Confrontation!

'Lena, what's going on?' I asked, my voice low but firm, stepping closer until the heat from her body mingled with mine. She fiddled with a box, avoiding my eyes, her dark ponytail falling over one shoulder.

'You're acting like I did something wrong yesterday. Like that touch in the lounge was a mistake.' My heart pounded, the memory flooding back—her fingers on my bulge, stroking the length through the scrubs, making my shaft throb and leak.

She finally looked up, her brown eyes wide, cheeks burning red.

'Holly, I... I'm sorry. It was unprofessional. We're at work, and you're new, dealing with so much already—the stares. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.'

Her voice trembled, that empathetic tone cracking, but I saw the conflict there, the way her gaze flicked down to my crotch, lingering on the thick ridge of my cock outlined against the fabric.

I shifted, letting it swell a bit more under her stare, the head nudging the seam.

I took her hand, placing it on my arm, feeling her pulse race. 'No, Lena. That's not it. I confronted you because the tension's killing me. And that touch? I didn't hate it. God, I really enjoyed it.'

The words tumbled out, my cheeks heating as I admitted it, vulnerability mixing with the raw need building in my core.