Page 3 of Doctor One Night

Hunter's gaze holds mine as he adds another finger, stretching me, preparing me for what's to come. With a commanding voice, he says, “I want to hear you come,” and the raw need in his words pushes me over the edge.

My orgasm rips through me, pleasure crashing over me as I cry out his name. My inner walls clamp down around his fingers, and he watches me with a satisfaction that borders on smugness. But there's no time for complacency—not when the heat between us is still raging, demanding more.

He pulls his fingers out, and I whimper at the loss. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a foil packet, and I grab his cock, hard and insistent against my thigh. I take the condom from him, and my hands shake slightly as I roll it onto his length.

With a low growl, he positions himself at my entrance. His gaze locks onto mine, teasing me with the tip of his head, rubbing gently on my wetness. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

“I want this,” I say, my voice breathy and eager. “I want you, Hunter.”

With a groan, he thrusts into me, filling me completely. The sudden stretch makes me gasp, but the discomfort quickly fades into pleasure as he begins to move, each stroke of his massive body sparking new waves of ecstasy.

He sets a relentless rhythm, his hips pounding against mine, the sound of the meeting of our bodies echoing through the empty lab. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting—needing—all of him.

Our bodies are slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and the sounds of our shared pleasure. Hunter's hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining as he drives into me again and again.

“Frankie,” he gasps, his movements becoming more erratic, less controlled. “God, you are amazing. Fuck me.”

Another orgasm is building, the pressure coiling low in my belly. “Don't stop,” I beg, my voice barely more than a whimper. “Please, don't stop.”

His response is a grunt of approval as he increases his pace, his shaft hitting that perfect spot inside me with every thrust. My body tenses, my toes curling as the world explodes. I cry out, my inner walls clenching around him as I come, and it's enough to send him over the edge with me.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside me, his body shuddering as he finds his release. He collapses on top of me, both of us panting and slick with sweat, our hearts pounding in unison.

For a long moment, neither of us speak, too caught up in the aftermath of our passion. Finally, he lifts his head, his blue eyes meeting mine with a warmth that takes my breath away. “You’re something else, Frankie Renna.”

TWO

Hunter

Friday, April 19

8:17 pm

The hospital is eerily quiet at this hour, the kind of silence that presses in on you. It’s broken only by the the distant beeping of machines. That and the hum of that creepy robot floor-polishing machine that makes its rounds unattended, like a rogue AI after-hours maintenance crew.

I’ve just wrapped up another grueling surgery, and exhaustion is settling into my bones. But instead of heading home, I find myself lingering in the staff room, thumbing through a white paper on Hodgkins lymphoma and letting the stillness of the night seep into me.

Or at least, I try to.

You’d be surprised what can happen on a ward when there’s a quiet moment or two. As I sit here reading about HL and its relationship to heart injury—a subject that has become personal very recently—the commotion next door makes it clear that the rumors about residents screwing around aren’t just urban legends.

To a lot of people, this is the stuff medical drama TV shows are made of, not real hospitals. One night in a quiet hospital hall would be enough to let them know that, yes, doctors and nurses get horny and bored, too, but not necessarily in that order.

Through the thin walls, I can hear the unmistakable sounds of what I believe is a resident and nurse making out in the custodian’s closet next door. It’s muffled but clear enough that there’s no mistaking what’s going on.

I roll my eyes and try to ignore it, but instead, my mind drifts to a night six months ago. Whoever is next door isn’t the only medical professional getting his rocks off.

And suddenly my mind is right back there in that lab with Frankie.

Frankie, the hot researcher who managed to throw me off my game in a way no one else ever has. A quickie with no strings attached. I’ve done it a hundred times, just never in the hospital. So why does this one keep replaying in my mind?

I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon—a damn good one if you ask around. I take pride in what I do and work hard. Hell, work is my life—I’m obsessive like that.

I’ve spent years building a reputation as someone who can be counted on when it matters most. I’m the guy who stays late, takes the tough cases, the one who doesn’t flinch when the pressure’s on.

I don’t do it for the accolades, though they come with the territory. I do it because I don’t do anything half-ass. When I decided to go into this I knew I had to be the best. It’s a heavy responsibility, but it’s one I take very seriously.

I’m not a hero, not by a long shot. But I’m good at what I do, and that means something. It means everything, actually. It’s why I’ve never had much time for anything else. Relationships, hobbies, downtime—they all take a back seat when you’re in this field.

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