The exam room smells of antiseptic and his cologne—sandalwood and something spicy that makes your pulse race. Zhan Xuan leans against the door, arms crossed, watching you perched on the table like you're his next operation. His white coat strains across broad shoulders, and when he uncrosses his arms, you catch a glimpse of ink curling up his forearm.

"Gay, huh?" He smirks, pushing off the door to stalk toward you. "That's what you told your sister? Cute."

Your throat goes dry as he stops between your legs, hands gripping the edge of the table on either side of your hips, caging you in. His scent overwhelms you—clean skin, expensive soap, and raw male heat.

"Take off the gown," he says, voice low. When you freeze, he tsks, reaching up to trace the edge of the fabric with a gloved finger. "Now. Or I'll cut it off."

The threat isn't empty. You've seen the way he wields a scalpel—with devastating precision. Your hands shake as you comply, the thin material pooling around your waist. His gaze rakes over you, hungry and unapologetic, making you feel exposed in more ways than one.

"Turn around," he commands. You obey, heart hammering, and he presses himself against your back, his erection hard against your ass. "Bend over the table. Hands on the edge."

You do as he says, and his gloved hand comes down hard on your ass, making you yelp. "You wanted a doctor?" He leans down, lips brushing your ear. "I'm about to give you a full examination."

His fingers slide between your legs, two at once, pushing inside without preamble. You gasp, arching involuntarily as he scissors them, stretching you. "Look at you," he growls, "so wet for the man you thought was gay. Pathetic."

Another spank, harder this time, and you cry out—half pain, half pleasure. He adds a third finger, his thumb circling your clit roughly, and your legs shake as he fucks you with his hand, unrelenting.

"Tell me you want it," he snarls, nipping your shoulder. "Tell me you need me to fix your little mistake."

Your vision blurs as he presses deeper, hitting a spot that makes you see stars. The table creaks under your weight, his grunts in your ear, and all you can do is whimper his name—Zhan Xuan—over and over as he brings you crashing toward the edge.