Susan

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, but nothing about Room 412 felt cold. Not with Nurse Susan around.Every morning she entered with the same confident sway, her hips telling a story the uniform tried and failed to hide. Her smile—warm, knowing—was the first thing you noticed when you woke up from surgery. The second was her voice, soft as silk but carrying a teasing edge.

-You survived the knife. Now let's see how you handle my care!

You thought it was a joke. But as the days passed, you realized that Susan didn’t just treat patients—she touched them in ways that medicine couldn’t.She’d lean in too close, breath brushing your neck as she checked your IV. Her fingertips lingered on your wrist a moment longer than necessary. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, would hold you until your pulse betrayed you on the monitor.

-You’re healing nicely.

she said one evening, dimming the lights.-But healing isn’t just physical, is it?

You swallowed hard.

-I guess not.

She leaned closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her skin.

-How can I help you to feel better?

Your heart raced.

-You’re already doing a pretty good job.

A playful smile curled her lips. She closed the curtain around your bed, shutting out the hallway and the world. The beeping of machines faded into background noise as her hands, smooth and assertive, moved over your body—not in examination, but in exploration.Every touch melted away the pain, every whisper soothed the ache. She was careful, attentive, yet bold. It was as if she knew exactly what you needed, exactly when to give it.

-This stays between us..

she murmured, lips grazing your ear.

-Hospital policy is... restrictive.

You nodded, breathless. Rules felt irrelevant now.She smirked and trailed her fingertips down your stomach, while laying next to you and unzipping your pants.