in the air.
He starts muttering to himself, almost in a daze, “It’s totally inappropriate, I know that… And I’m your attending, you’re a resident. It would be wrong…”
“Let me get this straight,” she says, mind reeling, “you snapped at me because of my makeup?”
He scoffs, his eyes still glued to her mouth. “Not just your makeup.”
She feels her face flush. She’s having trouble wrapping her brain around this. It’s overwhelming, the idea that she could have this effect on him. The imperturbable, cool and collected Dr. Jack Abbot, getting worked up over her.
“Not just my makeup?” she repeats.
He nods. “It’s your hair, your perfume. Everything.”
She sucks in a breath. Something stirs inside her, consolidating low in her belly.
“You can be so distracting,” he whispers, voice low, “you know that?”
He takes a step closer.
Her heart starts beating loud in her ears. She wants to reach for him but she feels like his gaze is pinning her in place. And he’s still focused on her mouth.
After another step closer they’re now barely an inch apart. The tension is unbearable, yet she still doesn’t move. It’s almost too good to be true, and for a second she wonders if she’s dreaming.
Slowly, so slowly, he reaches his hand towards her face, carefully gauging her reaction as if he expects her to turn tail and run at any second. But she stays exactly where she is, not even daring to breathe.
Her open mouth radiates warmth onto his hesitant fingers.
Gently, he presses his thumb to her lower lip and she lets out a gasp. Following it with his gaze, he swipes a broad stroke to the corner of her mouth and then smears a trail of lipgloss down the side of her chin, his palm eventually coming to rest on her jaw.
She instinctively closes her eyes at his touch, his hands worn and rough from years of physical labor. She would be lying if she said she’d never fantasized about this before.
A second of baited breath, and then he’s pulling her face towards his and kissing her deeply.
Her entire body lights up like a Christmas tree. She probably could’ve guessed it but Dr. Abbot is a phenomenal kisser, raw and eager and hypnotizing.
She gets thoroughly lost in it. Her hands clutch at his back, holding him closer. His tongue slips between her teeth, opening her up and drawing out a moan. There’s something so natural about the way their bodies move against each other, like they’ve been doing this their whole lives.
A pool of heat is collecting between her legs that makes her knees feel weak. If he didn’t have an arm gripped tight around her waist, she’s sure she would collapse into a puddle right there on the floor. She had no idea how easily he could turn all of her bones to jelly.
He’s groaning hungrily into her mouth, she responds with a series of soft whimpers. They come up for air and suddenly his nose is burying itself in her neck, fingers slipping under her scrub top to lightly graze her ribs.
“You smell incredible,” he purrs, inhaling deeply.
She bites her lip. “Maybe I should wear perfume more often.”
He peppers kisses along her throat, making her sigh.
“I’d never be able to focus if you smelled like this all the time,” he confesses, “It would be a liability.”
She shivers at the suggestion that she could be so irresistible to him.
Suddenly he pulls away, putting distance between them. He’s breathing heavily.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“You’re probably right,” she replies, missing the feeling of his lips against her skin.
His hands flex impatiently at his sides and he stands there staring at her for a moment.
“Do you want this?” he asks.
“Yes. God, yes.” She’s surprised by how desperate she sounds. “Do you?”
“I do, but not here.”
His words immediately remind her that they are currently in a dingy hospital storage room where someone could walk in on them at any second. Not the best location for a hookup.
He looks her up and down one more time before saying, “Do you trust me?”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “I trust you.”
<><><>
Dr. Abbot thinks that this is probably a bad idea. Not the worst idea he’s had by far, but it’s up there for sure.
Despite the risk he’s taking, discretely leading Dr. Mohan upstairs to the abandoned wing of the hospital, there’s a voice inside him that’s telling him he needs this. That anxious feeling that’s lingered all day seems to vanish when he touches her. It’s like magic.
He wonders briefly if this is related to his perpetual attraction to danger, but he decides that that’s something he’ll have to deal with later. Right now, all he wants is 10 minutes alone with this gorgeous woman.
“How do you know about this?” she asks as he opens the door to one of the empty rooms.
He shrugs. “Good place to be alone, or to take naps.”
Morning light filters in through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the white floors, the white walls, the plasticky hospital bed. It’s almost romantic, or maybe his standards are just low.
“Come here,” he says, his fingers itching to be on her again.
She closes the distance between them, and he holds her face reverently in his hands.
“You’re beautiful.”
Her eyes flick nervously away, unconvinced.
“I’m serious,” he insists, “you’re stunning.”
She scoffs, “I probably look like a mess right now, sleep-deprived after a full shift.”
He tries to maneuver her chin to get her to look at him again. She has no idea that even after working all night, for hours on end, she is the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. He wishes she could see what he sees.
His hands move down to her shoulders. “Do me a favor and look in the mirror.”
“Uh, I’m not sure-” she starts to protest, but he guides her to the en-suite bathroom before she can dissuade him.
She stands before the bathroom mirror, he stands close behind, and they look at her reflection. Her hair is no longer cleanly styled, but it’s perfectly mussed in a post-makeout fashion that makes him want to tangle his fingers back into it. Her eyeshadow is smeared around the edges, mascara slightly runny from crying, and her lipgloss is still streaked down her chin from when he ran his thumb through it. It’s a version of her that he usually never gets to see. Messy and sexy and divine.
He pulls back her hair on one side, leaning close to her ear. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Her lips part with a small gasp, eyelids fluttering.
“Completely,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple, "irresistible."
