#dr pierre

Stone exhaled heavily, stretching his arms towards his mother as he stepped forward to pull her into a warm embrace.

"I'm afraid I’ll have to rescind my offer of breakfast, Mom. I’ve got a patient to attend to—you know how it is with doctors and our oaths." His smile reached his eyes, even as Monica glared up at him.

Grudgingly, she returned his hug. "Fine. But we have dinner with the Joneses on Friday evening, and I expect you to be there."

He nodded solemnly. "No problem, ma. Take care on your way home." He gave her a gentle squeeze before letting go.

She picked up her bag and headed toward the door, Regina following behind.

"Uh, Regina?" Stone reached out and caught her arm lightly, stopping her before she stepped outside. "I just wanted to apologize. I don’t know what my mom’s up to, but you don’t deserve to be caught in anyone’s game. I hope you enjoy your holiday."

Regina chuckled softly, stepping a little closer to him. "I think you’re misunderstanding, Stoney. I’m not a pawn—and this isn’t your mother’s game. I like you. I’ve liked you for a very long time. You’re the reason I went to medical school. And now I’m back… for good."

His throat tightened. “Regina…”

She cut him off, her eyes glinting with the confidence of a woman who has never been turned down. "I always get what I want, Stoney. And now... all I want is you."

She smiled sweetly, tucking back her hair behind her ear. "Say hi to your ex-girlfriend for me."

Then she turned on her heel and was gone.

Stone stood stunned for a few seconds, his mouth agape, before shaking his head and quietly shutting the door. When he turned back, Andrea was watching him.

He crossed the room in quick strides and pulled her into his arms, even as she lifted her hands to push him away.

“Andy… baby. Look at me.” His voice was low, almost pleading. He tried to meet her eyes, but she turned her face, trying to hide her pain. “I don’t know what all that craziness was about, but it has nothing to do with me. You’re where I want to be. Right here. With you.”

Andrea sniffed, cursing herself for the tears she couldn’t hold back. “Your mother seems to want her for you as well.”

“My mother doesn’t get to choose who I love.”

Andrea stilled in his arms. “Love?”

He hesitated, then let out a breath. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I love you, Andy. I think I have since that first day in the ER. I just—” He gave a short, helpless laugh. “I didn’t know how to say it without screwing it up.”

Andrea wiped her nose on his shirt. “Well, what took you so long to try?”

Stone smiled, a little sheepishly. “You know me. I do better showing stuff than saying it. I got you some crackers and Sprite, chips, olives—half the supermarket’s in the kitchen. Let’s get something in you, then we’ll grab your stuff.”

Andrea nodded. “You need to change that shirt, though.”

The face he made at her finally drew a laugh, the last of her worry melting away with it.

Stone dropped Andrea in front of the hospital, then pulled away to find a parking spot. Meetings swallowed the rest of his morning, and by lunch, he couldn't wait to see her.

He walked to her station to take her out to go eat and noticed a chubby nurse at her desk, avoiding eye contact.

“Hello. Where is Andrea?” Stone asked.

The nurse glanced up briefly, then back at her screen. “She is not here anymore. She was moved to the nurses’ station downstairs.”

Stone’s jaw tightened. “Who authorized that move? Never mind.” He strode toward Chester’s office and pushed the door open without knocking.

Chester looked up with a smug grin. “Good afternoon, Doctor Pierre. To what do I owe this rare honor?”

Stone planted both hands on the desk, knuckles white. “Where is she?”

Chester feigned innocence. “Who?”

“You know who. Andrea. I was told she was moved.”

“Isn’t that the nursing supervisor’s job?” Chester replied, pleasantly evasive.

“You are the Director of Nursing, Chester. You made that call.”

“It seemed inappropriate to leave her at that station after the incident,” Chester said, folding his hands. “We needed to reduce risk.”

Stone shoved forward until his face was inches from Chester’s. Anger hummed through him. “Did you not understand what happened in that conference room? I can bury you.”

