ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴅɪᴀᴄ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴏʟᴏɢʏ
Summary: An impulsive decision lands you in a class taught by one of Linkon City’s most respected surgeons. Dr. Zayne Li is controlled, distant, and entirely off-limits. Which would matter more if you were better at ignoring your own bad decisions.
Warnings: mdni 18+ ,age gap (mid-30s/early 20s), professor/student dynamic, power imbalance, internal thirst, slow burn, boundary crossing, here's where things get interesting!, f1ngering, explicit language
Length: 1.9k words.
Part 4 Part 6
PART 5-
The creak of the door caught you off guard and you jumped a little. Until you saw who caused it, then you stilled.
“Dr. Li?”
He closed the distance so quickly you barely had time to process it. His hands found your waist, firm, grounding, like he needed to be sure you were real. Your breath caught.
“Dr. Li?” you repeated, softer this time.
For a second, he didn’t answer. Up close like this, you could see it clearly. The restrain, the conflict, the way his jaw tenses like he was holding himself back from something he wasn’t sure he should want.
“You shouldn’t have come out here,” he said finally, but his hands didn’t move. His eyes did though, up and down your figure.
“You followed me,” you countered, your voice quieter now, steadier than you felt.
A pause.
“I did.”
The admission hung between you, heavy. Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it might give you away, like he could feel it where his hands rested against you.
“You said I should go,” you murmured.
“I did,” he said again.
“But you didn’t want me to.” This time, he didn’t answer right away. His grip tightened, just slightly.
“No,” he said at last. And that's when he moved. He kissed you and it took your breath away. Sudden, consuming. You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel. Your hands flew up to him, gripping at his shoulders, then higher one tangled in his dark hair. It was messy. Uncoordinated. All breath and heat.
His hand moved up your body while his mouth demanded your attention. It was dizzying. He gripped the back of your head tilting it to deepen the kiss, his tongue testing your lips for entrance.
You instinctively moved away, fucking stupid, you’d thought. You blinked, breath uneven, your heart racing. You’d hoped he didn’t take it as rejection.
“I-I’m sorry,” you rushed out, words tripping over themselves. “I don't know why I did that. No, I do. I just. I’ve never uh,” You let out a shaky breath. “What's the right way to phrase this?” He stopped you, not with force but a brief, steady kiss. Enough to quiet you. When he pulled back, his forehead hovered close to yours, his voice lower now.
“Hey,” he murmured. You stilled. His thumb brushed lightly against your side, reassuring.
Then softer, “Let me guide you.”
You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing heart. His gaze didn’t waver. Dark, steady, utterly unyielding. You could feel the heat of him through his shirt, his presence pressing in from all sides. His lips brushed yours again, soft this time, testing, patient. “Trust me.”
Your hands remained in his hair, playing in the strands as he tilted your head gently, coaxing you to respond instead of retreat. Every nerve in your body was on fire, every heartbeat echoing in your chest.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” he added, and you felt it in the way his thumb traced lazy circles over your side. “We can stop. Right now. Or…we can just be here.” Your lips parted, and your breath hitched.
He kissed you again, slower now, deliberate, pressing just enough to anchor you, letting you feel his control without overwhelming you. You melted into it, the world outside fading to nothing. Each second felt like hours and then nothing at all. You realized you weren’t trying to pull back this time, you wanted this. Hell, you’ve been dreaming about it for weeks. The dizzying, breathless pull, the tension, it was all there and it was driving you mad.
You kissed him back, rougher this time, needy, letting yourself finally give in to the weeks of anticipation. His lips met yours with equal fervor, the kiss deepening, demanding, consuming. Every brush of his mouth, every press of his hand, sent sparks up your spine.
You felt his hands tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you even as the world dissolved around the two of you. His fingers threaded into your hair again, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, to test your boundaries without crossing them too quickly.
The heat between you was dizzying, your heart hammering so loudly it might have drowned out the noise of the bar outside. Every instinct screamed at you, but none of it mattered. You weren’t thinking, just feeling.
When he finally pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead rested against yours, his dark eyes locking with yours. The intensity hadn’t faded. It had only sharpened.
“You’re… you’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low and rough, his thumb brushing your cheek.
“You have no idea,” you breathed back, voice shaky but defiant.
He smirked slightly, a flash of mischief and restraint, before pressing his lips to yours again, slower this time, patient and deliberate, letting you linger in that intoxicating space between control and chaos.
