The hospital had paid for a row of motel rooms — four total — lined up like dominoes along a dim, buzzing lot. The neon vacancy sign flickered red overhead. One of the bedside lamps in your room buzzed faintly, casting a tired orange hue on the ceiling tiles. You’d left your door cracked, still wearing the hoodie you’d had on all day.

The case was brutal. Rural. Strange. You were all out of your usual element.

By 9PM, Foreman had locked himself in with paperwork. Thirteen took a walk. Chase had charmed a phone number from the bored girl behind the front desk. And you? You were just about to brush your teeth when your phone lit up.

9:14 PM: "You awake or just pretending to be above motel sex?"

You grinned. Typed back

"Depends who’s in the next room."

9:17 PM : "106. Door’s open. Bring that hoodie and a better excuse."

You slid the door shut behind you quietly. The motel A/C hummed in the corner. House was stretched across the bed, only his undershirt on now, his bad leg propped on a pillow. He didn’t look up at first — just tapped the space beside him. “I’d say this is unprofessional, but let’s be real — I never claimed professionalism.”

You snorted. “And I never claimed I’d say yes.”

“And yet…” His eyes dipped from your eyes to your legs, bare beneath the hem of your sleep shorts. “...here you are.”

You climbed into the bed like it wasn’t the boldest thing you’d ever done. His arm immediately pulled you closer. He kissed you like he’d been thinking about it all damn week. Lazy, heat-soaked, drawn-out kisses that deepened each time you arched toward him. You gasped softly into his mouth when his hand skimmed under your hoodie.

And then? His lips barely left yours when he whispered, rough and amused “Don’t be loud.”

You blinked at him, breath caught in your throat.

“Motel walls. Thin.” He smirked. “Unless you want Foreman to start calling me boss louder tomorrow.”

You bit your lip. Hard.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, mouth ghosting along your neck. “Be a good girl. Stay quiet.”