Page 18 of Dr. Roz Harrington
It was deeper, more desperate than their first. Roz’s other hand slid to the back of Sam’s neck, pulling her closer as their bodies pressed together. Sam’s arms wrapped around Roz’s waist instinctively, her fingers gripping the soft leather of her jacket as she gave herself over to the kiss.
Their breaths mingled, heavy and uneven, as they stumbled toward the couch. Roz’s hands were everywhere—Sam’s hair, her back, her hips—and Sam felt herself melting under the weight of Roz’s touch. Every move was confident, but there was a vulnerability beneath it, an unspoken need that mirrored Sam’s own.
Roz pulled back just enough to look at her, the shadows catching on the sharp cut of her jaw, her green eyes dark and burning. “You have no idea,” she murmured, her voice a low drag of heat against Sam’s lips, “how long I’ve wanted this.”
Sam’s breath caught in her throat, her hands tightening on Roz’s hips like she was holding on to the edge of something vast. “I think I do,” she whispered, her voice shaky, full of wonder and tension.
Roz smiled then, slow, confident, dangerous. The kind of smile that made Sam’s stomach twist with anticipation. She leaned in again and kissed her, deep and consuming, a kiss that pinned Sam in place with nothing but her mouth and intent. Her hands tangled in Sam’s hair, dragging her head back just enough to control the angle, to make her yield to the pace Roz set, unyielding, insistent, yet utterly sure of her own hunger.
Sam melted beneath her, not because she was weak, but because Roz left her no room to stay standing. The heat between them flared fast, urgent, frantic, but Roz didn’t rush. She pressed Sam against the wall, one thigh between her legs, her body hard and anchoring. She broke the kiss just long enough to drag her mouth down Sam’s neck, teeth grazing, tongue following. Sam moaned, soft and helpless, hips shifting to chase friction.
Roz’s leather jacket dropped to the floor with a thud, peeled off in one motion as she reached under Sam’s shirt and pulled it over her head, exposing skin that flushed beneath her stare. “Beautiful,” Roz said, like a verdict, not a compliment. Her palms flattened over Sam’s ribs, then slid up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the lace of her bra. Sam arched, breath catching again, lips parting, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t.
Roz kissed her again, rougher now. Possessive. Her hands moved fast, unhooking the bra and letting it fall away. Her mouth followed instantly, lips closing around a nipple, tongue teasing as her hand gripped Sam’s hip hard enough to bruise. Sam cried out, a sharp sound swallowed into Roz’s hair as she bent over her.
“Bed,” Roz said, voice hoarse and low, and Sam obeyed before she even realized she’d moved. She stumbled backwards, legs weak, and Roz followed, shedding clothes without ceremony. Her body was carved muscle, all strength and raw want, but it was the look in her eyes that undid Sam completely.Focused. Commanding. Like Roz was already inside her, already wrecking her without laying another finger on her.
Sam climbed onto the bed, her skin flushed and glowing, and Roz crawled after her. She pushed Sam back against the pillows and straddled her hips, hair falling forward in a curtain that brushed Sam’s face as she bent down to kiss her again. There was no space between their bodies, only heat and pressure and the simmering tension that had been waiting to snap for months.
“Keep your hands where I put them,” Roz whispered, and guided Sam’s wrists above her head, pinning them to the pillow with one strong hand. “Don’t move.”
Sam nodded, dazed, every nerve ending lit and waiting. She kept her arms still as Roz kissed her way down, slow and methodical, teeth dragging across her collarbone, tongue circling her belly button. When Roz’s fingers hooked into the waistband of her jeans, Sam held her breath. Roz popped the button, pulled them down inch by inch, and didn’t break eye contact once.
She knelt between Sam’s legs, fingers spreading her open, and Sam gasped, struggling to catch her breath. Roz didn’t tease. She didn’t ask. She simply bent forward and gave her everything, mouth, tongue, control. Sam writhed, moaned, begged without words, her hands clenched in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut. But Roz didn’t let her hide in sensation. She slowed every time Sam got too close, made her open her eyes, and made her feel every second.
“You’re going to come for me,” Roz said against her skin, voice muffled by heat and slick and urgency. “And when you do, I want you looking at me.”
Sam nodded frantically, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Please,” she choked out, and Roz finally, finally gave in, her rhythm steady, fingers joining her mouth, pressure buildingwith perfect precision until Sam shattered with a strangled cry, her hips bucking, thighs trembling, Roz’s name on her lips.
Roz didn’t stop. Not completely. She coaxed her through the aftershocks, kissed her inner thighs, then slid up her body, blanketing her with heat and strength. She kissed Sam’s temple, her cheek, then her mouth again, slower now, but no less sure.
“Fuck,” Sam whispered when she could breathe again. “I think I forgot my own name.”
Roz smiled, brushing sweat-damp hair back from Sam’s forehead. “Good,” she said. “Because tonight, it’s mine.”
They didn’t sleep for hours. Roz took her again, and again, each time different, each time demanding. Sam gave everything, and Roz took it with reverence and dominance that didn’t need to be cruel to be total.
When they finally collapsed into each other, legs tangled, skin damp and glowing, there were no words. Just their breath. Just the quiet thud of two hearts that had finally found rhythm in each other.
And when Sam drifted off in Roz’s arms, she did it knowing—without fear, without question—that this wasn’t just sex.
It was surrender. And it was safe.
6
ROZ
Roz sat alone in her office, the soft glow of the desk lamp the only light in the room. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, but she wasn’t paying attention to it. Her gaze was fixed on the darkened window, where the faint reflection of her own pink hair stared back at her. Beyond the glass, the city was alive, the muted hum of distant traffic filtering through the quiet hospital.
Her day had been relentless, a series of surgeries and consultations that had demanded her complete focus. Yet here she was, her thoughts spiraling away from patients and procedures and instead circling around Sam Quinn like a moth to a flame.
It had started as a spark, a brief and unexpected kiss that had sent her carefully constructed world tilting on its axis. Since then, every stolen glance, every lingering touch, and every late-night message had stoked the fire. Their secret romance burned hot, intense, and exhilarating, but it was also terrifying. Roz was a woman of control, precision, and certainty, but Sam made her feel unmoored, like she was navigating a current far stronger than herself.
She leaned back in her chair, her hand running through her hair in frustration. Vulnerability wasn’t something she welcomed. It wasn’t something she allowed. Yet Sam had slipped past her defenses with an ease that left Roz reeling. Every time she thought about pulling back and regaining control, the memory of Sam’s touch would surface, soft and deliberate, unraveling her resolve.
Roz closed her eyes and exhaled deeply.Get a grip,she told herself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
The sharp buzz of her phone on the desk broke the silence, pulling her from her thoughts. She opened her eyes and reached for it, her breath hitching when she saw the name on the screen:
