Chapter 3 – Lance #2
"This." Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "Make me want you when I don't want to want you."
I didn't think.
Didn't fucking hesitate.
I crashed my mouth against hers.
I'd spent a month pretending I could let her go. But the truth was simpler, darker . What was mine would always be mine—whether she admitted it or not.
My hands found Morgan's face, framing it, tilting it up, and I devoured her lips—hot, urgent, desperate. The world around us faded until there was nothing but her, the taste of her, the feel of her under my hands.
She gasped against my lips, her body going stiff for half a second before she melted into me, her fingers fisting in my shirt, yanking me closer. The rough hospital wall scraped against my knuckles as I pressed her back against it, needing to feel more of her, all of her.
I groaned, deep and guttural, because fuck, I'd needed this. Needed her. It didn't matter that it was a mistake. That I had no right. She tasted like champagne and recklessness, like something I'd never be able to have but was stupid enough to take anyway.
My back hit the door, the dull thud echoing in the small on-call room. All I could feel was her—the press of her body, the soft curves molding against the hard planes of mine, the way she sighed into my mouth like she needed me just as much as I needed her.
A monitor beeped somewhere down the hall. The distant sound of nurses' shoes squeaking against linoleum. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead. None of it mattered.
I deepened the kiss, sweeping my tongue against hers, swallowing the little sound she made when I sucked her bottom lip between my teeth. My hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips, dragging her against me so she could feel exactly what she did to me.
She gasped, breaking away for half a second, her lips slick and swollen, eyes wide and dark with want.
"Jesus, Lance," she breathed, her fingers tightening in my shirt, wrinkling the expensive fabric.
"You started this," I rasped, voice rough like I'd swallowed gravel.
Her eyes flashed, that fire I'd missed so goddamn much. " You kissed me ."
"Yeah," I muttered, gaze locked on her mouth. "And I'm not fucking stopping."
I yanked her back against me, catching her mouth again, drinking her in like a dying man. The heat between us could have set the whole hospital ablaze. A month of wanting, of aching, of trying to forget what we'd had—all of it exploded in this moment.
I needed more.
I pushed my hands beneath her scrub top, skimming over smooth, warm skin, feeling the way her stomach trembled beneath my touch. She was so soft, so perfect—every inch of her designed to drive me insane.
She shivered, her breath hitching, and then her nails scraped up my abs, teasing at the waistband of my jeans. The sensation shot straight to my cock, already hard and straining against my zipper.
I groaned, the sound primal and rough.
"Fuck, Morgan?—"
She didn't let me finish.
She kissed me harder, her tongue sweeping against mine, her body pressing up onto her toes to get closer. The smell of antiseptic and hospital soap couldn't mask her, couldn't hide the heady scent that was uniquely Morgan.
I couldn't think.
Didn't want to.
I grabbed her thighs and lifted her effortlessly, before turning and pressing her hard against the door. The wood creaked in protest, but I barely noticed it over the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
She gasped, her arms wrapping around my neck, her legs around my waist, locking me against her core. The black thong I'd caught a glimpse of earlier was the only thing between us, and even through my jeans, I could feel her heat.
And fuck, fuck, fuck—I could feel her wetness, the damp press of her against my cock, even through the fabric between us.
My self-control was hanging by a thread.
A thin, fraying thread.
I was so far gone. I didn’t care what happened right now. Or what we pretended to feel. She was mine. I wanted her back. I wasn’t letting her walk away. Not this time.
I rolled my hips against her, grinding my erection against her center, and she let out the sweetest fucking moan, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging sharply. The mixture of pleasure and pain nearly sent me over the edge.
"Lance," she whispered, breathless, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire.
My forehead dropped against hers, my hands tightening on her ass. "Tell me you want this, Spitfire."
I growled, sliding my hands down, yanking her leggings and thong to the side, the desperate part of me already reaching for my belt, fumbling with the buckle. My fingers were clumsy with urgency, the metal clinking as I fought with it.
Just outside the door, a cart rattled by. Voices passed. The real world trying to intrude on this bubble we'd created.
