ᝰ.ᐟ blurry 🩺ྀིྀི

He turns his head just slightly, the movement languid, weighed down by the liquor in his blood. He is still lucid enough to recognize your voice and respond in turn with your name. You slide onto the empty stool beside him, settling in on the ripped leather upholstery. 

“What are you doing here, kid?” He asks, playing with his glass. The two of you had the same night off this week. He knows that because he makes the schedule. What he didn’t anticipate, however, is that you would both end up sitting next to each other at the same cheap bar down the street from his house.

“My roommate’s coworkers invited her out tonight and I thought I’d join,” you lie, trying to make yourself seem like less of a drag who had to be physically pulled out the door. He follows your gaze to the gaggle of chattering people at the large, crescent moon booth in the back corner. 

Cathy is sitting next to her crush, a nerdy looking man with wire glasses and a cheap haircut. He’s cute…for her. She likes them doe-eyed and nervous. Submissive and teachable.

“Yeah?” His voice is looser than it is at work, deeper—less inhibited by the strictures and expectations of the ED. “Why aren’t you over there with her then?” He tips his glass to the back corner. Yeah, why aren’t you over there with your friend?

You let out a sound, something like a half-sigh, half-laugh, almost inaudible beneath the clammer and music surrounding you. “I was. I just thought it would be rude to see you and not say ‘hi’,” you explain, inching in closer until you can make out the details of his face. For his early fifties, the man is in great shape, the only tell of his age being the gray stubble on his jaw and the lines that frame his eyes when he smiles. “So, hi, I guess.”

“Well,” he exhales with a grin, lifting the glass to his lips once more. “Hi back at ya’. You want a drink? On me.” He waves down the bartender again, and you give him your order only for him to leave for a moment and then reappear with your drink. The alcohol is hot in your mouth and burns on the way down your throat. 

“Yikes,” you bite, wincing at the taste. “I can never get used to that. It’s gross.” 

He laughs. “Then why did you order it? I wouldn’t have judged you if you asked for a Coke, you know?” 

It’s your turn to giggle, the liquor immediately clouding your head with cotton. You’ve always been a lightweight. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed since your college days. 

“Liquid courage, as they say.” You take in a breath to clear the fuzz. “I should get back to my roommate now. Thanks for the drink, Dr. abbot.” Dizzy, you steady yourself with a palm on his thigh as you try to hop down from the stool, nearly unsuccessfully until he catches you. 

“Easy,” he coos, standing up from his own stool to help guide you down until your heels meet the floor. “And you can call me Jack when we’re not at work.” 

His hands are still on your waist, yours on his forearms, fingers splayed across veins and light brown freckles. He’s hot beneath your touch, radiating warmth against your palms. 

Almost comically, a lightbulb flickers on in your head. Brilliant.

You look over his shoulder—his very broad, very tense shoulder—to Cathy and her friends. She’s occupied, obviously flirting as she flips her long blonde locks back and forth, giggling like a little girl. There’s absolutely no chance of her eyes flickering over to you as you lean in closer to Jack, completely invading his personal space. 

“I don’t really want to go over there,” you confess, voice now syrupy and sweet in his ear. 

Jack knows he’s in trouble with you this close to him, your cleavage nearly spilling out of the skimpy dress hanging off of you. His hands are still on your waist, unmoving no matter how hard his brain commands the limbs to drop and slide into his pockets like a good man would do. 

“I kind of want to stay with you,” you add. The admission makes his knees weak. Now he really has to hold onto you. 

He opens his mouth to speak, to say ‘no’, to say that this is wrong and it’s not too late to stop because the two of you really can’t cross this line. For work. For your patients. For the sake of the flawless dynamic he curated so that shifts run smoothly. This would be a hitch in the system. A kink in the chains. 

None of that leaves his parted lips, however. Only words he knows he will regret tomorrow, when he sees you at work in the cold, unforgiving light of the hospital, once the slinky buzz of bourbon has worn off. 

He’s a weak man.

“Bathroom?” 

You squeal internally, following him through the crowds of people, like two salmon swimming upstream. He takes you down the dark hallway, past a locked utility closet and an office, also locked. You step swiftly behind him as he holds your hand, leading you to the bathroom. 

