Anya
The doors hissed shut behind us, and the noise of the department vanished as if someone had flipped a switch inside my skull.
Silence.
Real silence — not the fake kind you get between monitor alarms or charting clicks — but the kind that presses against your ears until you remember you have a body again.
I made it to the car on autopilot. My shoulders ached. My brain felt hollowed out from being sharp and steady and unshakable for twelve straight hours. I tossed my bag into the backseat and leaned my forehead against the cool metal of the roof for one second longer than necessary.
I had not touched him all night.
Not a brush of fingers. Not a glance that lingered. Not a quiet check-in when he shifted his weight, and I knew his leg was bothering him. Every instinct I had learned — every piece of muscle memory built between us — had been forced into silence.
I climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door. The quiet inside the car wrapped around me like a blanket.
He got in a second later. The door closed. The world shrank. We sat there. Hands still. Eyes forward. Breathing like strangers. My chest felt too tight.
“I thought I was going to lose my mind,” I said finally, voice small and rough from exhaustion. “When you walked into Trauma One and didn’t even look at me.”
He turned his head slowly. “Of course I looked, honey,” he said. “Just… not the way I wanted to.”
I turned toward him, and the distance between us felt obscene — a physical ache that had been building all night without somewhere to go. His face looked older in the soft morning light. Tired. Controlled. Holding so much behind his eyes.
His hand slid across the console and wrapped around my wrist — warm, steady, grounding.
His grip tightened, thumb pressing into the pulse point at my wrist, and I felt the dam break. All night, I'd been a ghost in my own skin — watching him move through the chaos of the ER, his prosthetic leg making that subtle hitch in his step that only I noticed, only I wanted to ease.
But HR's warning had chained us both, turning every stolen glance into a spark we couldn't ignite. No teasing whispers in the break room, no playful brushes when passing instruments. Just professional distance, and it had driven me insane.
Now, in the dim glow of the parking lot lamps filtering through the windows, his control shattered. He yanked me across the console, my body twisting toward him as his mouth crashed into mine. His lips were rough, demanding, tongue thrusting past my teeth as if he'd been starving for this.
I gasped into the kiss, hands fisting in his scrub top, pulling him closer even as the gear shift dug into my hip. A soft whimper escaped me at the intensity, my body melting against his.
“Fuck the rules,” he growled against my mouth, his free hand sliding up my thigh, bunching the fabric of my pants.
His fingers dug in hard, possessive, as if he were reclaiming every inch he’d been denied.
“You were incredible tonight, you know that?
Handled that multi-car pileup like a goddamn pro — calm, precise, saving lives while I had to pretend you weren't the sexiest doctor in the building.”
“Just the building?” I teased as I nodded against his shoulder, heat flooding my cheeks as his words hit home, my pussy clenching with fresh need. “Desmond…” I breathed, the sound half-moan, half-plea, urging him to keep going.
“Couldn't flirt, couldn't even smile at you the way I wanted,” he continued, voice low and gravelly as he nipped at my earlobe.
I shivered, tilting my head to give him better access, a quiet hum of agreement vibrating in my throat.
“But watching you stitch up that laceration? The way you focused, steady hands, no hesitation... fuck, it made me hard under the table. You owned that trauma bay.”
He didn't wait. With a swift motion, he released my wrist only to shove the seat back, creating just enough space. His prosthetic leg brushed against my calf as he maneuvered.
It was a reminder of his limits, but it only made him hungrier, more insistent.
He hauled me over the console and into the backseat in one fluid pull, my body sprawling across the leather with him on top, his weight pinning me down.
I moaned softly at the sudden shift, my legs parting instinctively to welcome him.
The car rocked slightly as we settled, his knee — the good one — wedging between my legs while the prosthetic one stayed planted awkwardly to the side, limiting how he could spread.
But Desmond didn't care; he ground his hips against mine, his hard cock straining through his pants, rubbing right against my core.
I cried out, a sharp whimper following as pleasure sparked through me, my hips bucking up to chase more.
"Been thinking about this all fucking night," he muttered, yanking my scrub top up and over my head, tossing it aside.
His mouth latched onto my breast, sucking hard on my nipple through the thin bra lace before shoving it down to expose me fully.
Teeth grazed the sensitive peak, sending jolts straight to my clit.
