Evie kissed down Maggie’s jaw, bit along her neck, and Maggie groaned, arching into the pressure. She yanked open the buttons of Evie’s jeans—screw the awkward angle, screw the logistics, she was precise, she could manage this, and Evie made it easier by shifting, writhing into her hands.
“Fuck, I missed you tonight,” Evie whispered, teeth grazing the soft skin just below Maggie’s ear. Maggie’s hands trembled, really shook, as she slid them under the waistband of Evie’s jeans, found the heat there, the slick that told her exactly how much this was needed, how much the last six weeks had sucked for both of them.
“You’re shaking,” Evie said, and her voice was half-mocking, half-fond.
“Not—” Maggie meant to saynot cold, but her breath caught as Evie’s own hand slipped inside her blouse, found the lace of her bra, and tugged at her nipple with just the right brutal lack of finesse. Maggie bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Evie was grinding down against her, urgent, rhythm messy and uncoordinated with the seat belt digging into her side, and Maggie gave up on grace, used two fingers to slide into her, feeling Evie’s whole body tense and then collapse against her chest.
They moved together, Evie’s hand pinning Maggie’s face, their mouths never far apart, words stuttered between gasps:
“Jesus, Maggie, you?—”
“Fuck—Evie, just?—”
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t?—”
Maggie couldn’t have stopped if the whole staff of Oakridge caught them in the act. She curled her fingers and Evie choked out a sound, almost a sob, clinging so hard Maggie was sure she’d leave bruises.
The windows fogged over, fast and dense, their breath clouding the interior in a private universe. The overhead garage light lent everything a strange, surgical clarity: Evie’s hair spilling over her shoulders, the frantic clutch of her thighs around Maggie’s hips, the look in her eyes as she came—unguarded, wild, as if she couldn’t believe any of it was real.
“God, you’re—” Evie gasped, breaking off as a spasm rocked her.
Maggie lost herself in the sound, in the heat and the pressure and the fact that she, the ever-controlled, ever-collected Dr. Laurel, had lost all sense of time and place and propriety. She wanted to chase Evie’s orgasm with her own, needed it, but what she needed more was the look on Evie’s face as she unraveled, the way Evie whispered her name again and again, as if it were an answer to everything that had hurt since November.
When it was over, Evie collapsed, forehead pressed to Maggie’s shoulder, shuddering with aftershocks and laughter.
“Four more months,” Evie said, voice muffled by Maggie’s hair.
Maggie managed to laugh, weak and wrecked and elated. “Four more months, and then we do this wherever we want. Whenever we want.”
“I plan on it,” Evie said, and then she was kissing Maggie again, softer this time, lips gentle but possessive.
Maggie let her. Let herself feel the luxury of belonging, of being wanted without restriction. She traced the line of Evie’s jaw, the soft spot behind her ear, memorizing everything.
Eventually, reality intruded—the steamed windows, the dim echo of footsteps somewhere in the garage, the absolute state of their clothing. Maggie reached up, refastened a button, tried to smooth Evie’s hair, and Evie laughed, a bright note in the gloom.
“You look like you just ran a marathon,” she said.
“That’s because I have,” Maggie replied, voice hoarse. “Now get out before I drag you into the backseat and finish what I started.”
Evie smirked, “wow, you’re really full of it tonight, I like it.”
“I’m starting to feel more like myself again. Get in your car,” she called over her shoulder. “Follow me home. I need you.”
Maggie watched her disappear into the darkness, heart still hammering in her chest.
She started the engine, hands shaking as she gripped the wheel, and when she pulled out onto the street, she kept her eyes glued to the taillights of the car in front, as if letting Evie out of her sight for even a second would be too much to bear.
They drove separately through the Los Angeles night, Maggie watching Evie’s taillights the entire way, anticipation building with every mile.
The week after the holiday party, everything changed.
It started with a close call on a Wednesday morning.
Maggie was reviewing charts in a quiet hallway near the administrative wing, tablet balanced on one arm while she made notes with the other. The early morning shift change meant most people were either in conference or already on rounds—this corridor was usually empty at 6:45 AM.
Usually.
