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1. The Mastermind
Homemade leverage. The act of investing personal assets in an unleveraged company to manufacture leverage, thereby increasing potential return. It’s essentially adding stakes of your concoction to a neutral game, allowing you to control the board. Changing a harmless game into a real fucking gamble.
—
It starts with a bet. But well before the avalanche headed Mel’s way starts to snowball, she walks into the ER on a calm Tuesday morning. She’s half an hour early as usual. Fresh from her post-morning coffee run with Becca before going their separate ways for the day.
Mel runs through her morning routine and picks up all her essentials: airpods out, locker code punched in, stethoscope swung and phone set to priority only. She chugs that last bit of her iced chai — not chai tea ‘cause that's super redundant, Javadi mentioned once— and greets Samira as she signs discharge papers for her 3 AM wrist fracture.
Popping one of Dana's countertop peppermints at Central, she files away cases she’d like to get her hands on. Mel doesn't like cherry picking, but she can't help it, not when there's a chance to work them with—
“Any winners yet?”
“Dr. Langdon!" A near squeak as she turns to find him directly behind her.
“Dr. King,” he teases, matching her smile with his own. It's a thing they do. Switching to formalities when she needs an extra boost or the moment before his hand lands lower than appropriate.
Right now it's the latter. Since his hand is on her back for balance, as if the counter he’s reaching over won't support him. Unnecessary and a show of blatant favouritism PTMC’s newest attending cannot afford.
“Uh, nope. We’re still waiting for Samira to discharge Central 8.”
“Sweet, let me know who rolls in next. We can work on ‘em together.” Langdon shoots her another crinkled-eyed smirk before catching up with Robby across the desk.
It's a sweet thing. What they have going on is like a prolonged honeymoon of sorts. Stolen touches here and there, feeding her bits of his protein bar, tying her surgical gowns, even pressing an illicit kiss to her knuckle before slipping her sterile gloves on.
It’s sweet and easy . Langdon melts her literal and figurative worries into something more manageable. Car broke down so she has to commute? No problem, her place is on his way. Ran out of time to pick up Becca’s favourite deep dish pizza? He already called the place so it’s waiting for her at home. Mel’s shoe laces came loose? Langdon is already on his knee.
Not to mention Langdon is always around, always stuck to her in some capacity. Behind her during procedures, ready with a steady stream of praise, cherry picking cases specifically with the intent of snapping to her side like a rubber band. He’d stare down med students disobeying her, reprimanding interns under Mel’s supervision over slight mishaps so they don’t reflect badly on her, handing her the difficult cases to challenge her and boost her reputation in the process.
And then there was the Intersecting Lines of Medicine and Nanotechnology Conference that required their presence in San Francisco. Even if nothing happened, besides a few kisses on Mel’s flushed cheek, she’s sure Abby wouldn't appreciate her husband playing house with his coworker. In their defence, Heather and Robby were originally slated for the event but pulled out at the last second for a family emergency (honeymooning at his upstate ranch).
So Mel and Langdon made a weekend out of it, under the pretense they were the Pitt’s newlyweds. They had a calendar filled to the brim with morning presentations, sightseeing, coastal walks, hike trails, pancake breakfasts, seafood linguine on Langdon’s tab, nightly cross-country facetime calls and a wall of pillows between their bodies in Mel’s suite. They passed the time cordially and platonically. Except the pillows were tossed aside by the time Mel woke up curled into his bare chest. She refrains from giving it much thought.
2. The Stakes
Trinity, in an act of pure absentmindedness, walked into work with a bruise on her neck last week.
Everyone was quick to rule out bug bites or allergies, jumping straight to casual hookups. Highlight of the fucking week, neon sticky notes with various names, possible circumstances and numbers listed on them. Ongoing bet for 2 weeks up until yesterday, with participants tossing more guesses and the numbers going up.
Office romance bets are an evergreen glitch in the PTMC ecosystem. So naturally, Trinity doesn’t mind the commotion or the imposition. The issue, however, is that Langdon won the gamble. The full fucking parlay. Put all his money on “stairwell makeout session + w/ non ER coworker (Garcia)” and made close to a full band.
For the record, he only knew that fact because Garcia offhandedly mentioned the hookups in one of their verbal spars. So, it is entirely unfair of him to use privileged (technically widely known) information on the trading floor. It’s basically insider trading, considering that the PTMC Rumour Mill, for all intents and purposes, is a publicly traded company.