Not a moment wasted. 

He takes one baby step after another, backing you into the wall until your bare shoulder blades hit cool, crackled plaster. You press your palms out behind you, bracing yourself as the man draws closer. He raises a hand to gingerly tuck a swath of hair behind your ear, his breath warm and sweet on the patch of now exposed skin of your neck. Girthy fingers traipse across your jaw, one coming to the point of your chin, crooked beneath the jut of bone to lift it ever so slightly up at him. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, looking up at you from beneath raised brows. His hazel eyes are wide and full of a worshiping adoration that makes your heartbeat skip like a stone across water. Pulling back an inch, he offers you a better look at his face–the handsome mug you’ve previously only seen beneath the harsh, sanitary fluorescence of the hospital. He looks softer here, more human, more fallible. 

Dim, buzzing light flickers from a dying bulb that hangs lifelessly from the ceiling by a thick, black wire. It bathes the bathroom in a dewy orange glow that makes everything appear more glamorous than it is: the sticky tile floor that dips under the pressure of your feet, the leaky faucet dripping not-so-clear tap water, the garbage can overflowing with crumpled paper towels and god knows what else. 

You nod a little too enthusiastically, running your fingers through the silky curls at the nape of his neck, what you guess to have been completely auburn at one point, now peppered with strands of sand and salt. Your cupped hand pulls him closer into the space in front of your mouth. He hesitates, watching your lips part, watching you suck in a nervous, wobbly breath. 

“Breathe,” he commands in a low whisper, the gentle authority of the word pricking your ears and traveling straight to the growing warmth between your thighs. You inhale, shakily, and that’s when he plants one slow, languid kiss on your mouth. When he finally pulls away, dragging a strand of moisture with him, the look in his eyes shifts to something more dangerous. A curse rides out of his mouth on a labored breath. “We really shouldn’t do this. I know that, but I don’t think I can stop now.” 

Pulling him back to you by the fabric of his shirt, you giggle against the lips that now press sweet, puppy-dog kisses onto yours. “I don’t want you to stop, Jack.” 

He happily obliges, taking your face in his hands, heavy and calloused, experienced and competent, to bring you even closer to him. You can feel your fingers trembling as you graze his biceps, exposed beneath the sleeves of his slinky v-neck t-shirt. The shaking only gets worse when your hands travel down his abdomen, to the button of his dark jeans. 

He can feel the tremor of your fingers as you unzip his pants and begin to palm him through his briefs, and suddenly, the stinking pit of guilt he tried to ignore pulls him back down to earth. 

“You’re shaking,” he whispers, face only inches away from yours. His breath is sweet and warm, laced with mint and bourbon. The words on his tongue tickle your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “What’s wrong? Is it too much?” Even softer, “We can stop if you want. You don’t have to do this with me.”  

You shake your head, then take a beat to think. What if you don’t tell him at all? Would he somehow notice when it finally happens? Will your pussy ring out like a security alarm the moment he thrusts himself inside? You know for sure what will happen if you do tell him–you’ve experienced this exact scenario what feels like a thousand times. He’ll pull back. His eyes will get wide with trepidation. He’ll wave his hands and say that “it’s too much pressure” just like so many have before. 

But if you don’t tell him, is that some kind of assault? Is it entrapment to lead a man to believe he’s not breaking ground on someone’s vagina? 

 “If I tell you something, will you promise not to freak out?”

He knits his light brows together, narrowing his hazel eyes made more green by the orange light. 

What the hell are you about to tell him, he wonders to himself. That it has teeth? 

“Yeah, anything,” he promises, half-sincere, still holding your hands in his. His grasp is so warm and cozy, like a hug. You never want to leave. 

You bite your bottom lip, still debating telling him the truth. As much as you want to keep it from him, it feels wrong to withhold that information. 

“I’ve never done this before,” you finally admit.  

Jack chuckles, punctuated by a short shake of his head. “Me neither.” He kisses you again, this time with more force and power behind his movements, which you learn are just as skilled and meticulous as they are in the ED when he’s working under the immense pressure of saving lives. It makes you wonder how he is in the bedroom. Is he sloppy when caught in the heat of the moment? Or is he careful and planned? A hazard of his training and experience. 

