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Tonight is a classic example. I was supposed to be knocking on his door over an hour ago, but when three ambulances pulled up outside the ER just as I was about to leave – I didn’t. Sure, I could have. I could have been one of those clock-watching, not-my-problem, my-shift’s-over sayonara people, but that’s not how medicine works.

So, I stayed.

Because that is how it works. That’s how being a resident who wants to become an attending works. That’s how it is in the ER.

I managed to shoot him a quick text as the first gurney came through the door to alert him, and when I finally got a chance to check my phone as I was leaving, hisI don’t care how late you are, just comeis infinitely reassuring, but I can’t help but wonder how long until he does care?

How many events do I get to be late to until his patience runs out?

So I’m already arriving on the back foot. Feeling shitty and apologetic as well as nervous. Which is the last thing I want. Tonight should be about him. And the fact I have two days off now does cheer me as I stand in front of his door.

I have to study during the day, but the nights? They’re ours. And the thought that I’m going to spend all night in his bed lying next to him sets a little worm of delight squirming through my belly as I wrap my knuckles on the door.

It opens within seconds, and I briefly wonder if he was just standing there looking out the peephole waiting for me to arrive, but then he reaches for me, sliding one arm around my waist and sweeping me inside. I don’t get a chance to wonder anything as he pushes the door shut with his other hand and kisses me.

Everything from that second forward is blasted from my brain. I’m conscious of things only on a visceral level. The questing softness of his mouth, the deep probe of his tongue and the faint scratch of his facial scruff that darts an arrow of sensation like heat-seeking missiles straight to my clit. The mint of his toothpaste, the wild musky smell of his cologne, or maybe that’s just his pheromones. The hard, unyielding wood beneath my shoulder blades as he pushes me against the door and the loud chug of his breathing.

‘Fuck, Doc,’ he mutters, his lips brushing mine as his hands slide either side of my face, pushing into my hair. ‘I’ve missed you.’

I can’t respond with words as his tongue is back, thrusting eagerly into my mouth, so I moan instead, greeting it with my own as my hands twine around his neck and I clutch him close. His chest is hard against mine and I rub myself against him, trying to ease the tingle in my nipples and the pulse of my clit.

The sensations are everywhere. They are upon me and I pant at how overwhelming they are. I am drowning and he is air.

But suddenly he’s pulling away and I am mewing my disappointment. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs, his hands untangling from my hair and dropping to my hips, his forehead pressing to mine. ‘I promised myself I wasn’t going to be such a Neanderthal.’

I give a half laugh, breathy and not quite sounding like my own. If he’s a caveman than I am a cavewoman because this desire feels utterly primitive. He eases his head back a little so he can look down at me in earnest. ‘You’ve worked all day and you must be exhausted and starving.’

I shake my head. ‘I’m fine.’ There has been a localised outbreak of gastro this past week and the department has been crazy busy. I’ve worked back every shift and collapsed into a heap onto my bed after each one, but seeing Danny invigorates me. ‘How are you?’

He looks tired. There’s a weariness to his eyes that I often see in my own after a long and busy night shift. There are dark smudges beneath too, and his hair looks like it’s been stabbed through with his fingers many times over. I know he’s pretty much driven straight through from Reno to get home today, but maybe those smudges aren’t all to do with fatigue.

‘I’m good. All the better for seeing you.’ He smiles, slow and warm and like just looking at me is restorative, and I know exactly how he feels, but that wasn’t what I meant.

‘But how are you – really?’

He nods in acknowledgement. ‘I’m okay. Really.’

Another smile. One that reassures. The fact he doesn’t saygoodthat he saysokay, is heartening. It acknowledges that it’s impossible to be good right now but that he’s coping. And I love that he doesn’t feel the need to be all stiff-upper-lip over the loss of a person who meant so much in his life.

‘You want to eat? I got some pizza delivered earlier. There’s a couple of slices left.’

I haven’t eaten since I shoved a piece of toast in my mouth about four this afternoon. And I’m bursting with a hundred questions. But I’ve gone longer without food and the questions can wait. There’ll be time for sustenance and communication.

There is a much more pressing need.

I feel it in the eager strain of his body and the answering strain in my own. I can sense it in how he’s trying to bank the fever in his blood, the one that is echoed inmyblood. I can hear it in the husk of his warm breath fanning my face, infecting my own respirations with a roughness that burrs at my throat.

Since the moment I hugged Danny after the phone call and he leaned into me, I’ve wanted to offer him solace. In whatever form that took. And sometimes solace can be carnal. Sometimes bodies can provide things that food and words cannot.

‘I don’t want pizza,’ I whisper as I use my still-twined arms to tug down on his neck, rising on my tip toes to meet him halfway. ‘I only want you.’

When his mouth comes down on me this time, there is no need for restraint and I feel his shudder right down to my bones. The hard vice of his hands clamped on my hips is broken and they move finally, smoothing up my body to my breasts, which they stroke and knead, his fingertips rubbing over my nipples, which burgeon then bead beneath the onslaught and light a fiery path of desire straight to the slickness between my legs.

I moan mindlessly against his lips as a vortex of sensation spirals from my mouth to my nipples to my clit, spreading tentacles of pleasure, digging fiery fingers into my ass and thighs. And I need more. More of him. All of him.

My hands move now, to the haunch of his shoulders and the contours of his back, dragging his T-shirt up and tearing it off his head. His skin is hot and smooth beneath my palms as they explore lower, sliding to the tight bunch of his ass, which I squeeze with as much fervour as he’s kneading my breasts.

His groan is satisfying in ways I never knew existed.