Honestly, she’s more mad he won than anything, since everybody operated under the assumption she and Yolanda had a fling a few months back and hence ruled her out as a potential candidate. Sick and fucked up if Trinity has any say on the matter.
So obviously, she is going to get even. The only hitch in her plan is the fact Langdon would never find himself in a workplace romance—on account of his marriage.
—
When Langdon kisses Mel’s neck for the first time, he locks her between his body and the half-wall under the staircase. Feverishly hot, she feels his tongue against her skin leaving a wet trail. And Mel wants to muster up the courage to ask for something concrete, something to bruise his marriage, something like– “if we were to, um, take this further. I wouldn't want to get your ring wet.”
“Christ,” Langdon whispers in the crook of her exposed neck. “Need me to take it off?”
Absolutely not, she thinks. Mel likes the reminder. The taste of victory. The act of pulling him away from his legal complications. So she shakes her head, grinning as she tilts her head, luring him back in as she slips a hand in her scrub pants.
“Let me do that for you, sweetheart.” He grumbles in her ear, already trailing his hand down. She catches it before he finds the knot of her scrubs. “Oh, I wouldn't want to impose.”
“You're not. Let me help.” Langdon’s hand is already at the helm. It'd be so easy to just let him. Mel on the other hand wishes to maintain some sense of fidelity, keep him loyal. Especially with those circulating rumours, it wouldn't be fair to interfere with his life.
I want to wreck myself for you. Let me hand over the ruined version so you can stitch me up to fit your desires. That's what he wants to say, she can hear it in the gaps of his wavering voice. Mel almost believes him. Mel so wants to believe him.
“Maybe just talk to me. I really don't want this to bounce back on you and I’d hate to compromise your sobriety. It might get back to your wife,” she adds that last part quietly. Mel doesn't want to bring her up. Honestly, she doesn't care. But he has a family too. A reputation to uphold. Except, he doesn’t seem to care.
“Don’t mind Abby.” Langdon drops his head closer as he grumbles, “believe me, I do this with all my residents.” His half-joke gets a giggle from her and she watches something from his devious mind flicker into a smile. Langdon takes her hand in his and presses it to her chest. He traces the length of her torso, his hand above hers, careful not to touch her directly. It takes her a second to catch on, distracted by the fingertips on her nails, but once she realizes his intent, her breath catches. “This is only a hands-on learning opportunity. You need guidance and I am guiding you. Simple as that, sweetheart.”
Langdon slips their hands in below the waistline and tilts her chin with his free hand to keep her eyes on him, “still good?” He asks earnestly, with his hand parked in her scrubs. Mel nods and hums affirmatively.
Mel gasps at the contact. Even if her hands are not foreign to her, they’re limp under his touch. His fingertips guide hers, with precision and accuracy, keeping her rhythm steady on her clit. It's a slippery slope, literally, his hand runs through her folds (her finger acting an intermediary), but the non-zero risk of his finger hitting her nerve excites her. Within minutes, she's over the edge. Head thrown against the wall, her moan echoes around but she's too far gone to care for any of it. Her mind buzzes at the idea of her attending keeping her pliant and well rewarded like this after every crike. And because it’s never just one and done with him, Langdon pushes her through a second high moments later.
They make do on a technicality. So now it's another thing they do. Langdon and Mel both agreed it’s best if his hands always lay over hers, teaching through a hands-on approach. And it works so well, Mel blissfully walks back to the floor with wetness pooling back in her panties.
No real stakes hang in the balance. Plus, Mel is owed something gratifying and easy. An affair of small proportions is honestly owed after a lifetime of giving. Honestly, illicit kisses and a firm hand from her married coworker evens out her karmic tally. It’s only some harmless fun as long and as that band stays on his metacarpal, their colleagues are none the wiser.
3. The Crew
“It’s not an actual club, Melatonin,” Trinity responds, focused on the task at hand. The two are working on a fairly standard procedure, digit reattachment and some suturing, similar to the one McKay performed with Trinity last year.
“Oh, I know,” Mel replies with a smile, “just excited to be a part of something, you know, this way we could have some time to hang out outside of work.” She’s rambling a bit, but Trinity cuts in, “we already hang out after work.”
“True, but I don’t get to spend as much time with you as I do with Becca or Frank.”
“Frank as in Langdon? What the hell are you doing with Langdon after work?