You unglue yourself from his mouth. “What?” You blurt out, voice doped with a little too much incredulity that it physically takes him aback. Your fingers find their way to your lips, pressing them closed as if you could shove the words back inside. “Really? I–I thought you were married…at some point.” 

You’re not one to judge, but the idea of Jack having been married, and being as handsome, as smart, as educated he is and on this earth for nearly half a century, but not having sex at least once? It’s a bit unbelievable. 

He nods, eyes still thin, cocking his head to the side. “I was. But she wasn’t my resident and she sure as hell wasn’t half my age in the men’s bathroom of a bar.” He looks around at the space, dingy and murky.

Now it’s your turn to squint. “Wait. I don’t think we’re…” Your voice trails off into nothingness, leaving you and Jack alone in a silence only broken by the muffled music of the bar outside the door. “I’ve never done this before.” Your hand comes up to wave in the space between you two, gesturing to the act that was about to take place. 

“Huh?” He arches an eyebrow and his mouth twists to the side. “I’m gonna need you to be a bit more specific.” 

“Sex. I’ve never had sex before,” you murmur through tense lips, half-hoping he doesn’t hear. But he does, and his eyes grow wide, greenish-brown irises encircling blown pupils.  

“What?” He removes his hands from your completely, your body immediately missing the soothing warmth of his touch. Your hips ache for his palms to return to them. “Are you serious? Never? Not even in college? In medical school?” 

Maybe it does have teeth. 

You shake your head. “Never.” 

He almost doesn’t believe you. Maybe you’re just playing a joke on him, because how else could a stunning woman like yourself go so long without…being touched. 

“Wh–how?” 

You shrug. “No one will have sex with me.”

He laughs with his whole chest. “I find that hard to believe. Any man would want to have sex with you.” 

It sounds cheesier out loud than it did in his head, but he meant every word. You’re quite possibly the most gorgeous woman he’s seen in a long time. You’re incredibly smart and unbelievably gifted at your craft. He’d be on his knees if you asked. 

You blink up at him, tongue searching your mouth for the words. “I don’t mean it like that, Jack. I–It’s–ugh. Any time I get close with a man, I ruin it by telling them I’m a virgin. It’s too much pressure for them or something, they get freaked out and don’t want to be the guy who breaks me in.” You immediately regret being so vulgar and casual with your speech. “I should have just hooked up with someone in high school to get it over with, but I didn’t. I wanted it to be perfect and meaningful—the Hollywood of it all. I didn’t know it would be such a problem for me later on.” 

You were young, far too young for him, and he knew this already, but the idea of you not being even somewhat experienced was too much for him to handle. 

He takes a step back. “I’m glad you told me, um, but yeah, no, I can’t–I can’t do this with you.” 

You scoff, grabbing your purse from the vinyl-coated vanity. “See? This is what I mean.” A dramatic groan escapes your throat. “This is what happens. I never should have told you, and you wouldn’t have been the wiser.” 

“I just want to–” You stop, begging yourself to choose your words wisely, even though the liquor has loosened your inhibitions, and your vocabulary. “I want to experience it with someone already. No one will have sex with me because I’ve never had sex but the reason I’ve never had sex is because–ugh, nevermind.” A sigh leaves your lips, your shoulders fall in defeat. You can feel the red-hot heat of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early, Dr. Abbot.” 

“Stop.” A hand on your biceps stops you from turning to leave. Jack pulls you back to meet him in the eyes. He has such beautiful eyes. “Hey–just listen to me for a second. You deserve better than to have your first time up against the door of a bathroom bar, okay? This isn’t what you want, trust me.” 

“You don’t understand. I don’t care anymore, and I’ve made up my mind. I just want to get it over with–tonight–and if it’s not with you, I’ll do it with someone else. Like you said, there are plenty of eager men out there that would love to fuck me,” you spit, adjusting your purse to better fit on your shoulder. “I wanted it to be you because I trust you. I like you, Jack, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been harboring a fat crush on you since I started working at the Pitt.” 

Just as you wrap your fingers around the cool metal of the door handle to tug it open, a flat palm on the splintering wood forces it closed. All you can see is a brawny hand pressed flat against chipped black paint. 

“Wait a second. Just wait. I’m not going to let you hook up with some random guy, okay?” 