Chester did not flinch. “The janitor in that unfortunate video has been sacked, Stoney.”

Stone’s head snapped back. “You fired her?”

“Me?” Chester spread his hands. “I do not have that authority. HR handled it after I reported the indiscretion. You underestimate me, Stone. Your father does, too. I may not be able to touch him, but you are a different matter. You are spoiled and entitled, a man used to things bending to his will.”

He rose slowly, meeting Stone eye to eye despite the height difference. “I will crush you, Stone Pierre. Do you know how many enemies you made in that conference room? This is only the beginning.”

Chester sat down again and turned back to his computer. “If there is nothing else, I have important matters to attend to.”

Stone moved toward the door, stunned. He and Chester have never liked each other, but he was only starting to understand how deep the man's hatred went.

Chester called after him, voice even. “Don’t worry. One of the doctors in that area was recommended by your father and started this morning.”

Stone glanced over his shoulder in time to see the malicious smile grow. “Dr. Regina Jones will take good care of your little girlfriend.”

next

Stone smiled at the sound of her soft footsteps. She was trying to sneak up on him. He let her think she had.

His exaggerated shock when she wrapped her arms around him gave him away.

"You heard me, didn't you?" she whispered, nipping at his earlobe.

He shivered in her touch, which made her smile. She affected him so easily.

"Stealth is not your strength."

She gasped and smacked his shoulder. "Are you saying I’m heavy?"

He caught her wrist and tugged her into his lap, music forgotten. Burying his face in her neck, he inhaled deeply, his hands roaming the lines of her body. "You’re perfect."

She was already melting in his arms, her playful anger dissolving like mist. "You’re too good with words." She kissed him full on the lips. "I have to go."

Stone blinked, raising a brow. "Go where?"

Andrea laughed. "Uhmm, my house? I don’t live here."

He stared at her like she’d just told him the sky wasn’t blue. "Really?"

She laughed harder, shoving at his face playfully. "Stop it. These two weeks have been heavenly. But I’m resuming work tomorrow. I need to prepare."

Stone tightened his arms around her waist. "You can go from here."

Andrea’s smile faltered at the seriousness in his tone. "Wh–what are you saying?"

His gaze didn’t waver. "I’m asking you to live with me. These two weeks gave me a glimpse of what life with you would be like, and I want more. Stay."

Her jaw dropped. Stone leaned in, his voice dropping to that sultry register that turned her brain to mush. "Live with me, Andrea. Please?"

Their lips were almost touching when her stomach growled. She pulled back, embarrassed, as he chuckled and set her down gently.

"I made breakfast," he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the kitchen.

A wave of scents hit her, making her dizzy. She stopped short.

"I think I have a stomach bug. I've been queasy. I don't think I can eat that, sorry."

His palm was on her forehead in an instant. "When did this start? Fever? Dizziness?" He turned as if to fetch the first aid kit.

Andrea tugged him back, laughing softly. "I'm fine, doctor. I just need something light. Maybe Sprite."

He made a face. "Soda?"

"Please don't go all health freak on me. Right now that's the only thing I can keep down."

He sighed in defeat. "Fine, but I don't keep poison in my house. I'll grab some for you."

She rose on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I knew there was a reason I love you."

The words slipped out before she could stop them. His body went rigid.

They had been together nearly a year, but neither had said it. She knew she was in love with him, but she had been waiting for him to say it first.

A bead of sweat formed on her brow. She adjusted her bonnet and wiped at imaginary drool on her jaw, pretending nothing had happened.

Stone opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, then closed it again. Without another word he grabbed his jacket and left.

Andrea stood in the silence, her heart thudding. She had given voice to her feelings, and whether he returned them or not, they were hers.

She curled up on her favorite couch with a reality show, still giddy with the mix of joy and shame, when the front door opened.

"Did you forget something?" she called out.

"And who might you be?"

Andrea turned. An elegantly dressed woman in her late fifties stood by the door. Her complexion was warm caramel, her cheekbones and lips an exact match to Stone's. Andrea didn't need an introduction.