“Oh, we started carpooling since my car is in the shop.” Half truth, her car broke down and needed maintenance.
That was three weeks ago, Trinity thinks to herself. “Right,” she says with a nod, and before Mel can believe that to be the end, she pipes up, “so, you and Langdon are getting pretty close, huh?”
“I’d say so.” Mel can’t hide her blush or her cheshire smile but she tries so damn hard it’s almost sweet, Trinity wants to say. She doesn’t, though. Instead, she nods and keeps her trained on the needle and thread in her hand. “Do you think you can do me a solid?” Trinity finishes her stitching with a tight knot. “Of course, anything!”
“Since you know him better than Garcia at this point.” That piques her interest and shifts her attention from the syringe in her hand. “Is Langdon the type of guy to have an affair?” Trinity asks, already knowing he’s the type to step out on his overworked wife. And even without concrete evidence, anyone with half her observation skills can safely categorize Langdon as a possible lying douchebag. Everything about that guy screams cheater. However, for reasons far beyond Trinity’s reach, Mel gives it some serious thought with a contemplative finger to her chin before speaking. “I doubt it, he would tell me if he had a girlfriend. Or if anything was going on at home.”
Ah, so he confides in Mel. Obviously, that is her in. If Langdon wants to fight dirty, then so can she. And a twisted part of Trinity knows he’d appreciate the fight she’s putting up.
With a devious smirk, Trinity huddles Mel in closer like they’re exchanging names of crushes on the playground. “Right, ‘cause there’s an old bet that nobody cashed out on since his leave last year. And rumour was he was on the verge of divorce. Robby shut it down in lieu of, well, you know rehab , but I’m thinking we kickstart it again and get fucking messy with it.”
“Messy?” Mel has a puzzled look on her face. Except in Mel’s defence, Trinity proposed a real head scratcher. So she elaborates, “as in we start a rumour swaying votes to the losing side, then swoop in knowing what we know and place all our money on the truth.”
Mel catches on and immediately perks up with curiosity, “Okay, um, who would he have an affair with?”
“Oh, sweet Melatonin, that’s where you come in.”
—
Up until today, Mel’s hunt for a boy to kiss was unsuccessful. victoria even offered Dr. Shen, though that was more so because she half-mindedly confused the conversation with who she had a crush on. Either way, Mel turned down her non-offer. Becca and Trinity are still on the prowl, turning every bar in the city upside down to find her somebody.
The requirements were simple. Somebody to kiss. Anybody at all, not necessarily a boy. Kiss, she can let that go as well and settle for conversation at the pizzeria near Presby. By no means is Mel picky, she has plenty of options and fish swimming her way. She just keeps rejecting them. And for fuck’s sake her entourage couldn't figure out why.
Truth be told, Mel didn't want a stranger tonguing around in her mouth or licking at her teeth. Where would it even go with a stranger? She wants something simple but more weightier than a bar hookup. Casual enough not to distract her but still a whirlwind to pique her attention. She wants a complication to blush over.
She wants Frank Langdon.
This is light, jovial and easy . That and the thrill of sneaking around is always a bonus. Mel liked having her secrets, dirty thoughts tucked away in her mind. Enough to make her blush and wrangle herself back into her body after letting them bounce around her mind.
Mel wanted the secrecy and the risk. She wanted to be worth the trouble, worth sneaking around for, worth breaking vows for, worth the accidental hickey left under collarbones, worth the hushed midnight phone call. She wanted to be the center of Langdon’s world, driving it into a wreckage. Mel wanted to be the eye of his tornado.
—
After a week or so, the ring doesn't burn a hole in her ethics on contact. He is still married and she is too occupied with the end of residency. She likes to limit her commitments. It’s how she moves through the phases of life without overloading herself. She always limits herself to two, usually school and family responsibilities. Always education and a mix of funeral homes, cancer treatments and caregiving. But the one thing consistently left out of the picture is sex. Her adventurous streak in undergrad ended before she got close to third base.
So their situation is perfect, Langdon is causal and charming. Exactly what she needs to take the edge off. He prescribes and administers her daily dose of neck kisses (on the mole at the base of her neck) twice a shift and they move on without quarrel. Mel had reconciled with his current affiliations fairly quickly, she required assistance and he did her a favour.
That is what proper mentors are for. To guide. And Langdon is so excellent at guiding. He makes himself available to her, eases her in, kisses her everywhere, guides her hands over her body and keeps her tachycardic with whispered praise. Langdon keeps her soaking throughout the day and runs her hand through it in the last hour.
