#dr. micheal robinavitch x reader

[velvetpucks]

slow night in the pitt

dr. micheal “robby” robinavitch x nurse!reader

—————————————————————————

The ER was quiet. Not the eerie kind of quiet that signaled a disaster brewing—but the kind that meant, for once, the universe had given them a goddamn break. Most of the patients were stable, the waiting room wasn’t overflowing, and the nurses weren’t drowning under a tsunami of admissions.

Christina had just finished handing off a post-op report when she felt it—that heavy stare. That heat crawling up the back of her neck, making her stomach flip. She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Dr. Michael Robinavitch.

She could feel him watching her from across the nurses’ station, arms crossed over his broad chest, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. That cocky, self-assured smirk that made her want to slap him—or kiss the hell out of him. Maybe both.

She had no idea when this thing between them had started. Maybe it was all the arguing, the sharp words exchanged over patient care plans, the way he always pushed her buttons just right. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her when he thought no one else was watching—like he wanted to devour her.

And she let him.

The storage room was dimly lit, the only sound the quiet hum of the fluorescent light overhead. They barely made it inside before his hands were on her—urgent, rough, desperate.

His mouth crashed against hers, all teeth and heat, swallowing the moan that slipped from her lips as he pressed her back against the supply shelf. Metal trays rattled, but neither of them cared. His hands roamed down her body, fingers digging into her waist as he pulled her closer, as if he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them.

“Been watching you all damn night,” he murmured against her lips, voice thick with desire.

Christina smirked, letting her nails drag up the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his dark curls. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it, doctor?”

His eyes darkened at that, and before she could blink, his hands were everywhere—pushing up her scrubs, gripping her thighs, lifting her onto the edge of the counter.

“This,” he rasped against her throat, teeth grazing skin.

Her breath hitched. Heat pooled low in her stomach as his hands pinned her in place, pressing his hips against hers with just enough pressure to make her gasp.

“Robby,” she bit out, voice strained, hands fisting the fabric of his coat.

He hummed in response, trailing kisses down her jaw, his breath hot against her skin. “You sound so pretty when you say my name like that,” he murmured, his voice dripping with hunger. “Say it again.”

Christina clenched her jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But then his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her scrubs, teasing, taunting, and her resolve shattered.

“Robby,” she gasped, arching into him.

His mouth was everywhere—kissing, biting, claiming.

“Good girl,” he breathed against her skin, voice wrecked. “Now let’s see what other sounds I can pull out of you.”

And when he finally gave her exactly what she needed, she had to bite down hard on his shoulder to keep from moaning his name loud enough for the entire ER to hear.

Because this—this fire, this desperation, this need that burned between them like an open flame—was dangerous. Addictive.

And she was absolutely fucked.

Christina sucked in a sharp breath as Robby’s hands moved with purpose, his fingers dipping lower, teasing the waistband of her scrubs. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the quiet hum of the fluorescent light.

“You gonna let me have you right here, nurse?” he murmured, voice thick with hunger.

A thrill shot down her spine.

She shouldn’t. They were in the damn storage room, for God’s sake. Anyone could walk in.

But the heat in Robby’s gaze? The way his fingers brushed her skin, barely touching but enough to set her on fire?

She didn’t care.

“Lock the door,” she breathed.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

The soft click of the lock barely registered before his mouth was on hers again—hungry, impatient, demanding. He kissed like he worked in the trauma bay—fast, precise, relentless.

Christina gasped against his lips as his hands finally slipped under her scrubs, palms skating up her thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin.

“You’re so warm,” he muttered, voice wrecked, lips trailing down her jaw, her throat, lower.

Her head tipped back against the shelf as his mouth found the sensitive spot just beneath her ear, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, his hands gripping her thighs just right.

She arched into him, fingers yanking at the buttons of his coat, shoving it off his shoulders. He let it drop to the floor without a second thought, his hands already pulling at her scrubs, dragging them down her hips.

“You always this impatient?” he teased, voice smug.

