Chapter 5
* * *
The elevator dinged softly as it reached the top floor of St. Augustine Medical Center, and Penny stepped out with a paper bag in hand and adrenaline in her bloodstream.
She’d already called his lead nurse. Baron’s schedule was clear for the next hour. He had blocked off his lunch—likely intending to spend it working through case notes or skipping it altogether like he always did.
Not today.
Today, she wasn’t asking permission.
Today, she had a plan.
But halfway down the corridor toward his private office, her body betrayed her.
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs.
The scent of antiseptic. The sterile white walls. The hushed voices and echoing heels down cold tile floors.
Her fingers clenched around the paper bag.
Her mind whispered memories of another office. Another man. Another time she had brought lunch, only to be met with sharp words and accusations.
“Who told you to come here?”
“Are you checking up on me?”
“Jesus, Penny, can’t you give me five minutes of peace without smothering me?”
She froze.
Just for a second.
The air felt too thin. Her throat too tight.
But then—Baron’s voice filtered through the frosted glass of his half-open door. Low, steady, calm. Talking to someone. Then a laugh. A real one.
That sound—his sound—cut through the panic like sunlight through fog.
Penny closed her eyes.
This is not him. This is not then. This is you, now.
She took a slow breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward.
The door was cracked. She knocked lightly before nudging it open.
Baron sat behind his desk, reading a thick binder of charts, one hand resting against his temple. The sleeves of his white coat were pushed up to his elbows, and his dress shirt was open at the collar. His reading glasses—those damn glasses—were perched on his nose like a sin.
He looked up.
And the moment his eyes met hers, the air shifted.
“Penny.”
Her name was a low hum, a welcome, a small prayer.
She stepped inside, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.
“I brought lunch,” she said, lifting the bag. “And no, it’s not takeout. I cooked. Real food. I didn’t burn it.”
He smiled, closing the binder slowly. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“You work too much. And you forget to eat. I figured I could kill two birds with one tray of lemon chicken and rice.”
He pushed his chair back, standing slowly. “You’re full of surprises.”
“Not done yet,” she said, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps.
Baron watched her—his gaze sharpening with every inch she closed between them. She saw it in his eyes: recognition, then curiosity, then something much darker.
Need.
She reached his desk and set the bag down gently.
Then—she moved around to his side.
His brows lifted just slightly. “Penny?”
She didn’t answer. Not right away.
She stepped into him, close enough that her scent—honeysuckle and honeyed skin—wrapped around him. Her fingers found his chest, steady and warm. Her voice was low when she spoke.
“I thought about you all morning.”
His hands twitched at his sides.
She slid her fingers up his chest, slow and sure. “I thought about how you touched me. How you looked at me like I was yours.”
He swallowed.
“And I told myself I was being ridiculous,” she whispered. “But the truth is, Baron, I didn’t come here just to feed you.”
She reached up and took off his glasses, setting them on his desk beside the binder.
“I came to seduce you.”
A sound escaped his throat—half laugh, half growl. “In my office?”
Her hand slid down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath the cotton. “You’ve got a lock on the door, don’t you?”
His mouth hovered just above hers now. “I do.”
“Then use it.”
Baron’s hand cupped the back of her neck, his thumb brushing the curve where her jaw met her ear.
“Are you sure?” he asked, voice strained. “Because once I start—”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
There was a long, breathless moment where time stopped spinning. Penny’s heart thundered, but it wasn’t from fear—it was from choice.
From taking control of her story again.
Then he kissed her—deep and consuming. All slow drag and rough heat. Her fingers fisted the front of his shirt. His hands gripped her waist, lifting her effortlessly until she was perched on the edge of his desk, knees bracketing his hips.
The papers scattered. The bag crinkled behind her. But she didn’t care.
Because he was looking at her like she was more than beautiful.
He was looking at her like she was his.
* * *
Baron broke the kiss just long enough to stride to the door, turning the lock with a decisive click that echoed through the office like a promise. When he turned back to her, his eyes had darkened to midnight blue, pupils blown wide with hunger.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this,” he confessed, voice rough as he moved back to her. “You, spread across my desk.”
