#bedannibal

So, they had stumbled, giddy as teenagers, to the elevators. His hands were everywhere, roaming her backside, fingering the curls of her hair. They’d kissed again in the solitude of the lift and she’d moaned as he’d pressed her up against the metallic wall, so lost in the moment they’d nearly missed their floor.

Hannibal made short work of the door, dragging her into his lavish suite. She kicked off her heels and all but launched herself into his lap as he reclined in one of the room’s pastel-colored armchairs. She ground against him, kissing him. She was so wild, so wanton, so hungry.

His lips traced the shell of her ear and he breathed, “Yes, yes. Oh, Doctor.”

Bedelia froze, stunned.

This was not an evening of passion between two colleagues. It was a tryst between a doctor and patient. She had been a fool to think otherwise.

“I…I need to go, Hannibal. We can’t.”

He looks at her, disappointment darkening the black pools of his eyes. “Why not?”

“You know why,” she says with emphasis.

“I respectfully disagree.” He releases his hold on her and she slides off his lap, collecting her shoes, wrapping herself in what is left of her tattered professionalism.