And she can work with this, Mel can manage the modest separation. The feeling of his hand on hers, puppeteering rather than directly touching her. Also, his marriage can do without the intrusion.
4. The Plan
The scheme is simple. It is easy enough to trap Langdon so long as they weave the right rumour. Trinity just needs to stroll past the nurse’s hub and drop a few casual buzzwords (affair, his wife has no idea, blonde doctor ) and let prying eyes feast. Mel’s end of the deal is to keep as close to Langdon as humanly possible, which, for reasons horrifying and unbeknownst to Trinity, is already a habit of hers. Although if they really needed to kick it up a notch, Mel eagerly offered to run her hand through his hair.
It’s business as usual on Langdon’s part, except this time, Mel and Trinity tailored the gamble to suit their needs. Because, despite the lack of a real affair, their hawk-eyed colleagues will recontextualize Mel and Langdon’s daily interactions and place their money accordingly. Also by sheer proximity and adrenaline of the day, Trinity bets (literally) he’ll slip up and call Mel some egregious pet name that flusters her til post-shift drinks.
As far as master plans go, Trinity had this one on lock. And it’s foolproof since the only fool involved is the mark. No harm, no foul and no paper trail.
Perfect crimes and whatnot.
5. The Big Day
Bets are on the board. Trinity places her 15 bucks on “separated + affair with a coworker” ready to collect. With the rumours planted, she has heightened faith in PTMC’s vampiric gossip cycle. All that’s left is waiting and cashing out before day’s end. She mentally pats herself on the back, watching the sticky notes densely populate the dispatch bulletin board. As long as Mel holds up her end of the bargain, they’re fucking wealthy.
—
Mel lost track of the time. She can lie and say that when she's late to afternoon debriefs. Or, some other half-truth to excuse her delay because nobody is inclined to believe she was grinding against Dr. Langdon’s hand.
They frequent the north stairwell in the afternoons. Almost like their own meetings. Something to help destress before jumping into action. Langdon puts her hand to work and lets the bliss cloud her vision.
None of this is part of the running bet. Although, their prearranged situation fits into today’s plan perfectly.
6. The Revision
7. The Great Escape
Per Trinity’s request, Mel tugs Langdon by the wrist into the elevator behind Trauma 2. Something vague and brief, something about the art of the implication. Although nothing indecent takes place, aside from Mel pressing the button 8 and Langdon pulling her braid loose, their colleagues are under the impression that the opposite is true. It is the last part of Trinity's plan. Attempt to plant the final seed and win the whole game.
Mel pulls Langdon by the wrist, equipped with the inside scoop that the first room by the elevators on the abandoned 8th floor is PTMC’s temporary makeshift supply closet. Practically a floor of full-time on-call rooms or part-time celebration if you wanna fuck around, Mel has no clue what Trinity means by it, and frankly, she can’t bring herself to spare the thought further attention. Definitely, not while spinning him inside the closet to attack him with a searing kiss.
“Any particular reason you need me stuck on the inpatient floor?” Langdon grumbles, pulling away from her lips.
“Nope!” She responds with eagerness, more so wanting to return to their current activity. Although, on second thought , she twists her mouth looking for an answer, knowing he’ll interrupt to ask again. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I needed a small break so...”
It’s a new thing, willingly taking short breaks throughout her shift, but Mel is eager to learn. Usually, Langdon pulls her off cases so she can fit in a breather longer than 2 minutes. Their recently added incentives don't hurt either.
“Good answer, baby.” There it is again, that foreign tingle in her stomach whenever Langdon praises her, followed by some terms of endearment. However, the feeling is no longer foreign since he made it a nasty habit to do both twice an hour.
Ultimately, the bet has nothing to do with whatever this is. This isn’t a part of Trinity’s plan. No, this is all Mel’s doing. The tongue licking into her mouth, getting caught in the ravenous current, bucking her hips against the thigh between hers. It’s all unplanned and reckless. Off script. But can't a girl indulge?
Mel clutches his face, going back in for another taste. None of this feels remotely real, least of all the taking. Selfishness is not in her nature, never was. But the way Dr. Langdon cradles her in his hands makes her rethink her natural state of being. His ring sits under her jaw. Cold. No longer a reminder of their wrong, but a medal of her victory.
