I woke up hard.
Sweat slicked my back, sheets tangled round my legs, breath coming fast.
And him, still there behind my eyelids.
Dorian.
His hands. His mouth. The heat of him pressed against my back as he whispered filth in that low voice, hot breath curling against my neck.
"You taste like sin, Alex..."
I'd gasped in the dream. Not from shock, Christ, not anymore, but because he'd pushed inside me with a confidence that felt... dangerous. Like he knew my body better than I did. Like he'd claimed it.
My hips jerked forward instinctively, chasing friction that wasn't there.
Fuck...
I scrubbed a hand over my face, heart hammering as I tried to replay it, then tried harder to forget.
What the hell was that?!
I wasn't—
I didn't—
Jesus...
I sat up too fast, flinging the duvet like it'd personally offended me. My body was still on fire, flushed and traitorous, and my head wouldn't shut up.
It was just a dream.
A dream doesn't mean anything.
Except it did.
Because somewhere between bickering and flirting and that almost kiss in the physio room, my subconscious had already made its bloody choice.
And it hadn't exactly gone for subtle.
Maybe it wasn't about him. Maybe it was stress. Maybe he's doing this to get to me...
I grasped for excuses like lifebuoys, and came up with nothing.
Suddenly, music blasted from downstairs. Jordan's voice rose over it, what he calls singing, and my phone buzzed near my foot.
I squinted at the screen.
Dorian:Morning, sunshine. Miss me yet?
*Buzz.*
Dorian:No uniform today? Bet you look even hotter without it.
I groaned and tossed the phone across the bed.
"Feckin' hell, Dorian..." I muttered. "Can't get a bastard break."
I hauled myself out of bed, but the dream clung to me like a bruise I couldn't stop pressing.
Downstairs was its usual chaos.
Jordan had the speakers blaring some shite remix. Erin was whining about the Wi-Fi. Mam was clattering around like the frying pan had personally wronged her.
My phone buzzed again on the counter.
Mam's eyes flicked toward it. "Someone's popular this mornin'," she said, eyebrow arched.
Jordan grinned. "Must be his new girlfriend. She textin' ya 'good mornin', handsome' again?"
"Piss off," I muttered, lunging for the phone.
Too late.
Jordan got there first. His eyes widened as he read, then the little shit grinned.
"Oi! Listen to this: 'Bet you'd look better in my bed than in those ratty joggers.'"
My face flushed hotter than Mam's overcooked bacon.
Mam paused mid-flip.
Erin choked on her cereal.
"That sort of talk isn't very Catholic, love." Mam said as she turned slowly.
"Err—just a mate!" I blurted.
"Mmm." She returned to her pan. "Sure."
Back in my room, I faceplanted onto the bed with a groan.
Good job Jordan didn't say who it was from... but he knows.
*Buzz.*
Dorian:Ward's boring without you.
*Buzz.*
Dorian:Someone just asked if the new nurse with the pretty eyes was in today.
*Buzz.*
Dorian:Told them you're all mine. 😉
I stared at the screen. Hovered over a reply.
Typed:You need to stop. My family—
Deleted it.
Typed again: You're unbelievable.
Sent.
Dorian:And you love it. Come visit me.
I'm not going to work on my day off just to see you.
Dorian:Bet you do though... 😉
I caught my reflection in the mirror.
This is a terrible idea...
Pause.
This is the worst idea.
Ten minutes later, I was pulling on jeans and a hoodie like a man possessed.
The hospital smelled too familiar. Bleach. Coffee. Guilt.
I didn't know what I was doing. Just… walking.
Until I saw him.
He spotted me across the ward. His eyes widened. Then narrowed in that smug, knowing way.
He weaved through trolleys and nurses like he was gliding.
"Holy shit…" he said, looking me up and down. "Casual looks good on you."
"Don't."
"Don't what? Compliment you? Admit you look hotter like this than you do in scrubs?"
He leaned in. Voice low. Too close.
I swatted his arm and stepped back. "This is exactly why I shouldn't have come."
"Me Ma thinks I've got a bloody girlfriend. Jordan's taking the piss. You've no idea what this looks like."
His smile faltered, for half a second.
"Then tell them."
"Tell them what? That I'm being harassed by my senior nurse?"
"Not harassment if you keep answering."
I opened my mouth. Shut it again.
"You're not helping."
He shrugged, but his eyes didn't leave mine. "Not trying to. Just being honest."
A nurse shouted from behind him. "Webb! Bed six needs discharging!"
He sighed, glanced back. "I'll be five. Don't move."
He left.
And I waited.
He found me by the corridor door, hands jammed in my hoodie pockets like a guilty teenager.
"Finished early. Chased you down like a bloody rom-com. Thought you'd legged it."
"I should've."
But I didn't move.
"Come with me," he said. "My place. Just… for a bit."
"I shouldn't."
"Doesn't mean you won't."
He smiled. Not cocky. Not smug. Just… hopeful.
I exhaled.
And followed him anyway.
Dorian's flat was small. Lived-in. Warm.
Books stacked everywhere. A real plant on the sill. The scent of cedar and coffee.
