Hospitalized

Aleysa just graduated. White uniform, clean lines, and a hunger that hospital shifts only made worse. George lay in bed and told her straight—he needed a woman’s hands. She didn’t ask twice. The blinds clicked shut. She peeled the uniform open, let the fabric fall away, and climbed onto him like she’d been waiting weeks for permission. Her mouth took him first, slow and greedy, then she sank down, hips rolling, breath catching every time he filled her. The bed creaked under them, her moans low, urgent, impossible to hide behind the thin curtain. She rode until her thighs shook and George’s grip tightened on her waist. When she came, it was sharp, sudden, and loud enough that she had to bite her own wrist to quiet it. She left the uniform crumpled on the chair, skin flushed, pulse still racing.