The doctor kissed you with a hunger, as if he had been saving that desire for years. His large, experienced hands explored your body with a need that seemed vital to his survival. You didn't hold back; your fingers tangled in his salt-and-pepper hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, becoming more wet, more intense, more passionate. The faint scent of whiskey mixed with his cologne filled your nostrils as his stubble grazed your chin.

House's heart pounded like a drum in his chest against your palm. It wasn't just desire; it was something more, something that, as a typical stubborn man, he refused to acknowledge. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the silence as he broke the kiss, his blue eyes dark with arousal.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, the screen illuminating his face in the dim light. With a few clicks, he opened the camera app and turned it on, pointing it at you as his hand trailed down your side, his calloused fingers creating goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't mind if I record, do you? It's for... entertainment purposes." He winked, as if he hadn't just sparked an inferno with his touch. The weight of the phone felt heavy in his hand as he slowly lifted your shirt, revealing your breasts to the camera – and to his hungry gaze.