His hands found her waist again, but this time they didn’t stay. They roamed, learning her curves through the thin fabric of her blouse. When his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts, she gasped.
“I’ve dreamed about those sounds,” he murmured against her neck. “The little noises you make when I touch you.”
His teeth grazed her pulse point, and Penny’s head fell back, giving him better access. Her fingers fumbled with his tie, tugging it loose with clumsy urgency.
“I need to feel you,” she whispered. “All of you.”
Baron’s mouth curved against her skin. “Patience.”
“I don’t have any left.”
He laughed—a dark, delicious sound that vibrated through her body. His hands found the buttons of her blouse, undoing them one by one with deliberate slowness. Each newly exposed inch of skin received his attention—a kiss, a touch, the scrape of his stubble.
When he reached the last button, he pushed the fabric from her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist. His breath caught at the sight of her lace-covered breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he said, reverence in his voice.
Penny reached behind her back, unhooking her bra in one fluid motion. The straps slid down her arms, and Baron’s eyes followed their descent like a man witnessing a miracle.
“Touch me,” she commanded softly.
He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands covered her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened into tight peaks. When he lowered his head to take one into his mouth, Penny moaned, her fingers threading through his thick hair.
The wet heat of his tongue sent jolts of electricity straight to her core. She arched into him, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more everything.
Baron seemed to understand. His hand slid up her thigh, beneath her skirt, finding the damp lace of her underwear. When his fingers traced her through the fabric, she nearly came undone.
“You’re so wet,” he groaned against her breast. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Only you.”
Something possessive flashed in his eyes. He hooked his fingers into her underwear and tugged it down her legs, letting it fall to the floor. Then he pushed her skirt up around her waist, exposing her completely.
Penny should have felt vulnerable, spread out on , but with Baron looking at her like that—like she was a goddess made flesh—she felt powerful. Invincible.
“I’ve wanted this since the moment I saw you,” he confessed, his voice a rasp of need as he pressed his palm against her center. The pressure was exquisite, perfect torture. “Wanted to know how you’d feel. How you’d taste.”
Without warning, he dropped to his knees before her, pulling her to the edge of the desk. His broad shoulders pushed her thighs wider, his hands gripping the soft flesh with a pressure that bordered on pain.
“Baron,” she whispered, half warning, half plea.
He looked up at her, eyes burning with intensity. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
“Don’t you dare.”
His smile was wolfish before he leaned forward and tasted her with one long, deliberate stroke of his tongue. Penny’s head fell back, a cry escaping her lips before she could stop it. His mouth was relentless, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks against her most sensitive spot.
“You taste like heaven,” he murmured against her, the vibration of his words sending shockwaves through her body.
Her fingers clutched at the edge of the desk, knuckles white as pleasure built inside her. When he slipped one finger inside her, then two, curling them to find that spot that made her see stars, she nearly shattered.
“Baron, please,” she gasped, her hips rocking against his mouth. “I need you inside me.”
He pulled back, his lips glistening with her arousal. “Not yet,” he growled. “I want to watch you come apart first.”
His tongue returned to her, working in tandem with his fingers until Penny was trembling on the edge. When he sucked her clit between his lips and hummed against her, the dam broke. Pleasure crashed through her in violent waves, her body convulsing as she cried out his name.
Before she could catch her breath, Baron was standing, tearing at his belt buckle with urgent fingers.
His white coat had been discarded, his shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing the taut muscles of his chest. The sight of him—composed, brilliant Dr. Baron Winters—coming undone for her was intoxicating.
“Condom,” she managed, her brain fighting through the haze of pleasure. They’d forgotten before, but she was on birth control.
A flash of frustration crossed his face. “I don’t—” He shook his head. “I don’t have one here.”
They stared at each other, both breathing hard.
“Are you—” he started.
“Clean? Yes,” she finished. “You?”
“Absolutely. I get tested regularly.”
“And I’m on the pill,” she said, though her last dose had been late—a detail that slipped away under the weight of her need.
For a heartbeat, they hesitated on the precipice of something dangerous and irrevocable. Then Penny reached for him, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and pulling him between her thighs.
“I want to feel you,” she whispered against his mouth. “All of you.”