DOCTOR BRIAN IV

Lisa

The next morning, I walked into the hospital with the usual swagger in my step. My pussy was pleasantly sore, a constant reminder of Brian's thick dick splitting me open in his office. I'd chosen my uniform with extra care today, the zipper promising to reveal just enough cleavage to make him sweat. I was ready for round three, or four, or whatever the hell we were on.

But the smirk died on my lips the moment I stepped into the nurses' station. Brian was already there, looking sharp in a tailored lab coat over dark scrubs, his back to me as he reviewed a chart with Evelyn. He didn't even turn around.

"Morning, Evelyn," I said, my voice a little brighter than necessary, aimed right at the back of his head.

Evelyn smiled. "Morning, Lisa. Dr. Anderson was just going over the post-op care for Mr. Henderson."

"Dr. Anderson," I purred, stepping closer. "Fancy seeing you here so early."

He finally turned, and his eyes were... blank. They swept over me, a quick, clinical assessment, and then moved back to the chart as if I were a piece of outdated medical equipment. "Miss Olandra," he said, his voice flat and professional. "Good morning. I need you to prep room three for a cardiac catheterization this afternoon. Evelyn, can you get me the Henderson file from the archives?"

My jaw almost hit the floor. He was dismissing me. Giving me a chore. And calling Evelyn by her first name while I was still "Miss Olandra." He was acting like the supply closet, his office, the way he'd filled me with his cum, had never happened.

The anger that flared in my chest was hot and sharp. Fine. Two could play at that game.

The day dragged on, each minute an eternity of pointed indifference. Every time I was near his office, the bell would ring, and he'd call for someone else. "Nurse Smith, can you bring me the patient files for tomorrow?" "Evelyn, I need a consult on this EKG." It was systematic. It was deliberate. He was treating me like a ghost, and it was driving me fucking insane.

By lunchtime, I was seething. My usual confidence had curdled into a frustrated knot. I needed a win, a reminder that I still had it, that I wasn't just some forgettable piece of ass.

My chance came in the form of Mr. Gable, a sweet old man with a heart condition and wandering hands. He was in for his routine injection, something we'd turned into a little game in the past. He'd lie on the table, I'd prep the needle, and he'd "accidentally" brush his hand against my tits. I'd let him, maybe even lean into it a little. It was harmless, and it made the old man's day.

"Ah, Lisa, my favorite nurse," he wheezed as I prepared the syringe in the quiet, sterile injection room. "You make this old heart of mine flutter."

"Just lie still, Mr. Gable," I said, my voice tight. I wasn't in the mood.

As I leaned over to swab his arm, his hand came up, just like always, his fingers brushing against the side of my breast. I closed my eyes, bracing for the familiar, mildly annoying sensation.

But it wasn't his hand I felt. It was Brian's. I saw his face, dark with lust, behind my eyelids. I remembered the demanding way he'd gripped my hips, the possessive bite of his teeth on my neck, the guttural way he'd groaned my name as he came. A shiver, completely unrelated to the old man's touch, ran down my spine. My pussy, which had been in a state of frustrated hibernation all day, gave a sudden, interested clench.

"Are you alright, dear?" Mr. Gable asked, his hand stilling.

I snapped my eyes open. "I'm fine," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. I quickly administered the injection, my movements jerky and efficient. "All done. You can get dressed now."

I practically fled the room, my face burning. What the hell was wrong with me? Brian was treating me like dirt, and my body was still betraying me, craving him with a humiliating intensity.

I spent the rest of my shift burying myself in work, focusing so hard on my patients that I didn't have time to look up, didn't have time to see who he was calling to his office. I was a professional, damn it. A damn good nurse. I didn't need him.

But as I was packing up to leave, the intercom on his desk buzzed, his voice echoing through the near-empty station. "Nurse Olandra. My office. Now."

My heart leaped into my throat. Every nurse still on duty turned to look at me. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and walked to his door, my mind racing. Was this it? Was he finally going to acknowledge me? Or was this just another professional summons, another way to put me in my place?

I knocked once and entered without waiting for a reply. He was sitting behind his massive desk, looking like a king on his throne. He didn't look up from the file he was reading.

"Close the door," he said, his voice clipped.

I did, my hand shaking slightly. The click of the latch echoed in the tense silence. I stood there, waiting, my body a confusing mix of fury and anticipation.

He finally looked up, his eyes locking onto mine. They were cold, but there was a fire simmering deep in their depths that he couldn't quite hide.

"I trust you had a productive day, Nurse Olandra," he said, the formal address a deliberate slap in the face.

"Very productive, Doctor," I shot back. "I focused on my job, since that's all you seem to think I'm good for."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Good. Because that's what this is. Your job. Whatever happened yesterday... was a mistake. A lapse in judgment that won't be repeated."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "A mistake?" I whispered, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to sound strong.

"A serious one," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "I'm your superior. You're a nurse under my supervision. It was inappropriate, unprofessional, and it puts both our careers at risk. So you will forget it ever happened. You will stop parading around here like you're on display, and you will focus on your work. Do I make myself clear?"

Tears of rage pricked at my eyes. I wanted to slap him, to scream, to throw something. But I just stood there, frozen, his words slicing through my confidence until I felt small and cheap.

"Crystal clear, Doctor," I finally managed to say, my voice hollow.

"Good," he said, turning back to his file as if I were already gone. "You can go now."

I walked out of his office on shaky legs, the fury warring with a crushing sense of rejection. I had wanted him, and I had thought he wanted me. But all I was to him was a mistake to be corrected. As I walked away from his office, I made a silent vow. Brian Anderson wanted to pretend I didn't exist? Fine. But he'd learn that some mistakes have consequences. And I was going to be his.