Monica Pierre looked at the barely clad young woman in her son's apartment. Stone had never mentioned a girlfriend. Yet she knew her son was too disciplined to entertain a casual fling.

Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

Andrea swallowed. "I'm Andrea. Stone is my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

The word came from the younger woman at Monica's side. Andrea hadn't even noticed her until that moment, too shocked by the mother standing in the doorway.

Monica silenced the other woman with a glance before addressing Andrea again. "Where is my son?"

"He stepped out. He'll be back soon."

"Good." Monica gestured for the younger woman to sit, then took a seat herself.

Andrea hovered, unsure what to do. "Can I get you something to drink?"

The younger woman scoffed, but Monica replied calmly. "This is my son's home. I don't need anyone to offer me anything. But thank you for asking. You have good manners."

Andrea nodded slowly and slipped back to the bedroom to put on clothes, her mind racing.

Stone entered his apartment, arms loaded with bags—every possible option for Andrea’s unsettled stomach.

The sight of his mother froze him mid-step. “Mom?”

Monica rose with effortless grace, hugging her son before eyeing the bags. He kissed her cheek quickly and disappeared into the kitchen to unload. When he returned, she was studying him with an expression he couldn’t place.

He laughed uneasily. “What?”

“There’s something different about you,” she said at last, before turning toward the young woman at her side. A bright smile lifted her lips. “You remember Regina?”

Regina offered her hand. Stone shook it politely, firm and brief, before glancing back at his mother. “Who is she?”

“Stoney? It’s me.” Regina’s voice held a touch of disbelief. “Regina Jones. Reggie?”

Recognition lit his eyes. “Little Reggie? The chubby girl with the missing tooth?”

She gave a rueful smile. “She grew up.”

And she had. The awkward girl he remembered had returned as a statuesque beauty, tall, elegant, curves and legs that drew the eye.

Stone’s grin softened. “Well, we have a lot to catch up on. Let’s do that over breakfast. I made a spread for my girlfriend, but she wasn’t up for it.” He turned toward the bedroom, missing the flicker of disappointment across Regina’s face. “Have you met her yet?”

Monica’s voice cut through the air. “Stone.”

He paused. Her tone was cool, commanding.

“Can we have this moment between us as family?” she said smoothly. “She can join us… after.”

Stone’s brows furrowed. “What are you saying?”

Monica’s gaze pinned him. “I do not know who that woman is. Until I am properly and formally introduced, I will not sit and break bread with her as though she were family.”

His mouth tightened. “And Regina here—she’s family?”

Monica’s smile raised the hairs on his nape. “Soon.”

The word hung in the air.

From the bedroom doorway, Andrea froze. She had been ready to pop out the moment she heard Stone’s voice, but the sight of him with the young woman rooted her to the spot.

Side by side, they looked like they belonged together. Like she fit into his world in a way Andrea suddenly wasn’t sure she did.

Her stomach clenched hard, and it had nothing to do with hunger. She was too worldly not to understand what was happening.

Her chest tightened, her vision blurred. She spun away before anyone could notice and stumbled into the bathroom, heaving into the toilet for the second time that morning.

A series of things had made Andrea decide it would be a bad day, even before she opened her door.

She’d slept so deeply that she rolled right off the left side of her bed—a wide, queen-sized mattress Pierre had bought her after spending one uncomfortable night crammed into her student-sized bed. He hadn’t complained, but it was a hilariously sorry sight: six-foot-three, 250-pound Pierre curled awkwardly to one side, holding himself stiff to avoid suffocating her in his sleep.

The next morning, he’d gotten up, brushed his teeth, and driven straight to a mattress store. He bought the bed, the frame, and the fixtures -- then assembled it himself while she sat watching him like something out of a dream.

“It’s more for my sake than yours,” he’d muttered.

