He let out a soft sigh—of what, exactly? Nervousness? Frustration? Anticipation? It was all three, tangled together in a way that made his body betray him, proving you right.

His cheeks were flushed, the warmth there mirroring other parts of him—parts he would never dare to speak of. He was supposed to be unfazed, unaffected by a position like this. But he was human—a man who had suppressed his own needs for far too long. His work as a surgeon consumed his time, stretching from day to night, leaving no room for indulgence, no moment to simply breathe.

And then you came along, teasing, prodding, pushing past every carefully built wall despite his best efforts to remain detached.

But his distance only ever seemed to give you more ammunition. No matter how much space he tried to put between you, you closed it effortlessly.

He was painfully aware of you—of the way your thighs framed his as you straddled him in his office chair, of the heat radiating from your body, seeping into his. And of how unbearably close you were, pressing against him in a way that left no room for pretense.

He didn’t know where to place his hands, where to look, whether he should shift into a more comfortable position—or if there even was one.

You remained quiet, focused, listening through the stethoscope he had lent you—searching for the steady rhythm of his heart, the one thing that would betray his carefully maintained calm. And despite knowing this, despite the risk of you hearing just how much you affected him, he still reached out, gently taking your hand and guiding it to his chest.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, hesitant, almost shy.

“It’s right here,” he murmured. “Do you hear it?”