“Shut up,” she snapped—right before she kissed him hard enough to steal his breath.

He groaned, low and deep, his fingers digging into her hips as he pressed against her, the hard length of him making her dizzy with need.

“Fuck,” he rasped, voice strained. “You feel how bad I want you, sweetheart?”

Christina’s nails bit into his back. “Then do something about it.”

His eyes darkened.

“Gladly.”

His hands yanked her forward, spreading her thighs wider, and before she could bite back the desperate, shameless moan that slipped from her lips—

He was on his knees.

Her breath hitched as he pressed open-mouthed kisses down the inside of her thigh, his hands gripping, holding, controlling.

“Robby,” she gasped, legs threatening to close around him, but his hands kept her open. Kept her right where he wanted.

“So pretty,” he murmured against her skin. “So perfect for me.”

His breath was hot against her core, teasing, taunting, ruining her.

Then his mouth—oh, God, his mouth.

She barely managed to slap a hand over her mouth before the moan spilled out, her entire body tensing, shaking, unraveling as he worked her over with skilled, practiced, fucking ruthless precision.

Like he had all the time in the world to take her apart.

Like he lived for this.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, tugging, hips bucking against his mouth, but his grip held her down, forcing her to take everything he gave her.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned against her, his voice vibrating exactly where she needed it.

Christina trembled, toes curling, back arching, falling apart so fast she couldn’t stop it—

His tongue flicked, his hands tightened, and she shattered—hard, fast, devastating.

Her sharp, muffled cry echoed in the small room as waves of blinding, mind-numbing pleasure crashed over her.

Robby didn’t stop—not until she was shaking, panting, barely able to hold herself up.

And when he finally stood, lips swollen, eyes dark with satisfaction, she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back in.

“Your turn, doctor.”

And she made damn sure he didn’t walk out of that storage room in control.

Christina’s breath was still ragged, her body humming from the way Robby had just taken her apart, but she wasn’t about to let him have all the control. Not when she knew exactly how to break him, too.

His chest was rising and falling hard, his lips swollen, his pupils blown wide with hunger. And that smug little smirk? The one that said he knew exactly what he’d just done to her?

Yeah, she was about to wipe that clean off his face.

“You look too proud of yourself,” she murmured, sliding her hands up his chest, fingers teasing the collar of his scrub top. “We can’t have that, can we?”

Robby’s smirk deepened. “That so?”

She didn’t answer. She just pushed him back, flipping their positions so his back hit the supply shelf, metal trays rattling behind him.

He barely had time to react before her hands were on him—urgent, greedy, untying the drawstring of his scrubs in one swift motion.

“Fuck—” he exhaled, his head tipping back as she shoved his pants down just enough to free him.

And God, he was already so hard for her.

Christina’s fingers wrapped around him, tight, teasing, deliberate.

“Jesus, nurse,” Robby gritted out, his hips jerking into her touch.

She smirked. “Something wrong, doctor?”

His jaw clenched, hands gripping her hips so tight she was sure she’d feel it later. But she didn’t care.

Not when she could see him falling apart.

She stroked him slow, torturous, too light—just enough to drive him insane.

“Christina,” he warned, his voice low, desperate, wrecked.

She leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his throat, feeling his pulse pound beneath her lips.

“Tell me what you want,” she murmured, breath hot against his skin.

Robby groaned, head dropping forward, his forehead nearly resting against hers. “You.”

That single word sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through her.

She didn’t waste another second.

She sank to her knees.

Robby swore under his breath, his fingers immediately tangling in her hair, his breath sharp and uneven as she took him in her hand, pumping slow, teasing, torturing.

“Christina—”

She flicked her tongue over the tip, and his entire body jerked.

“Jesus fucking—”

She smirked up at him, eyes dark with mischief. “Something wrong, doctor?”

Robby’s control snapped.

His fingers tightened in her hair, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale as she finally—finally—took him into her mouth.

His sharp groan filled the room, his grip on her hair guiding her, his hips barely holding still as she worked him over with slow, deliberate precision.