After a moment to quell the frustrated tears that start pooling on your lower lashes, you glance behind you, eyes spanning across the length of his muscular arm, still extended toward the door. A swatch of hair trickles down your exposed blade and Jack can’t help but reach out with his other arm and touch the velvety tresses. It then comes up to completely barricade you with his body. He has caged you in like a rat in a trap with nowhere to go…but down to your knees if you chose to bless him with those pretty lips of yours. He stares at them and you notice. Maybe there’s still hope for you tonight.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks with a rasp, eyes still locked on your mouth, now rubbed dry from the lipgloss you were wearing earlier. Jack happens to like them better this way, all raw and swollen from his attack. “With me?”

You nod twice. “Please.” 

“I’m damaged and crippled, and I’m pretty sure I was in my second year of medical school when you were born. Think again.” 

These things aren’t breaking news to you by any means. You’ve seen the crows' feet around his eyes, the limp he resorts to when he’s on the last few hours of his shift and his prosthetic begins to pain him. Somehow, his blatant reiteration of the age difference between you makes your clit throb, and you’re quick to worry about what that says about you and your desires. 

“Jack, please, I want you. I’ve wanted you so badly for so long. I don’t know how else to tell you.”

“Okay. Okay,” he repeats, releasing you from the cage he had you in, lowering his arms to his side. “But not here. I’m taking you back to my place and we’re going to go slow.” 

Slow? You don’t want slow. You want steamy, hot, passionate sex that has you sore and throbbing for weeks after. You want to be tossed and thrown and bruised. You want him to pull your hair and slap your ass so hard it leaves a red print in its wake. But you know that if you admit those wants to Jack, he will completely back off and you can’t risk losing him when you’re so close. 

“Slow. Okay. That’s fine.”

He walks you out of the bar, holding your hand the entire way, breaking from the clasp only to throw some cash onto the bar top, not stopping a moment longer than necessary. The balmy summer evening had dipped into night since you first stepped into the bar. The sky is now a deep indigo, speckled with the shimmering opalescence of stars. 

“This is my car,” he says, so flat and matter-of-fact, you almost want to chuckle. He drives an understated black sedan, the exact make and model unavailable to you in the dark night. 

“Cool,” is all you’re able to muster before he unlocks the vehicle with the swift press of a button on the key fob pinched between his fingers, and opens the passenger side door to help you get in. Once settled on the cool leather seats, you take out your phone to send a quick text to Cathy, who you doubt even remembers you went with her to the bar tonight.

Heading home. It’s true. You are heading home, just not to your home. She won’t be there to know the difference anyway. 

The next thing you know, you’re in Jack’s bedroom, beneath the velvety glow of a small lamp on his nightstand. It bathes the bed in its dewy warmth, keeping the rest of the room in the shadows of its absence. When he turned his back to flip the lamp’s switch, you threw off your dress, leaving yourself nearly naked in nothing but a bra and panties…a matching bra and panties, because even though you weren’t totally expecting the night to end in this, you always held out hope. 

When he saw you, standing there half-naked, your body illuminated by the low light, Jack thought about throwing you onto the bed and having his way with you, right then and there. To hell with slow. But he mustered up the courage to be a gentleman tonight, and instead of tossing you over his shoulder, he approached you with unhurried steps. 

“I’m going to go slow, okay?” 

He presses a chaste kiss on your mouth, waiting for you to respond. Palms that were previously flat on your bare hips, now run up your back, rubbing the skin in slow, soft caresses. His fingers dance in circles between your shoulderblades. The soothing sensation lulls a moan from your lips. You lean into the crook of his neck, and for a moment, he keeps you there, just rubbing your back. 

“You alright?” He asks, voice low and dusky in your ear. 

You nod against his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin. It smells something like cedar and soap and man. Like a cabin in the woods. Like a dip in a crystalline lake on a buttery summer evening.

His hands move to the clasp of your bra behind you, toying with the fabric. “May I?” The request makes you giggle. “Don’t mock me,” he pleads playfully with a breathy laugh. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.” 

“You’re being a little too gentle, if you ask me. Acting like I’ve never been kissed before.” 

“You have been kissed before, right?’ He asks, eyes dripping with mirth, all the way down to the smile tugging at his lips. You slap his arm. 

