A beat of silence as we try to swallow our frantic breathing, every heartbeat amplified.
"What happens if she opens the door?" I whisper, voice full of dread.
"Then she sees what she was never meant to see," he breathes. "And I don't care. Though, I do care that she'll see you."
I frown. "You should care about you too, Ben. You'd lose everything you worked hard for if she sees us like this. There'll be no way back."
He shakes his head and lets his forehead fall to mine. "Then I'll lose everything. I don't care if it means I could be with you one more time."
I give him a broken smile and hold him tightly, internally praying,Please, make her go away. Please.
I'll do anything...
“Oh... alright. Sorry,” the woman finally says, and the handle clicks free. Footsteps fade down the hall—and with them, whatever restraint Ben had left.
He throbs with a wild pulse and slams me down onto him in a sharp thrust, groaning through clenched teeth. The air leaves my lungs in a broken cry as the pressure snaps inside me, pleasure crashing up my spine so brutally it borders on unbearable.
He shudders against my neck, and drives me on the table because his legs won't hold him. He thrusts again and again, the table shaking under me. It crashes through us at once—twoweeks of starvation surging through us in a flooding rush, my body shaking around him, milking him, the vision of him flashing in front of my eyes as he keeps grunting.
For a suspended beat, he stays folded over me, chest rising hard against mine before he pulls out slowly, almost reluctantly.
“Wait, don’t move yet,” he says over his shoulder as he walks toward the basin. He washes himself and I’m left slick with him, the wet heat leaking between my legs—it's thick and there's so much that I stare at it with big eyes.
When he comes back, a damp cloth in his hand, he kneels between my open core. Quiet, focused, he cleans me with a tenderness that doesn’t match what we just did—every touch a promise that he'll take care of me in every way. My heart melts.
When he’s finished, he helps me back into my clothes and presses a soft kiss to my mouth.
He rises… and then pulls the top of his scrubs over his head.
My eyes land on his broad, bare chest. I raise a brow, still a little breathless. "Seriously? You want to risk round two?"
He snorts and nods slowly. "For you, I would."
I shake my head with reprimand in my eyes. "Aren't you freaked out by what we just dodged? What if she actually opened the door? What would happen?"
He takes a slow breath, his mouth twitching before he says, "She'd probably start smoking a cigarette."
I narrow my eyes and smack his chest, but internally I laugh. "You can't be serious for once, can you?"
He licks his lips and his face tightens.
"I can," he says and he reaches for the stethoscope on thedesk. He slips the earpieces into my ears, and presses the metal disk to his chest.
Instantly, heartbeat floods me—wild, uneven. The most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
"This is what you do to me, Emma. Everywhere. All the damn time," he says quietly.
I listen to his frantic heart, stunned and speechless.
"I'd rather kill myself than hurt you," he says, his eyes heavy and serious. "You know that, right?"
My face buckles. I put the earpieces away and hold his gaze. My voice comes out firm. "I know, Ben. I... forgive you."
The second I say it, he blinks and frowns, looking at me like he can't believe my words. Like he still doesn't think he deserves it.
"I do," I say, nodding. "I forgive you. I know you'd never hurt me. I know you love me. I never doubted that."
His smile fractures at the edges, but before he can speak, I slide off the table and cross the room for the bag I left by the door.
