Nurse had a pulse moment with Doctor

The ICU at Lilavati Hospital never truly dimmed; only the lights over the nursing station dropped to a soft amber after 11 p.m. Dr. Arjun Mehra, 36, Head of Critical Care, moved through the hush like a shadow in navy scrubs. Broad-shouldered, stubble sharp enough to cut glass, he carried the scent of iodine and sleepless nights. His voice—low, clipped—could calm a crashing heart or silence a ward full of residents.

Nurse Riya Sen, 27, was his night-shift shadow. Petite, with a runner’s legs and a braid that swung like a pendulum when she leaned over patients, she wore her pink uniform like armor. Her eyes—kohl-lined even at 3 a.m.—missed nothing. She’d been on Arjun’s team for six months. Six months of clipped orders, accidental touches, and the kind of tension that crackled louder than the monitors.

Seduction in the Supply Room

Code blue, Room 407. They worked in sync—Arjun’s hands on the chest, Riya’s on the defibrillator. “Clear!” Shock. Rhythm restored. The patient stabilized. Adrenaline still buzzing, they stepped into the supply room for fresh gloves.

The door clicked shut. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead. Riya’s chest rose and fell beneath her scrub top; a bead of sweat traced the hollow of her throat. Arjun’s gaze followed it.

“You were perfect,” he said, voice rough from shouting orders.

“So were you, Doctor.” She stepped closer, fingers brushing his wrist as she reached past him for a mask. The contact lingered. “Your hands… steady as always.”

He caught her wrist. “Riya.”

The air thickened. She tilted her face up, lips parted. He kissed her—no hesitation, just hunger. She tasted of mint gum and the metallic tang of stress. Her back hit the metal shelves; gauze packs rained down like soft snow.

Foreplay in the On-Call Room

The on-call room was a closet with a cot, a sink, and a lock that actually worked. Arjun backed her inside, kicking the door shut. He peeled her scrub top over her head—sports bra, damp with sweat, nipples dark against the fabric. He tugged it down, mouth closing over one peak, teeth grazing until she hissed.

Riya’s hands were busy—untying his drawstring, shoving scrubs and boxers down in one motion. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, a vein pulsing along the underside. She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slow, thumb swiping the bead of pre-cum. “Been thinking about this since the code,” she whispered.

He lifted her onto the narrow cot, knees on either side of his hips. Her pants joined his on the floor. No underwear—practicality, she’d claim. He slid two fingers through her slick folds, finding her drenched. “All night?” he growled.

“Since you said my name in that tone.” She guided his hand, riding his fingers, hips rolling. He curled them, hitting the spot that made her bite his shoulder to stay quiet. When she came, it was with a shudder that vibrated through both of them, her wetness coating his wrist.

Deep Sex: Code Red

Arjun rolled on a condom from the stash in the drawer—hospital policy, personal habit. He flipped her onto her stomach, pillow under her hips. The cot squeaked as he entered her in one slow thrust, her pussy gripping him like a heartbeat. She pushed back, meeting him stroke for stroke.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Like you mean it.”

He did—hips snapping, the slap of skin muffled by the thin walls. One hand snaked around to rub her clit in tight circles; the other fisted her braid, arching her back. She came again, walls fluttering, a low moan swallowed by the pillow. He followed, buried deep, pulsing inside the latex with a groan that sounded like surrender.

Afterglow and Aftermath

They cleaned up fast—wipes, scrubs back on, hair smoothed. Riya checked her reflection in the sink: lips swollen, eyes bright. Arjun tucked a loose strand behind her ear.

“Next code?” she asked, smirking.

“Every damn night,” he said, stealing one last kiss.

Back in the ICU, monitors beeped steady. No one noticed the faint handprint on her scrub top or the way his gaze lingered when she bent over a chart. The city outside pulsed—Mumbai never slept, and neither would they.