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She stands tall and straight, her body slim but strong, with a narrow waist and firm arms shaped by long hospital shifts. Her breasts, full and high, move with each breath. Dark hair spills loose around her pale face, softening the high cheekbones and wide mouth that make her beauty hard to forget.

Her green eyes stay on mine, bright and sharp even through her exhaustion.

“You’re beautiful,” I say.

Her mouth curves. “Later.”

She reaches for the towel at my hips, but I catch her wrist.

“Slow.”

Her eyes lift to mine. “Because of your wounds?”

“Because I want to look at you.”

Vera frees her wrist, then hooks one finger beneath the towel and lets it fall around my feet.

Her gaze moves over my chest, the black ink, the healing cuts, and the bruises fading beneath my skin. She touches the scar near my ribs, careful even now, and the light pressure pulls a breath from me.

“You’re not lifting me,” she says.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“You were.”

“I considered it.”

She presses me back until my knees meet the padded bench. I sit, and she steps between my legs. My hands settle on her hips. Her skin is warm beneath my palms, and her waist fits between them before curving wider.

Vera places both hands on my shoulders and lowers herself onto my lap. Her thighs close around mine, and her mouth stops a breath from my lips.

“This time.” She tilts her head and smirks. “You listen to the doctor.”

I lean back against the wall and look up at her. My hands rest on her thighs, thumbs tracing the firm muscle beneath warm skin, and she sits tall across my lap with her breasts level with my mouth and her hair falling around both of us.

"You're in charge," I tell her.

"I know." Her hips shift forward, and the wet heat of her presses against my stomach. "Keep your hands where I put them."

She lifts my wrists and sets them on the bench beside my hips. That bossy little tone gets an immediate reaction from my cock. I’m not even surprised anymore.

"Good." She rolls her hips once, dragging herself across the length of me, and the friction coats my cock with her slick. "Now tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking you should do that again."

She does. The slow grind of her body against mine pulls a sound from my chest that I can't control, and her lips curve because she felt it. Her hands brace on my shoulders, and she works her hips in a circular rhythm that slides her clit along the shaft of my cock without taking me inside.

"You're so hard." Her voice drops. "I can feel you pulsing against me."

"You're soaking my lap."

"Good." She leans forward, and her nipple brushes my mouth. "Make it worse."

I flick my tongue across the tight peak, and her rhythm falters. I take it into my mouth and suck, pulling hard, and her head drops forward with a shaky breath. My hands stay on the bench because she told me to keep them there, and the restraint makes every sensation sharper.

"That's it." Her voice is thin now. "Just your mouth. Don't move your hands."

"You like giving orders."