The bedroom door shut behind him—quietly, like always.
But something was off. His movements were slightly uncoordinated, as if the calm, professional man I knew was slipping away, replcaed by something hotter, wilder, and a little more desperate.
I put down the book I am reading to glance at him.
His dress shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, crumpled like he hadn't bothered fixing it after leaving the event. His tie was missing entirely, and there was a faint flush across his cheekbones.
And then I saw it, the bottle cap in his palm.
Zayne was drunk. Not wasted. Not sloppy. Just buzzed enough that the usual icy precision had melted into something slinkier, something hotter. He was not even wearing his glasses right now.
I sat up on the bed. "You drank?"
He looked surprised by my initiation to start a 'talk' when I should be ignoring him right now because of our little argument this morning. "Two glasses of wine. They wouldn't stop pushing it. I was being polite."
"Zayne," I said, raising an eyebrow. "You literally get tipsy off liqueur chocolate." As if reminding him about how low his alocohol tolerance is not too late now that he is obviously tipsy.
"Mm," he muttered, approaching the bed, green eyes fixed on me. "And now I'm home. With a wife who's been a brat all day and still hasn't said sorry."
He stood at the foot of the bed, swaying slightly. That flush hadn't faded. His pupils were a little too blown, a little too hungry.
I opened my mouth to sass him because I couldn't help myself, but he was already grabbing my ankle and yanking me toward him like he had no intention of listening. His hand climbed and made their way to my thigh, squeezing just enough to make me gasp.
"You know," he murmured, voice lower than usual, "If you keep acting like this, one of these days, either my patient dies or… me."
His fingers dug into my thighs as he shoved them open, gaze sharp despite the wine.
"You're insufferable. But I love you so much, it's giving me a headache."
Before I could respond, Zayne's lips were on mine, urgent, demanding. He kissed me with an intensity that made my head spin, his hands moving faster now, gripping the fabric of my shirt and pulling it over my head. His touch was rougher than usual, as if he couldn't hold back anymore, and I felt every inch of him, every hard line of muscle and tension in his body.
His hands were all over my upper body, as though he was sensuously searching for a nonexistent injury. When I felt his large hand cup one of my breasts, I let out a soft moan. Witnessing how he affects me, he grinned in between our kisses.
I knew it was wrong of me to give in. We needed to talk and make up first, but my body is craving his touch. His kisses was so hungry - he was basically eating me up and I am not even complaining! We never get to share this type of intimate moment because of his busy work schedule and my worries about his weariness when he gets home, even though I've wanted him to touch me like this for weeks.
He dropped to his knees, still fully dressed, still immaculate even half undone—and buried his face between my legs without warning.
My breath caught when he pushed my legs apart and shoved my sleep shorts down, not bothering to fully undress me. I bit my lips, watching him. God, he is so hot.
Zayne, ever the composed surgeon, always cool and in control looked devastating like this. Still fully dressed, green eyes sharp, dark lashes low as he pressed one hand to my thigh and spread my legs without hesitation.
"No teasing this time," he said, kneeling between my legs. "But this is what you really wanted, isn't it?"
I was about to throw out another snarky reply, maybe something snide, something to keep the game going but the moment his mouth started traveling within my inner thighs, it all shattered. He kissed my private part even with my panties on, his breath hot and teasing against my skin, making me ache with wanting him more. Then using one of his fingers, he moved my panty aside and continued kissing me down there.
I gasped, one hand flying to the back of his head. His tongue swirled over my clit, then flattened out in long, lazy strokes that had my thighs trembling. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against me, and it only made me crave more. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as he continued, his movements confident and assertive, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and he did.
"You taste better than that wine," he muttered against me, voice gravel low, and then sucked my clit between his lips.
My hips jerked.
"Stay still," he warned, squeezing my thighs.
"I-I'm sorry…" I breathed, my body tightening with every stroke of his tongue. He didn't stop, only deepening his movements, his hands tightening around me, pulling me closer. The sensation was almost too much, too good, too intense and I could feel myself unraveling under his touch.
God, his mouth was obscene. Zayne devoured me like he was memorizing every twitch and every breath, like he was analyzing my reactions the same way he did cardiac rhythms. His tongue flicked, then circled, then dipped inside me, slow and deliberate, every motion calculated for maximum damage.