He tossed his keys in a bowl. "Didn't think I'd be entertaining today."
"Should I take that as flattery or a warning?"
"Whichever gets you to stay."
He walked into the kitchen in just a black T-shirt and jeans that fit like sin.
"Tea or coffee?"
"I want to not be here," I muttered.
He poked his head back round. "What was that?"
"Coffee's fine."
He handed me a chipped mug. Sat too close. Or maybe not close enough.
"Like I've said... me mam thinks I've got a girlfriend thanks to you," I said.
"Do you?"
I looked at him.
"What do you think you twat?"
I took a breath, then set the mug down, voice low. "You're makin' this harder than it needs to be."
"Hard for who? You? Or them?"
"That's not fair."
"Neither is lying to yourself."
The silence was deafening.
I stood. Restless. Torn.
"I didn't come here for this."
"Then why did you come?"
I didn't answer.
Warm fingers brushed the back of my neck. Not pushing. Just there.
"I can stop," he said. "If you want me to."
I turned slightly. Our faces were inches apart.
"I should want you to..."
"But you don't."
I didn't move, then he took my hand and led me to his room.
His bedroom was dim, gold light bleeding through soft curtains. It smelled like him.
"I've never done this before," I whispered. "With… y'know. A guy."
He tilted my chin. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
"I am... I think... I just don't know how to be."
He smiled, soft and real, no smirk in sight. "Then just be here. With me."
Clothes came off in slow, halting steps. My breath hitched when he touched me, fingers down my spine, mouth brushing my collarbone. He was confident without rushing, like he wanted to learn me, not just have me.
God, he's close. Too close. I shouldn't want this.
And yet, I did.
I felt wanted.
We sank into the sheets, skin against skin, his warmth grounding me. Every movement was careful, searching, like he didn't want to just take, he wanted to know me.
He kissed my shoulder, my throat, the corner of my mouth, checking in without words.
What am I doing? What if someone finds out?
But the fear drowned under the weight of his gentleness.
I gave him my yes in the form of my body, hips lifting, legs parting, fingers clutching at his back.
When he finally pushed into me, slow, careful, watching my every reaction, I didn't flinch. I breathed. Let it happen. Let him in.
I shouldn't like this. But I do. God help me, I do.
His hands were everywhere. Shoulders. Hips. The small of my back. I moved with him, awkward at first, but he didn't laugh or correct. He just held me tighter, mouth brushing my ear. "You're doing perfect."
Every slow thrust pulled a sound from me I didn't recognise. Low, breathy things I'd never made for anyone else. I should've felt embarrassed, but all I could think about was how right it felt.
He kissed down my neck, mouth lingering on the hollow of my throat.
He's memorising me... and I'm letting him.
I dragged my nails across his back, not to hurt, but to hold. To mark him the way this moment was marking me.
And when his rhythm faltered, hips stuttering, breath catching against my skin, I realised he was just as lost in it as I was.
"Alex…" he whispered. Just my name. Nothing more. But it sounded like everything.
My body trembled under his, every nerve lit up like fire, need winding tight inside me. He reached between us, stroking me in rhythm with his thrusts, like he wanted us to come undone together.
"Fuck—Dorian," I gasped, forehead pressed to his.
"Let go," he murmured. "I've got you."
And I did.
I came with a broken sound, the heat of it catching me off-guard. He followed moments later, hips driving deep one last time before he collapsed against me, arms still tight, lips brushing my temple.
For a long moment, we just lay there. Sweaty. Breathless. Tangled up in the quiet.
And I didn't feel lost anymore.
He kissed the curve of my shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I swallowed. "Better than okay."
He smiled into my skin. "Welcome to the dark side."
I snorted, shoving at his arm. "You're such a prick."
"Mm. But I made you moan my name."
"Shut up."
He did, but only to kiss me again.
I sat up and grabbed my clothes. I started to get dressed feeling a mixture of fulfilment but also betrayal.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"No, you don't need to be."
He climbed out of bed pulling up his boxers, kept his space, just enough to make me miss the closeness.
"I don't want to make things worse for you," he said. "I just… like you. I don't know how to shut it off."
Silence stretched.
I pulled my hoodie on in a hurry. "You're not helping."
"I know."
I opened the bedroom door and headed to the front.
Halfway there, I paused.
"I'm not sayin' stop... just maybe slow down."
"Sure." he whispered.
And I left.
But my chest was a mess of contradiction.
Want and guilt. Fire and fear.
And maybe that was the real danger.
Maybe...
I wasn't sure I'd ever been thinking straight.
The bus ride home was hell.
Rain tapped the window in a soft, rhythmic patter. My hoodie stuck to my back. My thighs ached in ways I wasn't ready to unpack.
I leaned my head against the cool glass.
What the fuck did I just do...?
Dorian's scent was still on my skin. I could still feel his hands, his mouth, the heat of him like it had burned through to the bone.
It hadn't just been sex. That was the problem.
It had been gentle. It had been tender. And I hadn't hated it.
I'd wanted it.
And now I felt sick.
Not because of him.
But because something inside me had shifted... and I couldn't un-shift it.