"We're at work," I breathe. "I know where we are." His mouth drags down my throat, teeth grazing just enough, and I bite back the sound that tries to escape. His fingers work the drawstring of my scrubs and I let him, because there is no version of me in this supply room that is going to stop him, and we both know it. When his hand pushes between my thighs and finds how wet I am, he makes a low sound against my neck that is equal part satisfaction, part claiming me.