They continue writhing against the polished wood, making sure to avoid the window. Only stifled moans and sounds of fabric brushing together until he pins both of her wrists over her head with one hand and the other roughly kneading a nipple under her unwired bra. They know they’re in a pinch, the ER never waits for long.
Langdon lets out a low stay still , before ducking his head to kiss down her jaw. Arm stretched out to keep her wrists pinned to the door. His lips work their way down her chest and her eyes follow his trail of kisses. Short grey hairs tucked behind his ear, she chalks it up to reflective lighting or her imagination, but no, upon further investigation (watching his head tilting to wrap his mouth around her nipple), she sees it clearly. It's surrounded by a few shorter ones. Sparse and almost invisible. But Mel’s eyes never deceive her, Langdon has white hair. A few salt grains in a bowl of pepper but visible nonetheless. Her mind wanders and lands on does Abby get close enough to see it too but the heat of his mouth tethers her to the present. It's a point of contact. Enough to elicit another broken whimper.
“You know, I wanted to run something by you earlier.” Mel says, waiting for his affirmative hum before continuing, “some of the interns are asking me about your divorce and I don’t ha-” His head whips up to her eye level, catching her by surprise. “Wait a minute, my what?”
“Your divorce? It’s not too far-fetched, Dr. Landgon. You don’t complain about administrative paperwork, the crinkles around your eyes look stress-induced, you work more night shifts than other attendings this past week and then there are the grey hairs. You seem… off. I guess we all just assumed.”
Langdon, confused and half drunk on adrenaline, just stares through furrowed brows. And Mel is unsure if she struck a nerve or if he’s going to burst into laughter.
But he’s at a crinkle-eyed standstill.
Needless to say, Mel misses his puckered lips around her nipple. And while this conversation could wait a smidge longer, she needs the truth.
“Some, uh, late night number crunching,” he justifies. “But, what's this about my hair?”
Oh god, she offended him. If she were to ask him, he'd say his hair is objectively his best feature. He wouldn't be wrong but Mel has so many good ones to choose from that soon-to-be silver fox doesn't even crack the top three. “There's, um, a couple grey ones right here. I don't necessarily believe it's a symptom of stress but it could be. It could also be genetic like the sweating or the broad shoulders. Nothing to be concerned about. It’s natural for men your age.”
Langdon lifts an eyebrow, “my age?” The amusement finally sets in. Mel knows he can't stay mad at her, which is why their colleagues are waiting for her to inquire. Instead, she humours him. “Now that you mention it, you’re the oldest person working today. You might even be the new Dr. Robby.”
“Okay, never say that. Robby’s like a million years old and I am a fresh 35, you were at the party last weekend.” He adjusts his grip on her hands, tightening the hold.
“That struck a nerve, huh?”
“Might want to play nice, sweetheart.” A soft warning, Mel might take it to heart if his free hand wasn't trailing over her hip. “I can actually strike a nerve.”
Please do, she'd say if she had less restraint. Except she wants him to strike a nerve. A specific one he’d been avoiding out of respect for his wife. Frank Langdon is many things and a sleazy cheater doesn't make the cut. Regardless of how bad Mel wants it to.
Fuck it.
“Please do.”
“You sure? I can let your hands go–”
“Nope!” Mel can no longer hold it together. Almost a full shift of mind-numbing fingering by the stairs. She needs the release and not by her own hand. She wants Langdon doing the work. “Could you do it? Just this once. Nobody will know, Dr. Langdon.”
“Finally worked up the courage to ask, huh?” His voice is turning tides in her stomach. God, she needs his hand to dip below the waistband of her scrubs. The desperation eats at her.
“We can keep it between us,” Mel whispers, urging him to take the final step.
And he does.
Even though it's over her underwear, Mel shivers at the touch of his fingers. It is still not direct contact. Just enough that she lets out a c’mon, more under her breath.
“Jesus, baby, you practically wet yourself.” That is the exact reason she locked herself in this predicament. Eyes screwed shut, she needed a release and if he would just quit teasing, she could finally do something about it. “Uh huh, can you, um…” Fuck, this is unbearable. She's searching for the words until it comes out like a whine, “with yours this time. Please .”
He chuckles softly. Here she is, pinned to the door with her scrub top hiked up to her mouth, pulsating with need and he thinks this is a joke. He has that look. Smug and all-consuming arrogance, only a grin, eyeing her unkindly. Mel feels the chill of his ring on her restrained wrist.