He was wrecked—his head tipped back against the shelf, jaw clenched, veins prominent in his throat, his entire body strung tight.

And she loved it.

“Fucking—Jesus, Christina,” he groaned, voice wrecked, breathless, desperate.

She didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Took him deeper, hollowed her cheeks, tightened her grip—until his breathing turned ragged, his body tense as a live wire, his fingers trembling in her hair.

“Baby—fuck, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna—”

She didn’t stop.

His deep, broken groan was all the warning she got before he lost it, hips jerking, body shuddering, coming apart in her mouth with a curse so filthy it made her thighs clench.

She swallowed every last drop.

And when she finally pulled back, lips swollen, breath heavy, grinning like she’d just won the lottery?

Robby collapsed back against the shelf, panting, looking at her like she was gonna be the death of him.

“Holy fucking shit,” he rasped, running a hand through his messy, sweat-damp curls.

Christina wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, smirking. “Still feeling smug?”

He let out a breathless, helpless laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, voice ruined. “Because I just found out what I’m doing every time we get a slow night shift.”

Christina rolled her eyes—but when he **yanked her into his lap, kissed her hard, and pressed her against the storage shelves like he was already **ready for round two?

She realized she wasn’t done with him yet, either.

[velvetpucks]

come undone.

dr. robby x reader

⸻

The door slammed behind them like a final verdict. No words. Just heavy breaths and the lingering scent of trauma—burned flesh, old blood, antiseptic, loss. Her hospital badge clattered against the floor, lanyard snapped from her neck as she kicked off her shoes with a fury that felt nuclear.

He stood there in silence, watching her. Jaw tight. Chest heaving. His scrub top was splattered—trauma red, IV blue, something unholy brown on the hem. He hadn’t even washed up after they called it on the girl in trauma three.

Neither of them had.

He opened his mouth.

“Don’t,” she warned, her voice low. Raspy. Dangerous.

Then she was on him. Fist in his collar. Lips crashing into his like she wanted to devour him or break him or maybe both. It was teeth and tongue and heat. A kiss that wasn’t really a kiss—it was war.

Her back slammed against the wall hard enough to rattle a picture frame. Robby didn’t even register it. His hands were already up her sides, under her ruined scrub top, palming the warm, soft skin beneath like he’d die without it.

“I need you to fuck me,” she hissed against his mouth, biting his bottom lip until it bled. “Right fucking now.”

Robby groaned—deep, guttural—and lifted her into his arms without another word. Her legs wrapped around his waist, locking them together as he stalked through the apartment toward the kitchen. It wasn’t graceful. It was unhinged.

He sat her down on the cold marble counter, not even bothering to sweep the unopened mail and leftover takeout to the side. She pulled his head down, kissing him again like she was angry—angry at him, at the world, at herself for not being able to save that kid.

And he gave it all right back.

Her scrub top was ripped in two. Literally. Robby’s hands tore the seams down the middle, exposing her to the warm glow of the kitchen light. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She never did on long call nights. He stared for just a moment—long enough for her to squirm.

“Robby,” she growled.

He leaned in, licked the sweat-slick valley between her breasts, bit her left nipple gently before sucking hard, eliciting a breathless gasp. Her hands clawed at his waistband. She got the drawstrings loose, shoved his pants down. His cock sprang free—thick, heavy, already leaking with need.

“Condom?” he panted.

“Drawer,” she choked out, nodding toward the kitchen island. “Hurry.”

He yanked it open like a man possessed. Fumbled. Found one. Tore it open with his teeth and sheathed himself in seconds.

She’d already shoved her scrub pants and underwear down her thighs, exposing glistening folds and the trembling heat of her arousal.

He groaned at the sight. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“For you,” she gasped. “Always.”

Then he was inside her.

One brutal thrust, and she cried out—loud, raw, head thrown back as her heels dug into his lower back.

He paused for a split second, lips brushing her jaw. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“If you stop, I’ll kill you.”

He didn’t stop.

