The first bite almost makes me groan. My shoulders drop without permission. My jaw unclenches. I hadn’t realised how tightly I was holding myself together until this moment.
“You okay?” she asks under her breath.
“Exhausted,” I admit. “Annoyed. Hungry. Still breathing.”
“High praise.”
Her hand brushes mine, deliberate and grounding. My pulse jumps embarrassingly fast. We’ve barely had any time together these past few months.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I murmur.
“I know,” she replies. “That’s part of the appeal.”
I snort. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
She leans in slightly, voice low. “You’re already in trouble.”
That does something to me. Even the lack of sleep doesn’t take away my need for her, the way my pussy throbs every time she is around me. There’s a look in her eyes now. Familiar. Dangerous. The one that says she’s thought this through just enough to know it’s a bad idea and wants it anyway.
I glance at the clock. “I have five minutes,” I say carefully.
She lifts an eyebrow. “I can work with that.”
We slip away slowly, like we are not doing anything wrong. Like we are just walking. Just two people moving down a quieter corridor at the end of a long shift. Past rooms I already know are empty because I checked them an hour ago. Past a storage cupboard that never closes properly. Past the vending machine that hums too loud in the stillness.
The hospital feels different at this time of night. Not asleep. Just thinner. The noise stretched out and echoing instead of layered and constant. My trainers squeak once against the polished floor and I wince, glancing over my shoulder.
“This is a terrible idea,” I whisper, even though no one is near enough to hear.
She looks back at me and there is that look on her face. The one that makes my stomach flip every time. Amused. Knowing.
“You’re smiling,” she says quietly.
I try to stop. I cannot. It’s there anyway, tugging at my mouth.
We reach the small on-call room at the end of the corridor. The light above it flickers slightly. She pushes the door open and we step inside. She shuts it gently behind us, careful not to let it click too loudly.
The silence lands heavy and she turns to face me fully.
Her eyes move slowly over me. My creased scrubs. The faint mark the mask has left across the bridge of my nose. Theexhaustion I know is written all over my face. I have not looked in a mirror since seven this morning but I can feel it.
“You look wrecked,” she says, softer now.
I step closer without thinking about it. Close enough that I can smell her shampoo. Close enough that I do not have to raise my voice.
“You look hot.”
She lets out a quiet laugh. The sound is low and warm and familiar. “Come here.”
I do not answer her with anything clever. I do not answer at all.
Instead, I move into her space until there is barely any between us. I place my hands on the wall on either side of her. Not trapping her. Just needing something solid to brace against. My forehead drops to hers and for a second I just breathe. Her skin is warm and comfortable.
The tension I have been carrying all day presses forward in that tiny gap between us. Every snide comment. Every glance. Every moment I swallowed something I wanted to say. It all feels closer to the surface here.
“I’ve missed you.” It comes out rougher than I expected.
Her hands slide up my arms slowly. Not rushed. Fingers pressing into muscle like she is checking I am still solid, stillhere. My body reacts before my brain does. My shoulders drop a fraction. My breathing steadies.
