Chapter 5

Evelyn's POV

Dorian leaned down, his frame looming over me, a wall of heat and muscle that crushed the air from my lungs. My hands slid up his back, palms grazing the hard ridges of his spine, skin burning under my touch.

I forced a sultry purr, “Honey, you’ve got to be gentle with me,” but inside, I gagged at my own syrupy tone. What am I doing? My fingers lingered, though, tracing the taut lines of him, a shiver racing up my arms. He’s too damn hot, I thought, hating how my pulse quickened.

He didn’t look up, his breath ragged against my throat as he yanked my pajama top up, exposing my chest. My nipples tightened in the cool air, and his dark eyes—sharp, predatory—raked over me, stripping me raw before his hands even moved.

Bastard’s enjoying this, I fumed, but my skin flushed under that gaze. He tugged his own pants down, and my breath hitched—his cock jutted out, thick and rigid, the head flushed dark, veins stark against the length. Jesus, that’s… a lot, I thought, a mix of dread and heat coiling in my gut.

“Old man’s waiting for a kid, huh?” he growled, pinning my hips to the bed with hands like steel. His fingers hooked my waistband, peeling my pants off slow, deliberate, until I lay bare beneath him.

My pussy throbbed, already wet despite my clenched jaw—damn traitor, I cursed inwardly—as he nudged my thighs wide with a rough knee. His erection grazed my inner leg, hot and heavy, sending a jolt through me. I shoved at his chest, weak and half-hearted. “W-Wait—”

No chance. He gripped himself, stroking once, then pressed the swollen tip against my folds, teasing the slickness there. I gasped, hips twitching as he pushed in—slow at first, stretching me with a sharp, delicious burn.

Fuck, he’s huge, I thought, biting my lip hard as he sank deeper, my walls clutching him tight. His groan rumbled through me, low and feral, and my resolve splintered. He thrust fully in, balls flush against me, and I couldn’t hold back the moan that tore out—high, needy.

“Gentle, huh?” he taunted, pulling back only to slam in again, setting a brutal rhythm. My nails clawed his shoulders, pleasure spiking with every stroke as he hit that spot deep inside, relentless. My clit pulsed, swollen and aching where his pelvis ground against me, and I rocked up to meet him, lost in the wet slap of skin on skin.

I hate him, I chanted, even as my body begged for more, slick and trembling around his cock. That grin flashed—wild, evil, gorgeous—and my stomach flipped. Why does he have to look like that?

“Want that kid now?” he rasped, lips brushing mine, his breath hot and minty. I couldn’t speak, too caught in the storm—his thrusts pounding, my thighs quaking, the pressure building fast.

My fists hammered his chest, a frantic protest, but he pinned my wrists above my head, driving harder. “Stay still,” he snarled, and I shattered—orgasm crashing over me, sharp and blinding, my pussy spasming around him as I cried out.

He didn’t slow, grunting low as he chased his own end, then stiffened—hot cum flooding me with a final, punishing thrust. Oh God, I thought, dazed, as he pulled out, leaving me dripping and wrecked.

Panting, he rolled off, and I lay there, spent, squinting at his blurry shape heading to the bathroom. Water hissed, a faint phone call echoing. He returned, towel slung low on his hips, droplets clinging to his abs—still too perfect, I thought bitterly—then ducked downstairs. Five minutes later, he tossed a box onto the nightstand. “Take it.”

I blinked—emergency contraceptive. Sitting up, I popped the pill and gulped it down with cold water, no argument. He threw on a navy robe, sprawling on the bed’s edge, all casual arrogance. “Waste of my time,” he muttered.

I nearly choked on my water. What the hell?

“You’re like a sedated patient—no fun at all.”

I glared, wiping my mouth. “Hospital fetish? Regular there, huh?” He smirked, pinching my cheek, and my stupid heart fluttered again.

Quit touching me, asshole.

“At least the Ashfords sent me something clean,” he said, that grin cutting deeper. Dorian! Always a jab to twist the knife.

After that night, he vanished. I dragged myself back to work, dodging marriage talk—just “family stuff” for my leave excuse.

A grueling clinic shift left me ragged, no chance for water until lunch. Then a sharp knock jolted me. The triage nurse burst in, breathless. “Dr. Ashford, someone’s demanding you—now.”

I checked the clock. “Afternoon slots aren’t open.”

“He knows you—won’t wait.”

“They line up like everyone,” I snapped, slamming my cup down.

“Not even me?” My gut sank. Dorian swaggered in, Emily draped on his arm—her perfume already choking the air. These clowns again. My temples pulsed.

The nurse waved them out. “Not time yet—no men allowed.”

“Dr. Ashford called me in—ask her,” he lied, smooth as silk. She glanced at me, skeptical. I kept my face blank—one slip, and I’m the hospital gossip.

“Go,” I told her.

She left. I sank into my chair as Emily strutted up, her scent a floral assault. Gonna puke, I thought, fighting a grimace. “What’s wrong?” I asked, voice tight.

“Oh,” Dorian cut in, all charm, “Emily’s pregnant.”

I flicked my eyes to Emily’s flat stomach, unimpressed. “Where’s your chart?”

“For you? Don’t need one.” He pulled her closer, then shoved me back into my seat, planting himself on my desk—long legs dangling, cocky as hell. “She’s frail—patch her up. And deliver the kid when it’s time.”

He’s a monster, I seethed, jaw clenching. Here to flaunt her in my face? “Sure, your VIP gets the works,” I said, standing slow. “Early pregnancy needs a full check—follow me.”

I ripped the curtain open, revealing the exam room. Emily peeked, her tan fading to a sickly white as I laid out the gear—speculum, gloves, swabs—each clink deliberate. I snapped latex onto my hands, the harsh snap echoing. She froze, wide-eyed. “Prenatal’s mandatory,” I said, smirking. “Can’t risk Mr. Blackwood’s elite genes.”

“My baby’s fine,” she muttered, yanking his sleeve, voice quivering.

I stepped closer, hands poised, voice sharp. “First grandson, and she doesn’t care? Reckless. Does Mom know she’s knocked up? Should I ring her?”

Dorian’s glare sliced through me, icy and lethal. Gotcha.

“Dorian, tell her—don’t waste my time,” I said, tapping the tools louder. Emily shook her head, panicked, then bolted—heels clattering down the hall. Whoops.

I shrugged, peeling off the gloves and tossing them. “Not chasing her? She’s fragile—your loss if she falls.”

He sneered at the room, lip curling. “Divorce me, I’ll gift you a hospital.”

“Nope. Your cash is mine now—hubby.” Take that.

His grin turned cold, that bad-boy edge sparking my pulse again. “Even if I’m a trainwreck, you’re cool with it?”