He fucked her like he meant it. Like he needed to feel her clench around him to erase the sound of flatlines and screaming mothers. His hips snapped against hers, each thrust harder, deeper, rougher. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the space, along with her whimpers and moans—desperate, unrestrained.

She met every thrust with a roll of her hips, clinging to his shoulders like she was trying to crawl inside him. Her body arched into his touch, into the way his mouth moved down her neck, sucking bruises into her collarbone, marking her as his.

“You’re mine,” he growled.

“Yours,” she panted, nails dragging down his back hard enough to draw blood. “Only yours.”

The pressure was building—fast and dirty. She reached down between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight circles as he fucked into her relentlessly.

“God—Robby—I’m gonna—” she choked.

“Let go,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Come for me, baby.”

She shattered.

Her whole body clenched around him, spasming as she cried out his name, head falling forward onto his shoulder. He followed seconds later with a strangled groan, spilling into the condom as he buried himself to the hilt, holding her tight as their bodies trembled together.

For a long moment, they just breathed. Sweat cooling. Arms wrapped around each other like they were the only two people left in the world.

Then he pulled out gently, knotted the condom and tossed it into the trash. She leaned back on her hands, hair wild, chest still rising and falling erratically.

“I ripped your scrubs,” he said softly, almost sheepish.

“I don’t care.”

He bent down and kissed her knee. Then her thigh. Then her lips—slow this time. Tender. Reverent.

“Let’s clean you up.”

He scooped her into his arms again and carried her to the bathroom. Set her down on the edge of the tub and ran warm water over a soft towel. She watched him in silence, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes as he knelt and wiped between her thighs, gentle as ever.

“Come here,” she whispered once he finished.

They crawled into bed. She curled into him, head on his chest, fingers tracing circles over the faint scar on his ribcage. One from a knife wound, months ago. He let her trace it in silence.

“I lost her,” she said finally. “The twelve-year-old.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“I—I thought we had her. I thought—”

“You did everything right.”

“No, I didn’t. I hesitated. Just for a second.”

“Hey.” He cupped her jaw, tilting her face to meet his. “You are the best trauma surgeon I’ve ever seen. You’re allowed to break. You’re allowed to grieve.”

She blinked, and tears slid down her cheeks.

He kissed them away.

“Even when I’m… like this?” she whispered. “Dark. Angry. Fucked up?”

He smiled, brushed her hair back. “Especially then. That’s when you’re real.”

She buried her face in his neck, clung to him like he was her anchor in the storm.

“I love you, Robby.”

“I love you more.”

They fell asleep like that—legs tangled, skin still warm from the afterglow, hearts beating in time.

And for the first time all week, she didn’t dream of trauma bays or monitors flatlining.

She dreamed of home.

Of him.

⸻

[velvetpucks]

let me be there.

dr. micheal “robby” robinavitch x hawaiian!nurse reader

⸻

The ER was quieter than usual when Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch grabbed his bag and pulled on his jacket. The day’s chaos had finally ebbed into a lull, leaving him with a quiet exhaustion that settled heavily on his shoulders. He walked through the emergency room one last time, past the nurses’ station, the trauma bays, and the bustling halls filled with patients and colleagues, before heading toward the exit.

The cool night air greeted him like an old friend as he stepped outside, the city’s lights casting a faint glow against the darkened sky. Robby was tired—bone-deep tired—but it was a kind of tired that wasn’t entirely physical. It was the kind that accumulated over years of hard decisions, of lives saved and lost, and the unspoken weight that came with being the one who had to stay strong when others fell apart.

He pulled his coat tighter against his frame, the faint sound of waves crashing in the distance barely audible from the hospital’s parking lot. He’d always loved that sound, the rhythm of the ocean, a constant in the ever-changing chaos of life. But tonight, the waves seemed to mock him, each crash pulling him deeper into the same ache that had lived in him since that awful day—the day they lost their child.