Langdon averts her gaze from hers to kiss her neck again. That is definitely going to show up tomorrow. At least something is going according to Trinity’s plan. Simultaneously, he grazes her neck with his teeth and runs a finger directly over her clit. Vindication jolts up her spine. With her hands trapped above her head, he allows her little movement. She still arches off the door, if only a little. Mel finally has him where she wants him.
Morality be damned as long as he keeps sliding his fingers between her folds, she would take their filthy secret to the grave. The feeling of his hand working a steady rhythm clogs her mind. Whatever line they drew in the sand washes away when her hip arches off the door to chase her high. She's a mess of slow whines as she grinds against the hand, his hand, between her thighs.
“You know, Mel. I think I owe you a proper first time,” he breaks her train of thought and stops his hand. Langdon tracks her disappointed gaze with stern eyes. He lowers his voice to continue, “with a stupidly upscale dinner and that shitty room service champagne you like.”
Fuck proper, sweet, romantic and whatever else. Mel would trade it all for whatever adrenaline-fueled tornado they are currently wrapped up in. Yes, she could have him under crisp sheets after a night of modest conversation. Or, she could have him in a practically abandoned supply closet.
Since her greed is doing the thinking, they’re cramped in here instead.
Mel is too damn close to lose it all cause he grew a conscious. She is getting sick of him leaving her high and dry, tumbleweeds running around her mind in his stead. Langdon should know better than to leave her hanging in the throes of pleasure. And for god’s sake, he was still sucking a mark into her neck.
“We can't go any further?” Mel pouts. To be denied after waiting her turn really bites at her. Mel makes the wise decision to clamp her thighs around his wrist. She refuses to let Dr. Langdon slip away again.
“Mel.” He warns, his gaze pointed. Another dangerous gamble but she trusts her instincts. “I’m following the rules you set. Are you?”
If her hands weren't restricted, she would lean up ever so slightly to catch his lips. That would be enough of an answer. Mel innocently shakes her head instead.
The pressure building in her stomach still doesn't have an out. Meaning Mel is aching for every touch. Langdon travels a finger up her cunt, collecting enough slick to slip three fingers at once. Which is exactly what he does.
Mel feels the intrusion deeper than her own fingers. Which seems accurate since his fingers are longer and wider than hers. Almost double in size and three at once is far too much. Langdon keeps his fingers stable. No motion yet. Only hooked inside as if they're waiting to hear “go.”
“Could you please?”
“I could,” Langdon replies coldly, still refusing to give her an out. God, she needs him to do something. Anything at all.
For a moment, she wonders if he's waiting for a confession. An admission of the game she's playing. She holds few cards in this gamble, next to none if she were honest, but he already hooked his fingers. No boundaries left to cros,s so what is he waiting for?
“Dr. Langd–”
“Not what I want to hear, sweetheart.” With his demeanour still cold, he gives her a win by positioning his thumb on her clit and rubbing in slow motion. So that's his game. Begging.
Still no movement inside. Agonizing to say the least.
“Dr. Langdon.” Mel insists again, practically whimpering this time. She shivers against the door hoping, praying , he’ll indulge her.
“Mel.” He doesn’t.
“Frank,” she insists strictly, knowing too well he revels in her petulance, so ultimately it will only slow him down. But god, she’s desperate for a hit.
“Melissa.” Tone equally strict, jaw twitching, hand still parked on the outskirts of her pleasure.
“Franklin!” Last ditch effort. Whining as she practically begs, clutching the last shred of dominance. And he still won’t budge. Mel couldn’t take the wait.
“That's not my name, baby.” Fucking hell, he picked the worst moment to test her patience. Breath catching in her throat and whimpers falling because his fingers are dreadfully slow as they work her clit. Slow tingles ready to surge through her, if only he would let them. “But one more step. You're so close.”
Langdon only offers her neck more bruises. Naturally, it’s another torture method. He continues sucking near her pulse while she’s trembling for release, lips quivering in anticipation of the inevitable. The inevitable he is currently withholding with unearned pride. He’s having way too much fun watching her squirm in his grasp, trying (and failing) to grind down on the hand in charge of her. His band is no longer freezing against her wrist; he’s held her down so long that half of it has long absorbed the heat of her skin.
