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The lab was almost silent.

Only the low, steady hum of the body fridges and the occasional soft electronic beep from a monitor broke the quiet. The main overhead lights had been switched off hours ago. Only the under-cabinet LEDs and the cold blue glow from the refrigeration units remained, casting long, clinical shadows across the steel surfaces. Most of the team had left just after seven. Nikki had driven home, stood under a scalding shower for twenty minutes, stared at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror, and then got straight back in the car without even bothering to dry her hair.

Back at the lab she locked the outer door behind her with a deliberate click, then the inner one. The deadbolt slid home with a solid, final sound that seemed louder than it should have in the empty space.

Jack was still at his workstation. Sleeves rolled to the elbows, the dark lines of his tattoos shifting as he typed. He didn’t look round straightaway. He never did when he was concentrating on something.

“You’re still here,” she said.

“Could say the same about you.” His voice was calm, almost casual, the way it always was when they were alone after hours. “Thought you’d gone home.”

“I did.” She walked towards him, heels sharp and measured on the tiles. “Came back.”

He finally turned his head.

His eyes moved over her with deliberate, unhurried hunger, starting at the crisp white blouse buttoned all the way to the throat, the fabric stretched taut across the swell of her breasts, each button a quiet provocation that somehow made them more intimate and inviting than if she’d left them undone. The dark pencil skirt clung to the flare of her hips and the long, elegant line of her thighs, the same clothes she’d worn all day in meetings and leaning over open bodies, now transformed by the low light.

Her hair was damp. Several strands stuck to the side of her neck and along her jaw. A small wet patch had formed on the collar of the blouse.

He registered the details one after another, the high collar, the row of buttons, the way the skirt stretched a little tighter when she shifted her weight. As he took in the details of the curves of her body his cock began to stiffen. His eyes returned to her face. He wanted her.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about the angle of the fracture on the last one?” he asked.

“That,” she said, stopping just short of his stool. “And about this.”

She stepped between his parted thighs. Her hands settled on his chest, fingers spreading over the soft cotton of his shirt. She could feel the steady, solid beat of his heart under her palm. Jack’s hands came up automatically, resting on her hips the way they always did when she got this close, careful, professional, as if he was still pretending neither of them had noticed the way the air changed whenever the rest of the team left them alone.

“Nikki....”

“Don’t.” She leaned in and kissed him.

There was nothing tentative about it. She bit his lower lip hard enough to make him inhale sharply, then pushed her tongue into his mouth. He answered immediately. One hand slid down to cup her ass and pull her tighter against the growing hardness in his jeans. She rocked against him once, slow and deliberate, feeling him thicken under the denim.

He broke the kiss just enough to speak against her mouth, voice rougher now.

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