My fingers tugged at his hair, helpless. My thighs clamped around his head, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he growled, low and possessive, and grabbed my hips to keep me open for him.
"Z-Zayne—please—" I could barely speak, hips rolling against his face.
He just hummed, sending vibrations right through me, and went faster, lips sealing around my clit and sucking, tongue dragging over the sensitive spot with a roughness that felt punishing.
It was too much. It wasn't enough. I was soaked, writhing, reduced to gasps and half-formed apologies that never made it past my lips.
He slipped two fingers inside me while his mouth stayed glued to my clit, curling them just right. No warning. No build-up. Just two thick, practiced fingers curling up in a way that made my back arch and my breath stutter. Damn him, he knew my body like an anatomy textbook.
"Zayne, ah! I-I'm cummi—" I bit my lip, head falling back as I tried to stay still, amidst my pleasure pleas.
He didn't stop when I started to shake. He didn't stop when I gasped out his name, over and over, as my orgasm hit like a wave crashing over my body. He licked me through it slow and patient, until I was panting, legs slack and shaking.
Only then did he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and gleaming. He stood, towering over me, licking his bottom lip like he was savoring the aftertaste.
"Still not sorry?" he asked, his voice husky, a slight grin on his lips.
The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. "I'm sorry, Zayne… I'm sorry for being stubborn."
"That's all I wanted to hear," he murmured, and then, with a controlled movement, he positioned himself over me.
He knelt on the bed, still towering over me while I watch him with sleepy eyes, undoing his belt with that same calm precision he used in the OR. I was still panting, dazed, trying to come back to myself, when I realized he was stroking himself, thick and flushed and fully hard.
Then his body pressed against mine, and I felt the heat of him in a way I hadn't before. He was fully on top of me now, his hips grinding against mine in slow, deliberate movements. He was still flushed, still a little tipsy from the wine, but the fire between us was undeniable. His hands roamed over my body, leaving trails of heat wherever they touched.
And then, with one swift motion, he thrust in with no warning, no hesitation like he'd been holding back for weeks, months, forever. His name escaped me in a gasp, and he groaned in response, his lips finding mine again in a kiss that was deep and consuming. He moved against me, his pace slow at first, like he was savoring the moment, but I could feel the urgency building in him.
He set a brutal pace right away, hips slamming into me with a force that had the bed shaking, head bowed like he was praying or trying to keep himself from completely snapping.
"Ah! Ah! Uhm, ugh.." I was shamelessly moaning and no longer cared how ridiculous I sound.
The room filled with the sounds of our bodies coming together soft gasps, the rhythm of his movements, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. His fingers dug into my skin, marking me in a way that felt possessive, claiming.
I whimpered as his grip tightened, every thrust knocking the air from my lungs. I was already too far gone, every nerve on fire, my legs trembling from how thoroughly he'd wrecked me already. And he wasn't even slowing down.
I could barely form words, my body too consumed by the pleasure of him, by everything he was giving me. His hands, his lips, his body. I was lost in him, in the heat and the passion.
He kept going until my legs gave out and my body collapsed under the weight of everything he gave me; his frustration, his love, his unspoken craving to see me fall apart under him.
As he picked up his pace, my body responded, my own release building, and when it finally came, it was all-consuming. I cried out his name, my nails digging into his back as my body shook beneath him. He followed shortly after, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he buried himself deep inside me.
He collapsed beside me, breath ragged, one arm flung across his eyes.
I reached for the blanket, pulled it over both of us, and curled close to him. He didn't push me away. Instead, he let out a shaky laugh which is so unlike him it made me blink.
I snorted. "You're still drubk, Dr. Husband."
"No," he said, peeking at me from under his arm.
I kissed his flushed cheek, trailing my fingers along his jaw. "Poor baby. Want me to bring you cocoa?"
"Only if you add marshmallows." A pause. "And don't try to sneak in medicine."
He pulled me closer with a sigh, finally soft, finally quiet. I giggled. Look at him acting all soft and flustered after ruining me so shamelessly.
"You're trouble," he whispered into my hair.
"But I'm your trouble," I whispered back.
And even though his fingers twitched like he wanted to argue, he never did, he just put up with me like he usually do. That's why I love him. I don't think someone else would ever put up with my mess other than this man. I kissed his head one more time before patting his back, sliding off from bed to get him his hot cocoa with marshmallows.