By this point, Mel is all too willing to toss aside her pride and say almost anything to fall off the edge. Stroke his ego, praise his work— hell, she’d beg for mercy if it means getting off. She can hear his slicked fingers stay their agonizing course. Rough jolts flare through her at the brush of his finger on the nerve. He won’t stop, won’t let her ride out her high, simply holding her in this cruel place on the edge. And it’s enough to bring Mel to tears.
“You can’t pout your way out of this one, Mel. Just say it.”
“Say what? Dr. La–”
“Not that.” He interrupts, speeding up the pressure on her clit. Moving in slow, calculated circles to keep the nerve sensitive but not quite on edge. It’s all a game to him. Mel would love a manual if he intends to toy with her. “You like being good for me. You just love being my girl—my sweet baby. Admit it.”
The vibrations of her own filthy groans blur her hearing. She almost doesn’t hear him, but his gravelly command shoots straight south. If that’s his rule, she will gladly follow.
“I’m your ba– fuck .” She feels his finger move ever so slightly, still waiting for her to continue. It’s clear to her that he’ll give her what she gives him.
“Keep going.”
“Dr. Langdon, please.”
“Again, not what I want to hea–”
“Baby! I’m your baby. I promise I can be good. So good, please. I’m your baby. Please, daddy .”
That might be too far—long past far if she were honest. Except whatever she blurted out in the heat of the moment works. Mel feels his fingers search for the sweet spot. She screwed her eyes shut in pleasure long ago, so she can’t track his reaction. Mel only hears a raspy for Christ’s sake as the pleasure starts coming to a boil.
Whatever tenderness he has for her on the ER floor is gone. What remains is brutal and alluring. He works up a consistent rhythm that sends her hips rocking against his hand. And soon enough, Langdon lets her fall. No holds barred. Not anymore. The tingly burns rush through her. She becomes a mess of broken whimpers and uncontrollable writhing under his care. His touch burns so sweet. With her pelvic muscles clenched around his speedy fingers, the second wave rushes over her.
All of this feels beyond her body’s capabilities. She rides out her second high with less control than the first. Mel mumbles a repetition of more more more, daddy, please, with no regard for their location. Granted, the 8th floor is practically no man’s land, but what if a janitor or visitor overhears?
They would have less to explain if Langdon kept his teeth off her shoulder. Or if he loosened his left hand because that ring is leaving an indent. Mel can feel it.
Langdon withdraws his hand. His fingertips are practically pruned by now. They definitely lost track of the hour. Another problem she’d be worried about if she could gather her mind. “You okay?”
Mel nods, wrangling what is left of her common sense as she pulls herself together. A process which is briefly interrupted by the sight of Langdon sucking his fingers clean. All three at once, he inserts them in his mouth just as he did her cunt.
“See you out there, Dr. King.”
She is about to be so fucking rich.
8. The Aftermath
The afternoon rush slowed and handover was right around the corner. Mel’s only concern was the outcome. She had her face almost pressed up against the dispatch room window, staring through the glass at the neon sticky note quilt on the bulletin board.
“Boo!” Mel jolts back, turning to see—
“Dr. Langdon, hi there.”
Effectively locking her between his frame and the window, he swoops in with his chin brushing her shoulder, bending down a considerable amount to do so. As if she wasn’t blushing already, she feels Langdon’s warmth against her back and his playful voice in her ear. “You’re playing a losing game, Dr. King.”
It’s silly. Mel knows this whole debacle is a silly way to pass the time between emergencies. Not that ER doctors need the added thrill. But a gamble never hurt the well-prepared. So she indulges him, with her victory secured, swivelling her head, nearly knocking their noses together. “How can you be sure?” And that's when she spots Ahmad drawing the red circle.
Langdon $20 no divorce no affair obviously.
“Well, Abby sent out baby shower invites today. It’d be completely fucking insane to bolt now.” Baby shower. Now that’s as good a confirmation as any. A third baby in 6 years will put any remaining talk of divorce to rest.
“So wait, how does this make sen– oh, you bet against us.” Breaking into a coy smile as the realization hits her. Technically, it is against the unofficial rules for a sole subject to partake in bets—conflict of interest and whatnot. Even PTMC’s version of gambling comes with loopholes. But to be fair, he did not win fair nor square.
And she is certain he knows this by the way he leans closer and slightly chuckles in response to her breath hitching at the contact. “And it’s paying for dinner tonight, sweetheart.” Mel perks up at that, smiling wider than she already was.
Langdon is all hers.
—
