Chapter 2

　　Damian

　　I woke up alone.

　　That part wasn't unusual. My life had always been built around controlled absences, people leaving, conversations ending cleanly, rooms emptying without consequence. But this particular silence felt slightly unfinished.

　　The bed beside me was cold.

　　I sat up slowly, pressing my fingers against my temple as memory returned in fragments. Alcohol. A girl stumbling into my hotel room instead of hers. Soft laughter. Her hands on my shirt. Me deciding not to stop what should've never started.

　　Then waking up in the middle of the night with her underneath me and losing the rest of my self-control anyway.

　　My jaw tightened. I wasn't careless by nature.

　　When I finally looked around properly, she was gone. No goodbye. No awkward explanation. Just cold sheets and an empty room after spending half the night tangled up with a stranger who looked deceptively innocent.

　　Annoying.

　　By the time I arrived at the hospital, I had already pushed the incident aside. Discipline meant compartmentalizing things before they became distractions.

　　Afternoon rounds continued normally until a nurse handed me a chart.

　　"Your next patient, Dr. Blackwood."

　　I scanned the symptoms absently. Pelvic discomfort. Soreness. Possible inflammation.

　　My brows furrowed slightly. "Where's the patient?" I asked.

　　"Room three."

　　I pushed open the door. Then nearly laughed.

　　Well, fucking hell. There she was.

　　The girl from last night sat on the examination chair looking nervous, tense, and completely unaware that the man responsible for her condition had just walked into the room.

　　I closed the door calmly behind me. Still, dark amusement lingered underneath because she really didn't recognize me yet. Interesting.

　　"Doctor..." she started hesitantly.

　　I moved toward the desk, sat down, and opened her chart. "Elara Green?"

　　"Yes," she answered, eyes low.

　　I wrote her name down slowly. She looked nervous already with tight shoulders, careful posture, and eyes avoiding mine every few seconds like instinct was warning her about something her memory hadn't caught up to yet.

　　"And your medical history?" I asked after a slightly long moment of writing her name.

　　"Nothing relevant."

　　"Any recent sexual activity?"

　　Her fingers tightened immediately in her lap. "Yes."

　　"Recently meaning?"

　　Her throat moved slightly before she answered. "Last night."

　　Of course it was.

　　I kept my expression neutral even I remembered everything. Her flushed face against my pillow. Her nails digging into my shoulders. The way she sounded after the second time when she could barely form complete sentences anymore.

　　And now she was here because I'd been too rough with her. That realization should have made me feel guilty. Instead, I found myself wanting to tease her.

　　"Any protection used?" I asked evenly.

　　"N-No."

　　I wrote that down. "Pain during or after intercourse?"

　　"After."

　　"Mhm." I leaned back slightly. "How severe?"

　　Her brows pulled together faintly. "I don't know... Moderate?"

　　"That's vague."

　　She looked embarrassed now. "I didn't exactly rate it at the time."

　　A quiet laugh almost escaped me.

　　"How many times did you climax?" I asked calmly.

　　Her entire face froze. "What?"

　　I looked up from the chart as if the question were completely ordinary. "For medical context."

　　Color rushed into her cheeks instantly. "I—" She swallowed hard. "I don't know."

　　That nearly broke my self-control. I remembered exactly how many times. "Approximate number, then."

　　She looked like she wanted the floor to open beneath her. "Three, I guess..." she admitted quietly.

　　Jesus.

　　My jaw tightened briefly. No wonder she could barely sit comfortably. "And duration?"

　　She stared at me. "Duration of what?"

　　"Orgasm," I replied smoothly.

　　Her mouth fell slightly open.

　　I kept writing like this was the most routine conversation in the world. "How long did each one last approximately?"

　　"You cannot be serious."

　　"I'm a doctor," I said mildly. "I'm always serious."

　　That was technically true. It just wasn't the entire truth.

　　She looked away, visibly flustered now. "I didn't time it."

　　"Pity. That would've been helpful."

　　Her eyes snapped back toward mine. There it was again—that spark of irritation underneath the embarrassment. Much prettier than nervousness.

　　I continued before she could recover. "And the intercourse itself?"

　　Her voice became cautious. "What about it?"

　　"Duration."

　　"I don't know," she answered almost immediately.

　　"Estimated?"

　　She hesitated. "Maybe... a while?"

　　"A while," I repeated dryly. "Very medically precise."

　　"You're enjoying this."

　　The accusation slipped out before she could stop it.

　　I met her gaze calmly. "You think I enjoy discussing your sex life?"

　　"I think you enjoy making me uncomfortable."

　　That almost made me smile. Unfortunately, she was correct.

　　I tapped the pen lightly against the file. "Any unusual discomfort during penetration?"

　　Her breathing shifted again. "No."

　　"Partner particularly rough?"

　　A dangerous pause. "...Not intentionally."

　　That choice of wording hit me harder than expected because she was defending him—me. But without realizing it.

　　I leaned back farther in my chair, studying her openly now. "Size can also be relevant," I said casually.

　　Her eyes widened immediately. "Excuse me?"

　　"For assessment purposes." My tone remained perfectly even. "Approximate length and girth?"

　　She looked genuinely scandalized now. "That cannot possibly matter."

　　"It might," I replied smoothly. "Injury severity can vary depending on circumstances."

　　"You're asking me to estimate someone's penis size in a hospital."

　　"When you say it out loud like that, it sounds much less professional."

　　She made a soft, disbelieving sound under her breath and pressed a hand briefly against her forehead. I had to look away for half a second before she caught the amusement threatening to surface.

　　God, this was entertaining. More entertaining than it should have been.

　　"I don't know," she muttered finally. Her voice rose slightly before she lowered it again immediately. "I-I wasn't exactly carrying a measuring tape around."

　　That time, I did smile faintly, gone almost immediately. But she noticed. And for one dangerous second, recognition nearly flickered across her face.

　　I stood before she could think too hard about it. "Lie back on the examination bed," I instructed.

　　She blinked up at me. "What?"

　　"Physical examination is required," I said calmly. "I need to determine the severity of the inflammation."

　　Her posture stiffened immediately. "I... can't you just prescribe something?"

　　"I could," I replied and moved closer, stopping beside the bed. "You came here because something is wrong," I continued smoothly. "Unless you'd prefer I make medical decisions based entirely on imagination."

　　She stared at me for a long moment before slowly standing.

　　I turned slightly away as she settled onto the examination bed, giving her enough privacy to preserve dignity without pretending modesty mattered clinically.

　　When I faced her again, I already had gloves on. "Lower your clothing as well."

　　Her eyes widened slightly. "Everything?"