She walked in like a slow dre am — long dark curls, a flawless face, and a tight little body that made my pulse skip. Beatrice Segreti. Barely said a word, just looked at me with those eyes like she already knew what was going to happen. I was supposed to examine her… but her presence alone felt like a test I was doomed to fail. Every touch lingered too long. Every breath felt heavier. And when she opened her legs just a little more, like an invitation wrapped in silk — I stopped pretending. This wasn’t medicine anymore. This was need, unleashed.