“Jerk,” you giggle. “Of course, I’ve been kissed. I’m not a total loser.” 

“You’re not a loser, (Y/N). You’re brilliant,” he assures with all the sincerity in the world. You feel so safe with him at this moment, all the more reason to continue, as this becomes less like an arrangement and more like an eruption of desire. 

You finger the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head to leave him one step closer to being as bare and vulnerable as you are in his arms. “Wow,” is all you can say as your eyes drink up the sight of his toned chest. You can’t help but reach out and touch his defined abdomen, the hills and valleys of the muscles beneath your fingers as you glide them across his stomach. 

 Next, he takes off his pants, his prosthetic, and the two of you are on the bed, his hands having found their way into your now bare pussy. 

“Come on, baby, let me hear you.” He pumps his fingers in and out, crooking middle and ring at your g-spot until you let out a lewd yelp. “Fuck,” he groans, getting off on your pleasure as much as you are, if not more. You feel him straining against his briefs as he rocks his hips against your thigh. “More. Give me more.” 

You obey, completely overwhelmed by the sensation that you almost forget to breathe until Jack reminds you, his voice velvety at your ear. 

“Keep going, I can feel that you’re close. So close.” He huffs heavily against your neck, his cheek flush against yours, your skin sharing in the sticky heat you’ve both worked up. Your back arches off the mattress and you feel the muscles of your abdomen tense, the walls of your pussy contracting and releasing around his fingers. 

When your orgasm finally crashes over you like an angry ocean wave, you pull him by the shoulders to meet your mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as it swirls around yours. 

“I’m ready for you,” you assure him, moving your hand down to the erection testing the strength of his cotton briefs. He helps you pull them down, revealing his full length to you.

“Oh shit, you’re huge,” you gasp, looking down to take in the sight of his size. Of course, Jack has a pretty cock. You practically salivate just looking at it, until you remember that it has to fit inside you and the fantasy shatters like a piece of porcelain china. 

“You can still change your mind,” he reminds you, brushing the hair away from your face, taking time to caress your cheek, your lips. “Just say the word.” 

“Jack,” you coo. He looks up at you from beneath arched brows, eyes expectant. “Stop asking me if I want this.” You reach down between your bodies, feeling the warmth, the stickiness of your sweat, to stroke his dick. It grows even stiffer in your hand. He quickly removes your grip from him, pinning your arms above your head. With the hand not pressed against your stacked wrists, he gathers some of your arousal on his fingers and strokes himself with it, groaning beneath the touch. He lines himself up at your entrance. 

“I want this,” you reiterate. 

He knows you do, but he’s still scared shitless of hurting you or ruining this in any way. In his fifty years on this earth, he’s never been with a woman for her first time. It makes him feel young again. You’ve reinvigorated the old man. 

“Mhm,” you moan, feeling the tip of his cock tease your slit. “I’m ready. Please move.” 

He guides himself inside, hesitantly even though his dick wants to act on its own impulses and jump straight into you. He resists, sliding in just the first inch. You wince slightly at the stretch and his heart skips a beat.  

“Are you okay?” 

You nod. “Yeah, keep going.” 

Another inch. He groans and you yelp, the sounds of your pain and his pleasure creating a sweet symphony that bounces off the walls of his bedroom, echoing down the hallway. Jack retreats, suddenly leaving you empty and sore and missing him.

“I’m sorry, are you okay?” He cups your cheeks with his hands, pulling your jaw up to look at him. His eyes are wide. 

You nod. “Please, Jack, keep going. I need to feel you again. All of you.” You’ll probably regret it, but the sensation has already left you dumb. 

He pushes inside you again, the full length this time and you cry out at the stretch, the sting so bitter-sweet it quite literally brings you to tears. The salty droplets drip down your temples and into your hairline. 

“Good girl,” he praises, caressing your hair. “You’re taking me so well. Just breathe.” 

He thrusts gently and you begin to warm up, the pain subsiding, leaving behind the dawn of pleasure. It starts at the crown of your head and trickles through your veins, down your thighs to the tips of your toes. Your body squirms beneath him, hips jolting upward to meet his as he pumps again and again. 