Andrea picked herself off the floor, still groggy, and limped to the kitchen for coffee. She had just set the timer on the machine and turned to leave when she stubbed her toe hard against the narrow counter by the kitchen wall.

That woke her right up.

She exhaled slowly, shaking off the rising tide of dread.

You're alright, she told herself. You’re alright.

One month without a job.

For the first time in her life, she was completely dependent on a man. And no matter how much she loved Pierre, she couldn’t stop the creeping resentment and self-loathing. She’d spent her whole life relying on no one but herself.

Pierre had given her a credit card, loaded her account with money - because he knew she’d rather crack an egg down her throat than ask him for help.

This morning’s little disasters - falling out of bed, stubbing her toe -felt like echoes of her state of mind. She fought to keep the storm inside from spilling out.

Coffee in hand, she stepped out for her morning jog, only to catch sight of the mailman leaving her property.

Normally, she’d wait till after her run to check the mail. But something made her turn back.

Right on top of the pile was the last thing she ever expected to see with her name on it:

Disciplinary Summons.

Her stomach dropped. Her knees gave out.

She sank to the grass, clutching the envelope, the tears coming hot and fast. Bile crept up her throat as she tried to breathe.

How could the one beautiful thing in her life cause so much of a nightmare?

______________________________________________________________

Andrea curled into the corner of her one-seater, arms wrapped around her knees, the letter spread open on a side stool like a messenger from hell.

It was from the hospital.

Slightly better than a summons from the nursing disciplinary board—but not by much. Having other directors from her hospital involved meant her career was on the line.

Apparently, quietly dismissing her wasn't enough; they wanted to make an example of her, didn't they?

Her phone buzzed.

Stoney.

She let it ring out.

It buzzed again.

And again.

With a sigh, she shut it off.

Then, before she could lose her nerve, she stood and packed a bag. Called a friend. Asked them to come get her.

She had a week to prepare her defense for the hearing.

The letter made one thing clear: only she had been summoned.

Of course.

No one would dare summon the son of the board Chairman over something like this. Not when that child was the head surgeon, a brilliant surgeon in his own right.

Pierre was untouchable.

She, on the other hand, was disposable. A scapegoat.

"I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of this."

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the sound of his voice from her head.

She was doing so well before he entered her life. And now… now she was about to lose everything for the simple crime of loving him.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Pierre paced his office, phone clutched so tight the screen had started to crack. His rolled-up sleeves revealed the veins along his forearms, throbbing with barely contained fury.

He had confronted Chester Murray—the weasel who had propositioned Andrea—in the hospital parking lot a week ago. Blocked him in with his car, then stepped down to join him in the stifling space of his own vehicle.

He had bared his teeth in what might’ve passed for a smile, though there was no warmth behind it.

“I’d like you to rescind Andrea’s sack letter,” Pierre said evenly. “Take it up with me. It was my fault.”

Chester had cocked his head, an oily glint in his eyes. “Did you rape her?”

“No,” Pierre ground out, the word a stone in his throat.

“Then I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. She made her choice.”

“I’ll take the fall,” Pierre said. “Punish me. Not her.”

Chester gave a slow shrug. “Unless you forced her to do something against her will…” He let the silence finish the rest.

That’s when Pierre knew. This wasn’t about Andrea at all.

He stepped out of the car, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every muscle in his body bunched and uncoiled as he summoned every ounce of restraint—medical training, martial discipline, everything—to keep from shattering Chester’s nose.

Instead, he leaned back in, calm and cold.

“I’m not good at hospital politics, Murray. That’s my father’s arena. I’m a physical man. And I’m telling you now—leave Andrea out of whatever sick game you’re playing. If I have to come after you again, it won’t be with words.”

Chester held his gaze, smug smirk barely hidden behind silence.

Pierre pulled out of the lot, watching him drive off in the rearview mirror.

Now in his office, he tried Andrea again, his calls going to voicemail once more. As much as he wanted to drive straight to her place, he needed to have more than words to offer her this time.