Kawena, his wife, had been the only one who understood the depth of his grief. She had been there through it all, and in many ways, her grief mirrored his. She was strong, unshakable at work, but at home, she was fragile, wrapped in the same sorrow that clung to him like a second skin. It had been a year since their miscarriage, a year since they’d lost the child they had been so ready to welcome into the world. A year that had stretched into an eternity.

As Robby walked down the sidewalk, the thought of Kawena pulled him toward the dance studio. He hadn’t planned on stopping by, but something inside him tugged. The soft, haunting melody of Pua Kiele echoed in his mind, a song that Kawena had always played when she needed to soothe her soul, when the world was too much. He knew she often went to the studio to dance, to lose herself in the rhythm, to feel connected to something, anything.

The familiar studio lights shimmered in the distance, and as he drew closer, he paused. Through the windows, he saw her. Kawena. Her long, dark hair moved like water around her shoulders, and her graceful hands swept through the air, performing the hula in slow, deliberate movements. But it wasn’t the beauty of her dance that stopped him in his tracks. It was the tears on her face.

Kawena was crying.

Robby’s heart twisted in his chest. He had seen her grief before, had shared in it, but this… This was different. Her dance was always a way to heal, a way to remember their child and honor their brief, shattered dream. But tonight, there was something more—a deep, aching sorrow that Robby knew all too well.

Without a second thought, he pushed open the door to the studio, the soft chime of the bell signaling his entrance. Kawena didn’t stop dancing immediately, lost in the rhythm of her movement, her chest heaving with each breath, but when she saw him, she faltered. Her eyes, red from crying, met his, and the strength she had so carefully built around herself cracked open, revealing the pain she had been hiding.

“Kawena…” Robby’s voice was soft, but it carried the weight of everything unspoken between them. He crossed the room in two steps and gently took her hand, halting her movements. “I’m here.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, her breath shaky as she finally lowered her gaze. Robby cupped her face in his hands, wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks. The smell of jasmine lingered in the air from the flowers she often wore in her hair, a reminder of the love and strength she embodied.

“I’m sorry,” Kawena whispered, her voice breaking. “I just… I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop dancing tonight.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Robby murmured, pulling her into his arms. “I’m right here with you. Always.”

She clung to him as if he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the present, the world outside slipping away as they held each other. Time seemed to freeze in that moment, the only sounds the soft hum of the studio and the rhythm of their breathing.

Kawena pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against his. “It’s the anniversary,” she said softly, the words barely above a whisper.

Robby nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I know. I remember, too.”

Their child. The one they never got to meet. The one they had already begun to love before they even knew who they were. It had been a sudden loss—unexpected, devastating, and irreparable. The pain still felt fresh, even after a year. Some days, it felt as though it had only just happened.

Kawena sniffed, pulling away slightly to wipe her eyes. “I danced for him tonight,” she said, her voice steadying. “For our baby. For the one we never got to hold.”

Robby’s heart clenched. “I know,” he whispered. “I know. I see you, Kawena. I see you always.”

She offered him a sad smile, the kind that was full of love but tinged with sorrow. “It’s just… I don’t know how to heal, Robby. How do we heal from this? How do we move forward when it feels like we lost everything?”

Robby took her hands in his, the weight of their shared grief hanging between them. “We heal together. One day at a time. We carry them in our hearts, always. And we carry each other. That’s how we keep going.”

She nodded, her breath shaky as she leaned into him once more. “I miss him so much, Robby.”

“I do too,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I miss him every day. But we’re going to be okay. We’ll find our way through this together, just like we always do.”

Kawena pulled back to look at him, her eyes searching his face, looking for the truth she needed. “Promise me, Robby. Promise me we’ll always find our way back to each other, no matter what.”

“I promise,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ll always find our way back.”

And in that moment, with the sound of the ocean just beyond the windows and the soft notes of Wena beginning to play on the speakers in the studio, Robby knew that no matter how many tears they shed, no matter how many anniversaries of pain they had to endure, they would always have each other. The love they shared, their memories, their grief—it would guide them through the darkness.

Together, they would heal.