I arched into him with a gasp, fingers threading through his hair, nodding as his praise washed over me. "You led that code like a boss — calling shots, keeping everyone on track. I was so proud of you, but I couldn't tell you. Had to bite my tongue while you shone."
"Yes... oh god, yes," I panted, my voice breaking into a moan as his tongue swirled around the hardened bud, the validation making my core throb even harder.
He fumbled with my pants, scrubs rasping in the confined space, and shoved them down my hips along with my underwear.
Cool air hit my bare skin, but his hand was there immediately, palm cupping my pussy, fingers sliding through the slick mess.
"So wet for me already," he said, voice thick with lust, two fingers plunging inside me without warning.
I cried out, clenching around the intrusion, my walls fluttering as he pumped them deep and fast, a whimper tearing from my lips at the sudden fullness.
"God, the way you handled those consults — confident, brilliant. No wonder the residents look up to you. I wanted to pull you aside and say it, but HR... fuck HR. You deserved to hear how amazing you were."
I nodded again, biting my lip to stifle another moan, but it escaped anyway as his thumb circled my clit; body trembling under his touch. "It... it meant so much," I whispered, hips rolling to meet his hand, my responsiveness spurring him on.
The prosthetic leg made him shift his weight carefully — he couldn't kneel fully, so he braced his good leg against the seat, using his arms to hold himself up as he finger-fucked me.
It added an edge to his movements, a deliberate intensity born from adaptation, making every thrust of his hand feel earned and powerful.
Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort, but his eyes burned into mine, dark and feral, filled with admiration as much as hunger.
"Desmond — please," I begged, hips rolling to meet his fingers, chasing the friction, a desperate whimper underscoring my words. He withdrew them abruptly, the wet sound obscene in the quiet car, and I whimpered at the loss, nodding eagerly as he moved to free himself.
But then he was undoing his own pants, freeing his cock — thick and veined, tip already leaking pre-cum. He stroked himself once, twice, before positioning at my entrance.
With a grunt, he pushed in, the stretch burning so good as he filled me inch by inch. His prosthesis limited his thrust at first — he had to angle his hips just right, rocking forward with controlled force — but once he was buried deep, he set a brutal pace.
The car filled with the slap of skin on skin, my back arching off the seat as he fucked me hard, each thrust pinning me deeper into the cushions. I moaned loudly, my hands clutching his shoulders, nodding through the haze of pleasure as his words kept coming.
"Couldn't touch you, couldn't tease you like I used to," he panted, one hand gripping my thigh to hold me open, the other braced above my head.
"Watched you bend over that chart... wanted to bend you over right there and tell you how fucking perfect you are at this job.
The way you anticipated every move in surgery prep?
Seamless. You're unstoppable, and it kills me that I couldn't show you how much that turns me on. "
His words dissolved into a groan as I clenched around him, my nails raking down his back, a breathless "Thank you" slipping out between moans. The awkward angle of his leg made him lean into me more, his chest pressing against my breasts, trapping the heat between us.
I wrapped my legs around his waist as best I could, mindful of the prosthetic — smooth and unyielding where flesh would give — but it only heightened the sensation, the contrast of his warm body and the cool firmness.
He slammed into me harder, hitting that spot inside that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
"You did it all without breaking, without letting the tension show," he rasped, his pace faltering slightly as his prosthetic shifted, forcing him to adjust with a powerful roll of his hips.
"Held it together better than anyone. That's my girl — strong, and now, all mine to praise properly. "
"Yours," I whimpered in response, nodding vigorously, my moans growing louder as the coil tightened inside me.
My orgasm built fast, coiling tight from the night's denial and his relentless words, and when it hit, I shattered, pussy spasming around his cock, milking him as I screamed his name, body shuddering with aftershocks.
Desmond followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, his release flooding me hot and thick. He collapsed partially onto me, breathing ragged, the prosthetic leg twitching slightly as he adjusted to catch his balance. We lay there tangled, the windows fogged, the world outside forgotten.
After a beat, he lifted his head, smirking through the exhaustion. "Worth getting caught for. And seriously, you were a force tonight. Next shift, even if I can't say it, know I'm thinking it."
I laughed breathlessly, tracing the line of his jaw, nodding with a soft smile. "Next shift's gonna be torture."
His eyes darkened again. "Good. Builds character. But damn, you make it look easy."