He couldn't even ask her to be with him; his lust had given Chester the opening he needed. He had to find a way to give Andrea her life back, or he would never forgive himself.

“So, you’re apparently the new hospital slut,” were the director’s first words as she stepped into his office.

Andrea blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb.” His lips curled into a sneer. “I heard the whole thing. Pierre was rutting into you like an animal, and you—well, you seemed to enjoy it thoroughly.”

Her stomach twisted. This couldn’t be real. She had heard rumors about harassment at the hospital but had never been on the receiving end of it. Her relationship with Dr. Pierre was mutual, consensual, and—she now realized—recklessly unprofessional. Still, nothing prepared her for this degradation.

“Yes, it was a poor choice to do it in his office,” she admitted silently to herself. “But does that justify this?”

The director leaned back in his chair, his disdain cutting deeper than any reprimand. “I expected more discretion, Andrea. But I suppose screwing your way up the ladder is what you do best.”

His words blurred into background noise as Andrea’s mind spiraled. She felt like a stranger in her own body, trapped in a slow-motion nightmare.

“What?” she murmured, her voice hollow.

He sighed theatrically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Pierre’s reputation for being ‘gifted’ doesn’t seem to extend to your intelligence. Get on your knees, Andrea. Show me your worth.”

Her breath caught as the words hit her like a slap. “If you impress me,” he added with a shrug, “I might consider letting you keep your job.”

Andrea’s anger surged, wild and uncontrollable, like a fire consuming dry brush. She opened her mouth to unleash the torrent of curses building inside her, but then she froze. Her entire life flashed before her eyes. He was a weasel, no doubt about it—but a powerful one. He could destroy her career, blackball her in the medical community, and make it nearly impossible for her to ever practice again.

Tears stung her eyes, but she bit them back, determined not to show weakness. Instead, she spat on the pristine, expensive carpet and spun on her heels, storming out of his office without a backward glance.

Now, as she stood on the curb, jobless and with bills piling up, despair weighed on her chest like a stone. She had no idea what to do next.

Returning from her evening jog, Andrea’s heart sank when she saw Pierre’s Chrysler parked outside her apartment. For a moment, she considered turning around and running, but where would she go? This was her home, her sanctuary—she wouldn’t be driven out of it too.

When she stepped inside, she found Pierre leaning casually against the wall. His crisp white button-down shirt, with the top buttons undone, revealed a hint of his chest and the inked lines of a tattoo peeking out beneath the rolled-up sleeves. He wore tailored black trousers and no shoes, exuding a disarming mix of casual intimacy and calculated elegance. He looked entirely at ease, as though he belonged there.

His gold-framed bifocal glasses caught the light as he watched her with an amused glint. She caught herself staring and turned away quickly, heat rising to her cheeks. Grabbing a glass, she filled it with water, trying to steady her nerves.

“I’d offer you a drink,” she said, her tone laced with sarcasm, “but it looks like you’ve already helped yourself to the spaghetti in my kitchen.”

Pierre smiled faintly, but his expression softened. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice unusually gentle.

That single question shattered the dam she had been holding up for days. Hot tears spilled down her face as a sob wrenched from her chest.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Pierre?!” she shouted, her voice raw with anguish. “I was fine before you started chasing me! I told you I didn’t want trouble! I have people who rely on me—bills to pay! I didn’t scrape and starve my way through nursing school just to lose it all over some fucking man! I hate you! I hate you, and I hate that old wretch who told me to suck his cock to keep my job!”

Her words hung in the air, sharp and heavy. Pierre’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. For the first time, she noticed the subtle tension in his jaw.

“What old wretch?” His voice was low, deadly calm, the kind of calm that sent a shiver down her spine.

Andrea stepped back, shaking her head. She hadn’t meant to tell him—hadn’t meant to drag him into this nightmare. “I don’t want trouble,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Pierre stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, letting her sob against his chest. Her tears soaked through his shirt, but he didn’t care. The truth was, he didn’t need her to say the name. There was only one man in the entire hospital audacious—and stupid—enough to pull such a stunt. And Pierre was going to make him pay.

