Page 132 of Intense

He pulls the stethoscope from around his neck and wraps it around his fist, stepping into my space. He tilts my chin up to him with his finger, his eyes raking over my body as my breath hitches.

Our mouths hover, just inches apart.

Everything around us vanishes; it’s just us, like it always has been. My lips part, and all the breath is stolen from my lungs as he leans in.

Then reality kicks in. But I want this. So fucking bad.

My shift is over for today.

So I grab his tie and yank it, making him stumble forward. Grinning as I drag him down the corridor. Not towards our offices, but to the observation wing.

The empty room has hardly been used since the newer rooms were upgraded last year.

As he kicks the door shut behind him, I freeze.

Letting go of him as he locks it without a word.

I don’t give my brain another second to overthink this; I launch myself into his arms. With his fingers digging into my ass, his other hand grips my throat.

Our mouths crash. It’s urgent and fucking feral.

Our teeth colliding, our tongues dancing.

I fumble with his belt, like I’ve been starved of him. I’m desperate. And he’s letting me.

“See. You did miss me,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I bite down on his bottom lip in response.

“Good fucking girl. Make me bleed for you, because you’re about to bleed out for me,” he says softly, running the back of his hand along my cheek.

He spins me, pinning me to the wall. Pain erupts from my scalp as he grabs a fistful of my hair, tugging my head back to expose my throat.

“You brought this on yourself, Mrs. Quinn.”

His grip tightens in my hair, dragging a gasp from my throat as he forces my head back. His mouth is all over me, teeth grazing the column of my neck, tongue chasing the heat he leaves behind.

“I’m counting on it,” I whisper, breathless, already arching into him.

His chuckle is sinful, vibrating straight through my core.

He releases my hair and spins me again, pushing me backward with his body until the backs of my thighs hit the edge of the bed. With his lips on me, he drags my scrub top up, pulling away from me as I lift my arms in the air. He tosses it to the ground and grabs my throat again. But his gaze flicks over my breasts.

I work the clasp of my bra and slide the straps over my shoulders, letting that drop down too.

“Oh, fuck yes.”

His head dips down, and he takes my nipple in his mouth. My head tips back as he sucks and bites. The perfect amount of pain.

“Fuck, Finn.”

He trails his tongue between my breasts and all the way up to my throat.

“Lie down,” he commands.

My heart pounds in my chest, a wild rhythm I can’t control. I move without thinking, settling onto the padded surface. He heads over to the cupboards behind me. I just lie there, looking at the ceiling as if I am about to be examined.

He drapes the stethoscope across my chest—a tease, a threat, a warning. And then he gently places my wrist on the railings of the bed, securing it with an IV tube. He slowly walks around to the other side and restrains my other wrist.