⸻

[velvetpucks]

overwhelmed.

dr. michael “robby” robinavitch x hawaiian!nurse reader

⸻

Kawena stood at the nurse’s station, her eyes scanning the chaotic emergency room, but her mind was elsewhere. The fluorescent lights above her hummed softly, and the constant beeping of monitors blended with the distant sounds of doctors barking orders. Yet, despite all the noise, something inside her felt quiet, almost peaceful.

She was used to this – the tension, the pressure, the overwhelming energy of the ER. But today was different. Today, she felt a strange weight, an emotional tug that refused to be shaken. She wasn’t sure when it started, but she couldn’t deny it anymore. Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch was starting to get under her skin.

Robby. The one who walked into the room with his cool, collected demeanor, as if nothing could ever phase him. Yet, Kawena had seen the cracks—the fleeting moments when his mask slipped. She had noticed how he carried himself, his methodical way of tackling every problem. But behind that calm exterior, she suspected a storm brewed, and part of her was drawn to it.

He wasn’t like the other doctors in the ER. Most of them were arrogant, always too eager to prove themselves, but Robby? Robby was different. He was observant. He noticed the little things. Like the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was stressed or how she took a deep breath before facing another crash. He saw it all.

But there was something else—a shared energy between them, an unspoken tension that neither of them had addressed.

As if on cue, Robby appeared at the nurse’s station, clipboard in hand, his dark eyes scanning over the board of incoming patients. He barely looked at her as he spoke.

“Kawena, the trauma patient’s ready for transport. We’ll need your team on standby.”

She nodded, her fingers brushing the edge of the board, trying to focus. “Got it. We’ll prep for the transfer.”

He hesitated for just a moment, long enough for Kawena to glance up at him. There was something in his gaze—something softer than usual. His eyes lingered on hers, and in that split second, Kawena’s heart raced.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, just above a whisper.

Kawena blinked, taken off guard. “I’m fine,” she lied. But even as the words left her mouth, she felt the weight of them. She wasn’t fine. She wasn’t even sure what “fine” meant anymore. The pressure of the ER, the expectations, the late hours… and then, there was Robby. Her thoughts were too scattered to make sense of it all.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You sure about that?”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to regain her composure. “You’re the one who’s always running around with a thousand things on your plate. How do you handle it?”

Robby’s lips curled into a half-smile, but there was something behind his eyes, an intensity that reflected the exhaustion they both felt. “I don’t,” he said softly. “But I try.”

Kawena chuckled under her breath, the tension in her chest easing just a little. “Yeah, well, maybe you should try harder. We don’t want you burning out.”

He studied her for a moment longer, his gaze steady. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Kawena standing there with the lingering weight of his words.

But as she watched him disappear into the ER, she realized something—something that had been growing in her chest for weeks now.

She was overwhelmed.

⸻

[science-hoes]

What an amazing gift to wake up to

slow night in the pitt

dr. micheal “robby” robinavitch x nurse!reader

—————————————————————————

The ER was quiet. Not the eerie kind of quiet that signaled a disaster brewing—but the kind that meant, for once, the universe had given them a goddamn break. Most of the patients were stable, the waiting room wasn’t overflowing, and the nurses weren’t drowning under a tsunami of admissions.

Christina had just finished handing off a post-op report when she felt it—that heavy stare. That heat crawling up the back of her neck, making her stomach flip. She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Dr. Michael Robinavitch.

She could feel him watching her from across the nurses’ station, arms crossed over his broad chest, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. That cocky, self-assured smirk that made her want to slap him—or kiss the hell out of him. Maybe both.

She had no idea when this thing between them had started. Maybe it was all the arguing, the sharp words exchanged over patient care plans, the way he always pushed her buttons just right. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her when he thought no one else was watching—like he wanted to devour her.

And she let him.

The storage room was dimly lit, the only sound the quiet hum of the fluorescent light overhead. They barely made it inside before his hands were on her—urgent, rough, desperate.