I lined myself up, my cock brushing against her entrance, slick and so fucking hot. The head of me just barely pushed inside, and I nearly came right there, just from that first touch of her wrapped around me.
Her breath stuttered.
Her body shook.
And then?—
She froze.
I felt it immediately.
Her fingers tensed against my shoulders, nails digging into my skin.
Her breathing went shallow, chest rising and falling rapidly.
And then, in a voice so quiet, so uncertain, she whispered?—
"Stop."
Everything in me locked up and I went still.
My body screamed to keep going, to push forward, to take, but my hands were already loosening on her hips, my cock pulling back, my forehead pressing hard against hers as I forced myself to breathe through the fire burning through my veins.
"Okay," I murmured, my voice rough, raw. “I’m sorry, spitfire. I’m sorry.”
I set her down gently, my hands steady even though I felt like I was shaking from the inside out. Her feet touched the ground, but I kept my arms on either side of her, not ready to let her go completely.
Morgan sucked in a ragged breath, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. A strand of hair had fallen across her face, and I fought the urge to brush it back, to touch her again.
I searched her face, aching to understand what had changed, what had broken the spell.
"Did you ever intend to give me full disclosure?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
The question hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. Of course. This wasn't just about sex, about wanting. This was about trust. About the secrets that had torn us apart.
A sharp pain shot through my chest.
I clenched my jaw, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "You know what I’m capable of," I said quietly. My voice was flat. Hollow. "Would you ever accept that?"
Her eyes flickered with something I couldn't fucking name—fear, regret, longing, all of it mixed together in a cocktail I couldn't decipher.
Then, with shaking fingers, she straightened her clothes, swiped a trembling hand through her hair, and stumbled toward the door. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her face, highlighting the conflict in her eyes.
She didn't say another word. She was just gone, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that felt like a knife to the gut.
I let my head fall back against the wall, dragging in one ragged, uneven breath after another. The antiseptic smell of the hospital filled my lungs, replacing her scent, reminding me where I was, what I was doing here.
Everything inside me was still aching for her.
Still burning.
But I wasn't just physically frustrated.
I was furious with myself.
I was a fucking monster.
And still?—
I couldn't stay away. Like an addict.
The second my phone buzzed in my pocket, I knew something was wrong. It was like a sixth sense, honed over years of looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I yanked it out, barely glancing at the screen.
A text came in then as I tried to get some blood back to the head on my shoulders.
Pierce: Possible security breach at the hospital. Gwen’s floor. Everybody sweep.
Fuck me.
I called Silas as I yanked open the door.
He picked up immediately. "Talk to me."
"I've got a security breach at the hospital. I'm taking care of it, but I might need clean up. 14th floor."
Silas swore, the sound sharp and violent in my ear. "I’ll send someone to mop it up, but try not to leave too much blood. Do you need backup?"
"Don't need it. Besides Pendragon Security is already here." I was already halfway down the hall, pushing through the stairwell door, the heavy metal slamming against the concrete wall.
And then I felt it. A shift in the air. Someone was here.
The stairwell was dimly lit, emergency lights casting eerie shadows across the concrete steps. The air was cooler here, stale with the scent of dust and disinfectant. My footsteps echoed as I moved down, eyes scanning the shadows.
Movement on the landing below.
I didn't hesitate. I moved silently, staying on the balls of my feet. But instead of running, the fucker was waiting for me, leaning against the railing with calculated nonchalance. Tall, muscular, with the dead eyes of someone who'd seen—and done—too much.
The second he saw me, his lips curled into a cold smile.
"Well, well," he drawled, straightening up. "Not who I expected to see, but I'm happy to kill you just the same."
What the hell ?
His hand shot toward his pocket.
Weapon .
I was on him before he could grab it, my body moving on pure instinct, muscle memory taking over. My fist slammed into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. He staggered back, gasping, but recovered quickly, bringing his knee up in a swift jab toward my groin.
I twisted, avoiding the blow, and caught him with an uppercut that snapped his head back. Blood sprayed from his nose, spattering across the concrete wall.
"I’ve been waiting for this," he spat, blood trickling down his chin. "The infamous French Devil. I got to you easily enough."