The fluorescent lights of the hospital ward hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the linoleum floors as Dr. Ava took a stumbling step back from Mateo's bedside. Her breath came in shallow bursts, her fingers still tingling from where they'd brushed against his cheeks while she was changing the bandages on his head. She adjusted the IV line on a whim to distract herself from the intensity of their eyes locking and the fact that they had almost locked lips. The excuse had been flimsy, and they both knew it. Her professionalism had cracked like thin ice beneath her, and now she was drowning in the aftermath.
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. The words tasted bitter, forced out between the hammering of her pulse in her throat. "That was… unprofessional. I shouldn't have—"
Mateo's dark eyes locked onto hers, burning with an intensity that made her stomach clench. The sheet had slipped lower, exposing the sharp V of his hips, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the hospital-issue cotton. His lips curled, not in amusement, but something far more dangerous—something that sent a jolt of heat straight between her thighs.
"You didn't do anything wrong, Doctora," he murmured, his voice rough, like gravel under slow footsteps. The way he drawled her title, thick with his accent, made it sound filthy. Like a secret. Like an invitation. "I liked it."
Ava's breath hitched. She should've turned. Should've fled. But her body refused to obey, rooted in place as his gaze raked over her—lingering on the way her blouse pulled tight over her breasts, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the part of her lips as she wet them nervously. She could feel the weight of his stare like a physical touch, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the way her skirt hugged her thighs just a little too snugly.
Then his hand moved.
Fast and decisive. His fingers closed around her wrist, his grip firm but not bruising, his skin searing against hers. Ava gasped as he tugged her forward, her knees hitting the edge of the mattress. The scent of antiseptic and soap mixed with something darker, muskier—him—and it made her head spin. Before she could protest, his other arm snaked around her waist, hauling her against the hard planes of his body.
She crashed into him with a soft oomph, her palms splaying against his chest to steady herself. His skin was fever-hot beneath her fingertips, the ridges of his scars rough under her touch, the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat a wild contrast to the erratic flutter of her own. His breath was warm against her temple, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke.
"Dios, you're always running," he growled, low and rough. "Stay. Just for a second."
Ava's entire body flushed, heat crawling up her neck, painting her cheeks a furious, embarrassed red. She could feel the way her nipples tightened against the lace of her bra, the way her thighs pressed together instinctively. This was wrong. So wrong. She was his doctor, for god's sake, and he was a patient—her patient—and yet here she was, melting into his embrace like some lovesick teenager.
But then his arms tightened around her, his breath hitching just slightly, and she realized—he was in pain.
The thought sobered her instantly. "Mateo, you're hurting yourself—"
"Shut up," he muttered, his voice strained but his grip unyielding. His fingers dug into the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, ignoring the way his ribs must've been screaming, the way his stitches tugged. "Just… let me hold you."
Ava's throat went dry. She should've pulled away. Should've scolded him. Should've something. But the way his body molded against hers, the way his breath hitched when her hip brushed against the thick, unmistakable ridge of his cock beneath the sheet—it short-circuited every logical thought in her head. Her fingers curled into the crisp hair on his chest, her nails scraping lightly, and the sound he made—a guttural, needy groan—sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between her legs.
For one suspended, sinful moment, she let herself feel it. The solid wall of his chest against her breasts, the way his thighs bracketed hers, the way his breath hitched when she accidentally—oh god—rocked her hips just slightly, her skirt riding up just enough that the lace of her panties brushed against the rough fabric of his hospital gown.
Then reality crashed back in.
Ava jerked away like she'd been burned, her chest heaving, her face on fire. Mateo's hand fell away, his dark eyes hooded, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something—do something—but she was already stumbling back, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
"I—I have to go," she managed, her voice high and breathless. She didn't wait for a response.
She fled.
The hallway blurred as she half-ran, her pulse roaring in her ears, her skin still buzzing from the ghost of his touch. Nurses called out to her—something about charts, about rounds—but she ignored them, her vision tunneling as she beelined for her office. The door slammed behind her with a sharp click, the sound echoing in the small, cluttered space like a gunshot.
Ava leaned back against the wood, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her fingers trembling as she fumbled with the blinds. The plastic slats rattled as she yanked them shut, blocking out the curious glances of the staff outside. Then the door blinds—snap, snap, snap—until the office was bathed in dim, artificial light, the only sound the ragged rasp of her breathing.
She was soaked.
Her panties clung to her, the lace damp with arousal, her thighs slick with it. The memory of Mateo's hands on her, the way his cock had twitched against her stomach, the way his breath had hitched when she'd—fuck—when she'd ground against him—it was all too much. Her fingers flew to the buttons of her blouse, popping them open with frantic urgency, the fabric parting to reveal the black lace bra beneath, her nipples already hard, already aching.
Ava bit her lip to stifle a moan as she palmed her breast, her thumb circling the stiff peak through the lace. The sensation shot straight to her clit, making her hips jerk. God, she was pathetic. Getting this worked up over a patient. Over a man who was off-limits in every possible way. But the way he'd looked at her—like he wanted to devour her—like he'd been seconds away from flipping her onto that hospital bed and fucking her senseless—
Her free hand slid down, hiking up her skirt, her fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. She was dripping. Slick and hot and needy, her folds swollen, her clit throbbing. Ava whimpered as she dragged two fingers through her wetness, the sound obscene in the quiet office. She imagined it was his fingers. His touch. His voice in her ear, growling filthy things in that rough, accented murmur.
"Touch yourself, Doctora," she fantasized, her voice a breathy whisper as she circled her clit, her hips rolling in desperate little motions. "Let me see how wet you are for me."
Ava's breath hitched as she slipped a finger inside herself, her walls clenching around the intrusion. She was so tight, so sensitive, every movement sending sparks through her nerve endings. Her other hand abandoned her breast, gripping the edge of her desk as she added a second finger, fucking herself in earnest now, her wrist twisting with each thrust.
"Mateo," she gasped, her head falling back against the door, her eyes squeezing shut as the fantasy took over. She could see him—looming over her, his dark eyes burning, his cock thick and heavy in his hand as he stroked himself, watching her. "Fuck, you're so beautiful like this," he'd growl, his voice a dark purr. "Spread your legs. Let me taste that pretty cunt."
Ava's thighs trembled as she obeyed the phantom command, her skirt riding up to her waist, her panties shoved aside. Her fingers worked faster, her thumb pressing hard against her clit as she imagined his tongue there instead—licking, sucking, fucking her with slow, deliberate strokes until she was writhing beneath him.
"Please," she whined, her voice breaking. She was close. So close. Her muscles coiled tight, her breath coming in sharp, desperate pants. "I need—"
The door handle rattled.
Ava's eyes flew open, her body locking up mid-motion, her fingers still buried inside herself. The sound came again—a sharp, insistent click—like someone was testing the door.
Testing the lock.
Her blood turned to ice.
The office door was unlocked.
And someone—someone—was standing right on the other side.