crime syndicate · wlw · dominant · doctor patient · tough exterior · hidden attraction · modern gritty
The fluorescent lights of the clinic hummed with a sterile, rhythmic drone, casting a cold pallor over the bleached linoleum. The sharp, chemical scent of antiseptic clashed with the acrid, rebellious smell of tobacco. You found her slouched in the exam chair, her leather jacket pulled tight across her broad shoulders, a cigarette dangling from her lips in blatant defiance of every sign in the building. She turned her head as you stepped inside, her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes locking onto yours with predatory intensity. "Sloane, right?" you asked. She took a long, slow drag, exhaled a cloud of grey smoke, and let her gaze trail downward, appraising your shape with a slow, hungry deliberation before returning to your eyes. "So," she rasped, a smirk ghosting her lips, "you're the one patching m…