Then slowly, ever so slowly, his hand on your waist moved lower. You gasped softly into the kiss, caught between desire and restraint.
“Careful,” he murmured against your lips, voice low, a hint of warning in his tone. His lips dragged against your jawline, teeth grazing lightly over skin before continuing, “You’re dangerously close to making this impossible to control.”
You pressed a little closer, letting the heat between you speak where words couldn’t. His gaze found yours, dark and unreadable, and the air between you crackled with tension.
His fingers pause at the waistband of your pants, his breathing became shallow against your neck. You arched into him, and something in him snaps. With a quiet curse under his breath, he slips his hand beneath fabric, warm calloused skin meeting bare flesh as he cups you fully for the first time. His thumb brushes over slick heat experimentally while watching your face intently for reactions.
“You’re already so wet,” he raps out roughly. He wasn’t being judgmental, just impossibly turned on. You felt a blush creep across your face and moved to look away but he immediately tilted your chin back toward him. His expression was intense, almost reverent, as he studied the flush on your cheeks, your breath came faster then.
“Don’t look away,” he commanded softly, but there wasn’t any real sternness left in it. Just a professor turned lover who wanted to memorize every reaction he pulled from you.
His fingers resumed their slow exploration, circling gently at first before dipping lower with deliberate precision. A single fingertip pressed just barely inside to gather wetness while his thumb resumed teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves above. His name slipped out before you could think about it, soft and desperate.
“Zayne.”
The sound of his name on your lips, breathless and needy, sent a visible shudder through his body. His eyes flared wide for half a second before darkening. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss as he finally pushed that one finger fully inside you, curling it just right against that spongy spot while his thumb pressed down firmly on your clit. The wet sounds between you mix with your individual breathy sounds.
“Say it again,” he practically begged against your lips between kisses, “Louder.”
And you did multiple times, feeling the build of pressure deep inside you. He lost the last shred of his restraint. Your moans, his name over and over. He added a second finger slowly and started moving into you with a determined rhythm while grinding the heel of his palm against your clit.
With his control completely gone, his usual precise, methodical movements are replaced by rough, desperate thrusts of his fingers. The wet sounds are obscenely loud in the quiet alley as he fucks you with two fingers at a extraordinary pace. Causing you to make sounds you’ve never heard from yourself before.
His palm grinds down hard on your clit with every downward stroke, making sure you feel every inch of sensation building toward that inevitable peak. Sweat glistens on his forehead despite the cool night air, he’s just as affected as you are.
“Come for me,” he orders hoarsely, “I want to feel it all over my hand.” The command slipped out in the same tone he used while lecturing. The effect it had on you was immediate, you came harder than you’d ever managed to by yourself.
His eyes lock onto your face as the orgasm hits, your body clamping down around his fingers, your back arching off the wall. You felt his hips jerk involuntarily against your body, the fabric of his pants tight over an erection that had been neglected for too long.
“Look at you,” he rasps out in awe. He works you through the aftershocks with gentler circles until finally slowing to a stop. You're out of breath by the time your mind catches up with your body. Your hands tightened slightly where they held onto him, grounding yourself.
He didn’t rush. Just stayed there, letting you come back down at your own pace, his touch softening. He carefully withdraws his fingers, and you finally find words. “I-” You let out a shaky breath, a small, disbelieving laugh slipping through. “That was,” you swallowed, heat creeping into your face. “Well, I can say your very talented Dr. Li.”
Something in his expression shifted at that, amusement mixed with something deeper. Your eyes dropped, just for a second taking in the tension still held in his frame, the way his breath hadn’t quite evened out, the way he was very clearly still affected. A realization clicked into place and your gaze lifted back to his, slower now, more deliberate.
“Seems a little unfair,” you murmured softly. Before he could respond, your hands moved towards his middle, down even farther with more intention this time. He stilled. Not pulling away, but not leaning in either.
“You don’t have to,” he started, voice lower, rougher.
“I want to,” you interrupted quietly. Your hands continued their exploration, running down his defined stomach. God could he be any more attractive. When you reached his belt his grip closed around your wrist, not rough but firm enough to stop you.
“Not here.” The words came out strained, like they’d been forced past something he was barely holding together. His thumb brushed once against your wrist before he let go, like he hadn’t meant to hold you that tightly. You searched his face, pulse still racing.
“Then where?” you asked softly. That made him pause. Really pause. And for the first time since he stepped out into the alley, he didn’t have an immediate answer.
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