Page 25 of Vital Signs
“I wasn't protecting you,” I admitted. “I was protecting myself.”
Her breath hitched. I could feel it, smell it, and I was halfway undone. “From what?” she asked.
“From wanting you,” I said. My voice sounded foreign and dangerous. “From making this worse than it already is.” The door clicked shut behind her. I didn't care. Couldn't care.
“You don't get to say things like that,” she whispered, stepping closer, hand brushing against me. “Not after everything.”
“I won’t apologize,” I muttered. “Not for defending you. Not for standing up for you. Not for putting?—”
And then she reached for me with full force. And all my restraint shattered like glass. Hands tangled, mouths colliding, the deskbecoming a barrier and a playground all at once. I cursed under my breath, half fury, half relief, losing all control I'd ever prided myself on.
“This is a terrible idea,” I muttered, because I wasn't lying.
“You already tried being good,” she breathed against my jaw. And she was right.
Her words hung between us, a challenge I couldn't ignore. My hands gripped her waist, pulling her against me even as my mind screamed to stop. She tasted like frustration and fire, her lips bruising mine with the force of everything unsaid. I backed up, my calves hitting the edge of my office chair, and we tumbled into it together, the leather creaking under our weight.
"We can't," I growled, even as my fingers yanked at the hem of her scrub top, shoving it up just enough to expose her skin. Her bra was simple, white, practical — nothing at all like the chaos she unleashed in me.
I palmed her breast through the fabric, thumb circling her hardening nipple, feeling her arch into my touch.
"Shut up," she hissed, her hands fumbling with the tie on my scrubs. Thehissof the bleached fabric echoed entirely too loudly in the quiet room. She didn't wait for permission, didn't hesitate. Her fingers wrapped around my waistband, tugging it down, and then she was fishing out my cock, already hard and throbbing from the heat of her anger pressed against me.
I groaned, low and ragged, as she stroked me once, twice, her grip firm and unyielding. "Anya..." My voice cracked on her name, the age between us feeling like a chasm and a magnet all at once. She was young, brilliant, everything I shouldn't want, but here she was, straddling my lap in my goddamn office.
“Have you been with anyone since?” She breathed against my ear, hand stilling around my dick. “Have youfuckedanyone else, Doctor Vaughn?”
“Fuck no,” I rasped, pressing my lips against her racing pulse point. “I’veneverbeen with anyone like you, Volkov.” My hipsbucked, just barely, into her palm. “And certainly not since the last time.”
“Good,” she said, her breath hot against my neck as she shifted, hiking down her scrub pants and panties just enough on one side. No time for finesse, no stripping down. Just raw need. She positioned herself over me, the tip of my cock nudging against her slick entrance, and sank down slowly, inch by inch, clenching around me like a vice.
Fuck. The stretch, the heat — it hit me like a punch. I gripped her hips, fingers digging into the fabric of her pants, holding her steady as she bottomed out. She was tight, wet, her body taking me despite the barriers we both knew we should keep up. “This is insane,” I muttered, my head falling back against the chair, but my hips bucked up anyway, driving deeper.
She started moving then, rising and falling with a rhythm that matched her fury — sharp, demanding thrusts that made the chair roll slightly on its wheels. Her hands braced on my shoulders, nails biting through my shirt, and she rode me hard, her pussy sliding up and down my cock, coating me in her arousal. Each drop sent jolts through me, the friction building fast, too fast.
"You think you can just... defend me like that?" she panted, her voice breaking as she ground down, circling her hips to hit that spot inside her. Her top was still bunched up, bra askew, one breast spilling out now as she moved. I leaned forward, capturing her nipple in my mouth, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.
"I had to," I admitted between licks, my tongue flicking over the pebbled flesh. "Couldn't let him talk about you like that." My hands slid under her ass, partially covered by her pants, lifting her to meet my upward thrusts. The office smelled like us now — sweat, sex, the faint antiseptic from the hall lingering like a reminder of where we were.
She moaned, low and frustrated, her pace quickening. "We shouldn't... fuck, we shouldn't be doing this." But she didn't stop. Ifanything, her walls tightened around me, pulling me deeper as she bounced, her thighs flexing against mine. The chair squeaked in protest, but I didn't care. The door was locked — or at least I hoped it was. Anyone could knock, interrupt, but that risk only made her clench harder. “The door,” she breathed, eyes darting away from me. “Did I lock it?”
Even as she spoke, I felt her walls flutter around me. She couldtryto play coy, but the knowledge of howdangerousthis was only added to the heat.
I thrust up harder, matching her anger with my own, the slap of our partially clothed bodies echoing softly. "Then stop," I challenged, even as I chased the edge, my cock swelling inside her. She was so much younger, so full of fire I envied, and it drove me wild, the wrongness of it all fueling every stroke.
"No," she breathed, her head tipping back, eyes squeezed shut as she rode me faster. Her pussy fluttered, close now, and I reached between us, thumb finding her clit through the shifted fabric of her panties, rubbing in tight circles. She cried out, the sound muffled against my throat as she came, her body shuddering, milking my cock with rhythmic pulses.
That was it. I followed her over, groaning her name as I spilled inside her, hot spurts filling her up while she kept moving, drawing it out. We stayed like that, panting, her forehead against mine, clothes disheveled but still on, the tension humming between us like it always did.
"This changes nothing," I whispered, even though we both knew it changed everything.
Her body trembled against mine, the aftershocks of her release rippling through her, still gripping my cock in soft, insistent pulses. I was buried deep, spent but not softening yet, the warmth of her surrounding me like a secret we couldn't escape.
Sweat beaded on her skin; her scrub top rumpled, exposing the curve of her ribs and the swell of her breasts. I traced a finger along her side, light, almost reverent, feeling the rapid flutter of her breath.
Anya lifted her head from my shoulder, her eyes locking onto mine — dark and stormy. “This doesn't fix anything,” she murmured, her voice husky but edged with that fire I'd come to crave. She shifted slightly, a subtle roll of her hips that made her inner walls clench around me again, drawing a low groan from my throat.
“I know,” I whispered, my hands sliding up her back, under the fabric of her top, palms pressing flat against her bare skin. She was so alive, so unyielding; her anger was a spark that lit me up from the inside. I loved it — her defiance, the way she pushed back even now, even with me still inside her. It made the age between us feel like nothing, just fuel for this pull.