But first...

Without a word, he scooped Andrea into his arms. She didn’t resist, her arms draping around his neck as the weight of the past few days drained from her. Her body was limp, deflated after unburdening herself to him. Pierre carried her into the bathroom, setting her gently on the edge of the tub before turning on the shower.

He undressed them both with careful precision, his touch firm yet unassuming. The cascade of warm water enveloped them, washing away the day’s sweat and her lingering tears. Andrea sagged against him as he worked shampoo into her hair, his strong, deft fingers massaging her scalp.

Those fingers, she thought wistfully. The same ones that made him the head surgeon at only 31. Her breath hitched as she remembered the countless hours spent in the operating room, standing at his side, watching him perform what could only be described as miracles. She would never experience that again, never feel the electric rush of being part of something so life-changing.

A fresh sob wracked her body, and Pierre’s chest tightened. He rinsed the suds from her hair with steady hands, his movements deliberate, as though anchoring her to the present. When they were both clean, he wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to the bedroom.

Sitting her on the bed, he dried her off with a gentleness that belied his towering frame. He laid her down and perched beside her, his fingers brushing through her damp hair. His gaze locked with hers, warm and unwavering.

“Do you trust me, Andrea?” His voice was low, filled with a quiet intensity that made her heart ache. “I promised I would take care of you, and I will. This is all my fault, and I’m going to make it right. I don’t care how many noses I have to break or how many joints I have to dislocate—I’ll set things straight. You hear me?”

A soft, watery laugh escaped her lips at his words. She knew he meant them. Pierre wasn’t just a world-class surgeon; he was a black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu and a veteran boxer. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he could make good on his threat. The director had gone after her because Pierre was untouchable—both physically and professionally.

Warmth spread through her chest as she realized just how far he was willing to go for her. The tension eased from her body, replaced by a quiet sense of relief. She lifted a hand to cup his face, her thumb brushing over the faint stubble on his jaw.

“I trust you,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions still churning inside her.

Pierre exhaled a quiet breath of relief as he leaned down, capturing her lips with his. His kiss was possessive yet tender, his tongue slipping past her lips to stake his claim.

His hands roamed her body with an intimate familiarity, mapping every curve and contour as Andrea’s arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. She deepened the kiss, her legs parting instinctively to welcome him. He settled between her thighs, the hard length of him grinding against her soft, growing warmth.

When he pulled away from her lips, it was only to trail kisses down her body. Each touch, each kiss, seemed to erase another fragment of her lingering doubts. He promised he’d make things right, and she believed him.

His mouth found her most sensitive place, and a soft, breathy moan escaped her lips. Her hands tangled in his hair as he kissed and tasted her with a fervent hunger, his tongue and lips moving in rhythm that unraveled her completely. He devoured her, licking, sucking, and nibbling until her moans turned into cries and she was nothing but a quivering mess beneath him.

By the time he thrust into her, Andrea had lost count of the waves of pleasure that had already claimed her. Pierre moved with a purpose, his every motion filled with unspoken apologies and promises. Each thrust said, I’m sorry. Each grind, I’ll set things straight.

The intensity of his movements brought tears to her eyes. He kissed them away, his lips brushing her cheeks as they fell freely.

His breath, hot and ragged, ghosted against her ear. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his hips rolling into her to underscore his words.

Andrea clung to him, her arms and legs wrapping around him as he increased his pace, chasing his own release after ensuring her pleasure again and again. His lips found hers once more, locking them in a reverent kiss as his hands cradled her head, holding her as though she might break.

When he finally let go, his release came with a quiet groan, his body pressing flush against hers as he spilled deep inside her. His lips hovered near hers, his breath mingling with hers as he whispered solemnly, “I’ll make it right. I swear.”

And in that moment, as she gazed into his unwavering eyes, Andrea knew with every fiber of her being that he meant it.

