Chapter Eleven: The Hospital Heir

The echo of his tongue still clung to her skin. She told herself it was gone, washed away with the frantic shower she had forced herself into, but her ear still tingled. Her thighs still clenched at odd intervals, as if her body refused to forget.

She was late. She was never late. Every second in the OR was precision, timing, control. But as she strode into Hamilton Medical City, heels clicking against polished marble, her pulse betrayed her, fast, erratic, unruly. She had layered her mask back on, tailored coat, hair sleek, lips tinted with authority. But underneath, she was cracked porcelain.

She clutched her bag tighter and pushed forward through the sea of scrubs and lab coats. She needed normalcy. She needed silence.

And then she saw him.

The world stuttered.

He didn’t just walk into the hospital, he commanded it. A dark suit sculpted to perfection, shoulders broad, trousers cut in a way that forced the imagination lower. His crisp white shirt gaped at the collar, just enough to reveal the chest she had already kissed, licked, worshiped. His tie hung loose, careless, as if rules bent for him.

The air shifted. Conversations paused. Heads turned.

Gasps and whispers spread through the hallway like wildfire.

“Is that—” one scrub nurse whispered, clutching her colleague’s arm.

“Oh my God, it’s him. Liam Hamilton. The heir.”

“He’s even hotter in person, look at that jawline.”

“And he’s only twenty-five.”

Her steps faltered, lungs compressing. The name ricocheted through her skull. Hamilton. As in Hamilton Medical Group. As in Hamilton Medical City, the empire she worked under.

And there he was, commanding the entire hallway without saying a word. Broad shoulders filling out a perfectly tailored suit, tie loosened just enough to make it sinful, his hair artfully messy like he had rolled out of bed straight into a boardroom.

Her bed.

Heat crawled up her neck. The memory slammed into her, the sound of his moans in her ear, the way his tongue had destroyed her sanity, the smug curl of his lips when she nearly broke under him.

And now every nurse in the hospital was practically dripping at the sight of him.

He was supposed to be her secret mistake. A ghost she could bury.

Instead, he was the prince of the empire she served.

“Doctor?” Bella’s voice pierced her fog. “Are you alright? You’ve gone pale.”

But she couldn’t answer. Because his eyes had already found hers.

Molten. Direct. A lazy, arrogant slide that caught her mid-breath and refused to let go.

Her stomach dropped. Her body betrayed her, heat pooling low and sharp, thighs clenching. She forced herself to move, to look away, but the damage was done. His smirk had already curled, subtle, devastating, the kind that said I own you.

She spun, heels too loud, pulse racing. She needed space. Air. Somewhere to hide the wildfire crawling under her skin.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. She stepped in quickly, pressing the button with a trembling finger, exhaling relief as the doors began to close.

But a large hand slid in at the last second.

The doors opened.

He stepped inside.

Her breath stopped.

The space shrank immediately, the sterile elevator suffocating with the heat that radiated off him. His cologne was clean, dark, expensive, the same one that clung to her sheets. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His presence devoured oxygen, thick and suffocating.

She stood rigid in the corner, eyes locked on the panel, willing herself to be stone. But her pulse betrayed her, visible at the hollow of her throat.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He leaned back casually against the wall, suit pulling against broad shoulders, hands sliding into his pockets as if this was all a game. As if he hadn’t been writhing under her tongue hours ago.

Her body ached with the memory. Her thighs pressed together, her ear tingled, her lips still swollen from sin.

The silence was unbearable.

Then he moved.

Slow, deliberate. A predator unhurried with the kill.

He pushed off the wall, closing the distance until his chest hovered inches from her shoulder, his breath brushing her ear.

Her knees weakened. She gripped the railing behind her, knuckles white.

The heat of him was suffocating, his scent sliding into her lungs, his height overwhelming. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for strength, yet praying he wouldn’t stop.

His lips brushed her ear. Not a kiss. Just contact. A whisper of heat.

Her stomach flipped violently. Her pulse pounded. Her thighs trembled, shame and want colliding in a brutal storm.

“You look…” His voice was low, husky velvet, each syllable dragging against her nerves. “…hungry.”

Her breath caught.

Every muscle in her body locked. The word dripped into her bloodstream, a reminder of what she had done to him, how she had devoured him.

She tried to move, tried to breathe, but her body refused to obey.

And then, his tongue.

A slow, deliberate flick against the delicate shell of her ear.

Her knees buckled. A gasp broke free, humiliating and raw. Heat surged through her core, wetness pooling instantly, violently, betraying her. She clutched the railing harder, thighs clamping together as if that could stop the flood.

He chuckled low, dark, satisfied.

Her eyes flew open, panic and arousal clashing. She turned her head sharply, desperate to escape, but he caught her chin with two fingers, holding her in place. His thumb brushed her jaw, firm yet teasing.

Those gray-blue eyes pinned her. Molten. Knowing. Dangerous.

She couldn’t breathe.

His mouth hovered just above hers, close enough that she could feel the ghost of his breath. His lips didn’t touch, yet the anticipation was worse. Her body vibrated, desperate, every nerve screaming for contact.

The elevator chimed.

The doors slid open.

Voices spilled in from the hallway, doctors, nurses, footsteps, laughter.

But he didn’t move.

He stayed close, his mouth still a hair’s breadth away, his eyes devouring her, his hand still gripping her chin.

Her chest heaved. Her pulse thundered.

And then, finally, his lips curved. That devastating smirk.

“Soon.”

The word grazed her mouth, a promise, a threat.

He pulled back, unhurried, stepping out of the elevator with the grace of a man who owned everything, including her breath, her sanity, her body.

The doors closed behind him, trapping her inside.

She sagged against the wall, shaking, her thighs pressed tight, her panties drenched, her body wrecked without a single kiss.

And her mind screamed the truth she couldn’t escape, she had just fallen into a fire she couldn’t put out.