A sharp knock at my door made me jump, nearly dropping my phone. I froze, heart hammering as the knock came again, more insistent.
I moved silently toward the door, some bizarre combination of curiosity and self-preservation driving me forward.
I peered through the peephole and almost choked.
My patient from yesterday, Julian, stood in my hallway covered in blood. His face was bruised purple-black, nose broken and leaking crimson. His shirt clung to his chest, soaked with rust-colored stains. Fresh cuts marked his knuckles, and blood matted his hair. His eyes blazed wildly, something feral lurking just beneath the surface.
This violated every possible boundary. Julian shouldn't even know my home address, let alone appear blood-soaked at my doorstep. A chill raced through me as I realized this meant he must have been watching me, tracking me. For how long? The invasion of privacy alone made my stomach clench. Every instinct screamed danger, yet heat bloomed low in my belly at the raw intensity radiating from him.
He pounded on the door with his fist, making the frame shake. "Open the door!" he demanded, voice sharp and commanding. "NOW!"
"Stay back!" I called through the door, already backing away. "I've called the police. They're on their way."
He let out an audible sigh of frustration. "There's no time for this. If you don't open this door in five seconds, I'm breaking it down."
"You can't just—"
"Five." His voice was deadly calm. "Four. Three."
"Julian, stop!"
"Two. One."
I scrambled backward as he slammed his shoulder into the door. The frame splintered, but held. He grunted, then kicked hard near the lock. On the third kick, the door burst inward with a deafening crack.
Fight or flight kicked in and flight won by a landslide. I spun and sprinted toward my bedroom, heart hammering.
"HELP!" I screamed, hoping neighbors would hear.
I was halfway across the living room when a solid weight crashed into me from behind, sending us both tumbling. I fell onto my stomach, lungs emptying in a painful whoosh. Before I could suck in air, Julian flipped me, his weight slamming me onto my back as he straddled me, powerful thighs clamping around my hips like a vise.
"Stop. Moving." He growled, capturing both wrists in one hand and pinning them above my head.
I thrashed wildly beneath him, panic and adrenaline making me buck against his weight. Yet even as terror coursed through me, disturbing déjà vu slithered through my consciousness. This position, his weight pressing me down, his hand around my wrists... it was eerily identical to fantasies I'd never admitted aloud. My breath caught, not entirely from fear.
All those techniques for managing volatile situations vanished under the weight of his body against mine.
"Get off me!" I gasped. "Help! Someone please—"
His hand clamped over my mouth, cutting off my cries. His face hovered inches above mine, blue eyes blazing with frustration and something like desperation. His weight settled more firmly, muscular thighs squeezing my hips in a way that sent an inappropriate shiver through me despite the danger.
"I'm trying to save your life," he said. "There are people coming to kill you. RIGHT NOW. I don't have time to explain, I don't have time to be gentle, and I REALLY don't have time to deal with your nosy neighbors!"
Our bodies pressed together from chest to hip, his heat seeping through my thin pajama bottoms. My heart hammered wildly, fear and something else I refused to acknowledge surging through me equally. Then, to my absolute horror, my body betrayed me in the most humiliating way possible.
The adrenaline rush, the physical domination, the disturbing echo of my darkest desires sent blood rushing straight to my cock. Within seconds, I was hard against him, my erection pressing against his thigh. The harder I struggled to think about unsexy things, the more insistent my body became. There was no way he wouldn't feel it throbbing against him.
His eyes widened as he felt my erection. For a moment, he seemed genuinely surprised, the wild look receding. Then a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.
"Is that a gun in your pocket, Dr. Matthews, or are you just happy to see me?"
I let out a muffled sound of protest through his fingers.
He leaned closer, breath warm against my ear. "I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, but you have to promise not to scream. Can you do that for me, doc? Nod if you understand."
I nodded, face burning with humiliation.
He slowly lifted his hand, fingertips trailing deliberately across my lips in a way that was definitely not necessary. That familiar cocky smirk was back, eyes sparkling with mischief despite the blood and bruises.