Andrea Smith paused just outside Dr. Pierre’s office. The file in her hand trembled slightly, but she ignored it. Fixing her hair and brushing away imaginary lipstick smudges, she convinced herself it was only about looking professional. Giving her scrubs a final once-over, she knocked twice.

“Come in,” came the deep voice from inside.

He was typing rapidly at his desktop when she entered, glancing up at her over the rim of his gold-framed bifocals.

“Took you long enough,” he said with a side grin, softening the sting of the words. Earlier, he’d been curt with her in front of the other nurses, drawing laughter at her expense. Andrea only nodded and turned on her heel, unwilling to offer another apology.

“Wait.”

Her hand froze on the doorknob. She kept her face down, steadying her emotions, though her heart was already racing. It nearly leapt from her chest when she felt his breath brush her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The words were meant for her alone—and they went straight to her treacherous heart. His left hand slid across her stomach, drawing her back against him until the last of her resentment dissolved. Dropping her hand from the doorknob, Andrea covered his with both of hers, a soft laugh escaping when he bit her earlobe.

His right hand slid lower, cupping her ass with slow affection. Tongue flicking at her ear, he squeezed her cheek, forcing her to bite her lip to smother a moan.

A sharp knock shattered the moment. They broke apart instantly. Dr. Pierre turned back to his desk, hiding his growing erection, while Andrea smoothed her face into neutrality. She opened the door with a forced smile, greeting the colleague on the other side before walking away as if nothing had happened.

It was nearly half past eight when she saw him again. The ER had quieted, fewer patients streaming in. Dr. Pierre emerged from his office, his shirt slightly undone, tie askew beneath his lab coat, his gaze locked sternly on her.

“Did you do the assessment for the man who came in with a torn leg?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

He closed his eyes with a weary sigh. “Come to my office. I need you to explain what you mean by ‘non-coagulated bleeding.’” Without waiting for a response, he walked off.

Andrea’s temper flared. There was no way she’d written that in the file. Storming into his office, ready to defend herself, she barely had time to register the click of the lock before he grabbed her scrubs and pulled her flush against him.

His mouth crushed hers. The blinds were shut, the desk cleared. His kiss was hungry, devouring, his hands roaming her back, tugging at her locs, kneading her ass as he guided her toward the desk.

Her bottoms and panties hit the floor before she could think. His belt came undone, his dick heavy and thick in his hand as he gazed at her through half-lidded eyes. Tugging her bra up through her top, he groaned at the sight of her nipples straining against the cotton. He flicked them with his fingers, drawing a sharp hiss from her as she spread her legs for him.

Their tongues tangled, wet and desperate, until he lifted her onto the desk, spreading her lewdly apart like a patient on display.

Undoing his tie, he stuffed it between her lips with a wicked grin. Andrea’s eyes widened as she looked down at the monster poised to enter her. The fat, flared head and veined shaft promised no mercy.

Gripping her waist, he thrust deep. Andrea screamed into the gag, the sound muffled. No wonder he’d tied her; he hadn’t planned on being gentle. His larger frame dwarfed her small 5’2” body, making her look like a doll pinned beneath him as he fucked her hard, the desk shaking with the force of his pumps.

He fucked her like he hadn't just spent the weekend at her apartment, taking her wherever he could.

Her hands clawed at his forearms, desperate and overwhelmed. Proof of her arousal spilled from her with every thrust, soaking him, the office echoing with the obscene sounds of flesh and wetness.

“I’m addicted to this pussy,” he growled against her throat. “I want to bury myself in you and stay that way.”

She could only nod wildly, gagged and undone, as her orgasm crept up, tearing through her. Her nails dug deeper into his arms as he chased his own release.

And then she saw it. The red glow of the intercom button on his desk.

Her heart stopped. Their moans, their grunts, their fucking...broadcast live to the office of the Medical Director.

Shutting her eyes, Andrea let the orgasm take her anyway, praying the MD wasn’t already on his way to catch them in the act.