His mouth crashed against hers, all teeth and heat, swallowing the moan that slipped from her lips as he pressed her back against the supply shelf. Metal trays rattled, but neither of them cared. His hands roamed down her body, fingers digging into her waist as he pulled her closer, as if he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them.

“Been watching you all damn night,” he murmured against her lips, voice thick with desire.

Christina smirked, letting her nails drag up the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his dark curls. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it, doctor?”

His eyes darkened at that, and before she could blink, his hands were everywhere—pushing up her scrubs, gripping her thighs, lifting her onto the edge of the counter.

“This,” he rasped against her throat, teeth grazing skin.

Her breath hitched. Heat pooled low in her stomach as his hands pinned her in place, pressing his hips against hers with just enough pressure to make her gasp.

“Robby,” she bit out, voice strained, hands fisting the fabric of his coat.

He hummed in response, trailing kisses down her jaw, his breath hot against her skin. “You sound so pretty when you say my name like that,” he murmured, his voice dripping with hunger. “Say it again.”

Christina clenched her jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But then his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her scrubs, teasing, taunting, and her resolve shattered.

“Robby,” she gasped, arching into him.

His mouth was everywhere—kissing, biting, claiming.

“Good girl,” he breathed against her skin, voice wrecked. “Now let’s see what other sounds I can pull out of you.”

And when he finally gave her exactly what she needed, she had to bite down hard on his shoulder to keep from moaning his name loud enough for the entire ER to hear.

Because this—this fire, this desperation, this need that burned between them like an open flame—was dangerous. Addictive.

And she was absolutely fucked.

Christina sucked in a sharp breath as Robby’s hands moved with purpose, his fingers dipping lower, teasing the waistband of her scrubs. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the quiet hum of the fluorescent light.

“You gonna let me have you right here, nurse?” he murmured, voice thick with hunger.

A thrill shot down her spine.

She shouldn’t. They were in the damn storage room, for God’s sake. Anyone could walk in.

But the heat in Robby’s gaze? The way his fingers brushed her skin, barely touching but enough to set her on fire?

She didn’t care.

“Lock the door,” she breathed.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

The soft click of the lock barely registered before his mouth was on hers again—hungry, impatient, demanding. He kissed like he worked in the trauma bay—fast, precise, relentless.

Christina gasped against his lips as his hands finally slipped under her scrubs, palms skating up her thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin.

“You’re so warm,” he muttered, voice wrecked, lips trailing down her jaw, her throat, lower.

Her head tipped back against the shelf as his mouth found the sensitive spot just beneath her ear, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, his hands gripping her thighs just right.

She arched into him, fingers yanking at the buttons of his coat, shoving it off his shoulders. He let it drop to the floor without a second thought, his hands already pulling at her scrubs, dragging them down her hips.

“You always this impatient?” he teased, voice smug.

“Shut up,” she snapped—right before she kissed him hard enough to steal his breath.

He groaned, low and deep, his fingers digging into her hips as he pressed against her, the hard length of him making her dizzy with need.

“Fuck,” he rasped, voice strained. “You feel how bad I want you, sweetheart?”

Christina’s nails bit into his back. “Then do something about it.”

His eyes darkened.

“Gladly.”

His hands yanked her forward, spreading her thighs wider, and before she could bite back the desperate, shameless moan that slipped from her lips—

He was on his knees.

Her breath hitched as he pressed open-mouthed kisses down the inside of her thigh, his hands gripping, holding, controlling.

“Robby,” she gasped, legs threatening to close around him, but his hands kept her open. Kept her right where he wanted.

“So pretty,” he murmured against her skin. “So perfect for me.”

His breath was hot against her core, teasing, taunting, ruining her.

Then his mouth—oh, God, his mouth.

She barely managed to slap a hand over her mouth before the moan spilled out, her entire body tensing, shaking, unraveling as he worked her over with skilled, practiced, fucking ruthless precision.

Like he had all the time in the world to take her apart.

Like he lived for this.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, tugging, hips bucking against his mouth, but his grip held her down, forcing her to take everything he gave her.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned against her, his voice vibrating exactly where she needed it.