She leans back, ever so slightly, and he takes it as an invitation.
His hands slip around her waist, one moving up to cup her breast while the other runs down to her lower abdomen. He continues to murmur flattery into her ear, making her melt against him. Out of the corner of his eye he watches her expression soften in the mirror.
After that, he’s lost in a haze of her perfume. One hand pushing up her bra, playing with her nipple, the other finding its way under her pants, seeking the damp spot in her underwear. He grinds into her and she grinds back, his head swimming from the sound of her moans. Lips on her neck, her cheek, her curls. She reaches behind her to clutch at his hair.
Then he’s stripping off her top, her bra. She makes a needy noise and helps him pull his shirt over his head. The sight of them topless together in the mirror has all the blood in his body rushing straight to his aching cock.
“Need to feel you,” he says, making eye contact with her through their reflection. “Can I?”
“Yes. Please.”
He wastes no time tugging down the waistband of her scrubs. Because he can’t resist, he slides a hand between her legs from behind, softly stroking the dripping heat of her core. She writhes against him, already so sensitive for him. His finger sinks into her and he studies her reaction, the way her face contorts with pleasure.
He flicks his tongue along the outside of her ear and whispers, “Can’t believe how wet you are for me, you’re taking it so well.”
Soon he adds another finger, enjoying the way she presses back eagerly against him, her walls pulsing. The obscene arch of her back is equally mesmerizing, and he pumps his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm, watching her spine curl.
“Your fingers...” she moans, too dazed to finish her sentence.
“You like ‘em?”
She hums in blissful approval.
He continues to finger her from behind for a while, sometimes slowing his pace and sometimes speeding up just to watch the change in her expression, just to feel another clench.
He leans forward, rocking himself against her to ease some of the ache.
Then his fingers hit a spot deep inside that draws a high-pitched whine from her lips. She doubles over the sink and her legs shake with the force of her orgasm. He works her through the convulsive waves of it with constant, deliberate ministrations, all while his cock throbs painfully.
After she recovers, he removes his fingers gingerly, examining the wetness that coats them. She locks eyes with him in the reflection, watches him bring his fingers to his mouth and lick them clean.
“I need you to fuck me,” she pleads.
“You want the bed?”
She shakes her head. “I want you here. Now.”
“Condom?”
“No, I trust you.”
This is not exactly what he’d envisioned for their first time having sex, bent over a sink in a dimly lit hospital bathroom. But he’s been thinking about this all shift, and she’s looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, runny mascara, topless. He doesn’t stand a chance.
Gingerly, he pulls his cock out of his pants, wincing at how sensitive he is already. The head is slick with precum, and he carefully aligns the tip with her entrance.
He can’t believe they’re really doing this. “Gonna put it in now, okay?”
She bites her lip and nods.
He guides himself into her slowly, relishing every warm inch that wraps around his length. Better than he ever could've imagined. It’s ungodly.
“You okay?” he asks, “You good?”
“So good, yes. Please don’t stop.”
She lets out a breathy sigh once he’s fully buried, her sensitive walls spasming around him.
Delicious noises continue to emanate from her sweet lips as he starts to move, thrusting in and out steadily. He wants to build her back up slowly so he can watch her fall apart again. It requires all of his effort not to pound into her with full force.
One hand grips firmly on her hip, the other on her sternum, holding her close. He doesn’t want a single inch of distance between them. And her body molds to his like matching puzzle pieces fitting together. It just feels right.
He loses himself in her, babbling the same word over and over under his breath.
“Perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect.”
He doesn’t stop fucking her, and he never wants to stop. She’s taking it flawlessly, even grinding back against him with each stroke.
The hand on her hip comes around between her legs. He has to concentrate to be able to line up his thrusts with the tight circles of his finger on her clit, but when he finds it she immediately starts quivering in his arms.
“I’m- I’m close,” she gasps.
He groans.
“You better not pull out.”
His hips falter at her words. “Fuck, you sure?”
“Don’t pull out,” she repeats, her voice dripping with need.
He knows he’s not going to last much longer, not after hearing her say that.
With each stroke, he fucks deeper into her, presses down harder on her clit, pushing her closer while also chasing his own pleasure. They breathe together in desperate harmony, chests heaving in unison.
“Jack,” she cries, and then they crash into collective bliss, waves of concentrated release permeated by the smell of vanilla and sweat. She’s so tight around him it’s almost painful, thoroughly milking his cock of every last drop.
He thinks he blacks out for a second.
The sound of her saying his name while she came is still ringing in his head as they come down from their high. And he’s still holding her close, as if he’s trying to fuse their bodies together somehow.
He peeks at their reflection and notices trails of mascara running down both of her cheeks. His cock lets out one last pulse of cum at the sight of her, a literal angel.
“Don’t worry,” she says, “I’m on birth control.”
He huffs out a laugh.
Eventually, they’re able to separate themselves. He helps to clean her up in the shower, gently wiping away the mascara with his thumbs and staring deeply into her warm brown eyes. It’s more intimate than he expected.
“I don’t usually do this,” he explains later as they lie next to each other on the hospital bed, her head resting comfortably on his chest.
“Do what? Hook up with residents?”
“With anyone,” he clarifies.
She turns to meet his eyes. “Do you regret it?”
He shakes his head.
“I’d like to do this again sometime,” she says.
He simply looks at her for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek and wondering whether he deserves this.
“You’re too good for me.”
She smiles.
“You’re a good man, Jack. Take the win.”