Christina trembled, toes curling, back arching, falling apart so fast she couldn’t stop it—

His tongue flicked, his hands tightened, and she shattered—hard, fast, devastating.

Her sharp, muffled cry echoed in the small room as waves of blinding, mind-numbing pleasure crashed over her.

Robby didn’t stop—not until she was shaking, panting, barely able to hold herself up.

And when he finally stood, lips swollen, eyes dark with satisfaction, she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back in.

“Your turn, doctor.”

And she made damn sure he didn’t walk out of that storage room in control.

Christina’s breath was still ragged, her body humming from the way Robby had just taken her apart, but she wasn’t about to let him have all the control. Not when she knew exactly how to break him, too.

His chest was rising and falling hard, his lips swollen, his pupils blown wide with hunger. And that smug little smirk? The one that said he knew exactly what he’d just done to her?

Yeah, she was about to wipe that clean off his face.

“You look too proud of yourself,” she murmured, sliding her hands up his chest, fingers teasing the collar of his scrub top. “We can’t have that, can we?”

Robby’s smirk deepened. “That so?”

She didn’t answer. She just pushed him back, flipping their positions so his back hit the supply shelf, metal trays rattling behind him.

He barely had time to react before her hands were on him—urgent, greedy, untying the drawstring of his scrubs in one swift motion.

“Fuck—” he exhaled, his head tipping back as she shoved his pants down just enough to free him.

And God, he was already so hard for her.

Christina’s fingers wrapped around him, tight, teasing, deliberate.

“Jesus, nurse,” Robby gritted out, his hips jerking into her touch.

She smirked. “Something wrong, doctor?”

His jaw clenched, hands gripping her hips so tight she was sure she’d feel it later. But she didn’t care.

Not when she could see him falling apart.

She stroked him slow, torturous, too light—just enough to drive him insane.

“Christina,” he warned, his voice low, desperate, wrecked.

She leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his throat, feeling his pulse pound beneath her lips.

“Tell me what you want,” she murmured, breath hot against his skin.

Robby groaned, head dropping forward, his forehead nearly resting against hers. “You.”

That single word sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through her.

She didn’t waste another second.

She sank to her knees.

Robby swore under his breath, his fingers immediately tangling in her hair, his breath sharp and uneven as she took him in her hand, pumping slow, teasing, torturing.

“Christina—”

She flicked her tongue over the tip, and his entire body jerked.

“Jesus fucking—”

She smirked up at him, eyes dark with mischief. “Something wrong, doctor?”

Robby’s control snapped.

His fingers tightened in her hair, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale as she finally—finally—took him into her mouth.

His sharp groan filled the room, his grip on her hair guiding her, his hips barely holding still as she worked him over with slow, deliberate precision.

He was wrecked—his head tipped back against the shelf, jaw clenched, veins prominent in his throat, his entire body strung tight.

And she loved it.

“Fucking—Jesus, Christina,” he groaned, voice wrecked, breathless, desperate.

She didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Took him deeper, hollowed her cheeks, tightened her grip—until his breathing turned ragged, his body tense as a live wire, his fingers trembling in her hair.

“Baby—fuck, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna—”

She didn’t stop.

His deep, broken groan was all the warning she got before he lost it, hips jerking, body shuddering, coming apart in her mouth with a curse so filthy it made her thighs clench.

She swallowed every last drop.

And when she finally pulled back, lips swollen, breath heavy, grinning like she’d just won the lottery?

Robby collapsed back against the shelf, panting, looking at her like she was gonna be the death of him.

“Holy fucking shit,” he rasped, running a hand through his messy, sweat-damp curls.

Christina wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, smirking. “Still feeling smug?”

He let out a breathless, helpless laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, voice ruined. “Because I just found out what I’m doing every time we get a slow night shift.”

Christina rolled her eyes—but when he **yanked her into his lap, kissed her hard, and pressed her against the storage shelves like he was already **ready for round two?

She realized she wasn’t done with him yet, either.