“Holy shit,” he groans raspily in your ear. “You feel so good, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me.” 

“I want to be good for you, Jack.” 

“You’re so good.” His eyes light up as he pulls away from your neck to take in your face. You look absolutely angelic beneath him, with cheeks flushed the prettiest pink color, and eyes glossy with ecstasy. When you look up at him, he thinks he actually died and went to heaven. 

“God, you’re so beautiful, baby.” 

You wonder if he means the sweet things he’s saying to you, or if that’s just what men say when they fuck, heads dumb and dizzy with the pleasure you’re providing them. 

Your core tightens around him, squeezing his cock like you never want him to leave. Truthfully, you don’t. You could hold onto him all night, keeping him inside you until you finally become one. If only he could actually meld to your flesh. 

“I’m so close,” you admit with a cry, the admission pushing you closer to the edge. When you cum, it gives him permission to follow suit. You tell him you’re on birth control, that he can finish wherever, safely, and with a final few thrusts, he is finishing inside you, releasing a gush of warmth. Exhausted and completely drained, he collapses onto your body, rolling over onto his back only when he’s able to catch his breath. 

You watch the labored rise and fall of his chest, as it slows, and when your core stops twitching and your  muscles are strong enough, you turn over to rest your head in the crook of his shoulder. His skin is warm and dewy beneath your cheek. 

“Did it hurt?” He asks, not sure he could handle the answer being ‘yes’. 

“At first,” you admit, turning your cheek on his chest to look up at him. “But it stopped after a while, and then it felt really good.” You smile, and he returns the gesture, eyes twinkling beneath the light source beside him. 

“Well, I’m glad I could be of service. Now,” he starts, keeping you tied up in his arms while he lifts himself further onto the headboard until he is sitting up straight and you’re just a degree behind him. His arm is draped over your shoulder now, pulling you in closer. “I need to tell you something.” 

Fuck, you curse silently. Is he diseased? Is he terminal? Does his dick cum nuclear waste? 

“What is it?” 

He stays quiet for a moment, giving himself time to revel in the anxiety flickering in your eyes. 

“I don’t do one-night-stands.” He shrugs, lifting and lowering his free hand. It slaps down onto his sheet-clad thigh. “It’s not my style.”

You laugh. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but you just did.” 

He walks up to your bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and the soft sounds of the TV on low volume spill out into the hallway.  Jack finds you curled up on the bed, with your lips pressed together tightly and the hot water bottle resting on your lower tummy. Your face is buried in his pillow.

“Hey,” he whispers and leans down to kiss your forehead. 

Your eyes flutter open, a little hazy and unfocused, slightly reddened from tears spilled earlier. 

“Hi,” you manage to mumble.

“Bad day, hm?” Jack asks quietly. He sits on your side of the bed and plays with your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“You talk to that gynecologist yet that I—“

You interrupt him with a glare. Now is not the time to talk about doctor visits. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Got it.”

For a while, he just stays with you and smooths his palm over your head, whispering soft reassurances. When a bad cramp hits, and your entire body tenses up, Jack winces sympathetically. 

“C’mon, sweetpea,” he instructs softly. “Scoot over. Cuddle time.”

He spoons you from behind, one arm slung over your waist while the other snakes under your shoulder. His lips press against the back of your head. 

“You take any painkillers yet?” he asks. 

“Of course.” The ache makes your tone a little sharper. Jack forgives you instantly. 

“Okay,” he replies and kisses your cheek.

His arm slides from your side to your lower tummy, applying gentle pressure over the tensing muscles. The warmth of his skin seeps into yours, easing the pain just a little.  Jack watches as your face relaxes a bit. 

“That okay, sweet girl?” he mumbles and rubs his nose against the back of your head. 

You nod silently. He tightens his arms around you until you melt right back into him. 

Sleep doesn’t come for either one of you. Jack worries too much as your body tightens and shivers through the cramps. He just wants to help in any way he can.  He lets his hand wander from your lower tummy, just dipping down a little further until the tips of his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties. 

“Jack?” you murmur.  You’re exhausted. Tired. A little out of it.

“It’s okay, sweetpea,” he answers. There’s a light rasp to his voice.  “I got you. Gonna make it better.”

His fingers drift below the waistband of your panties—your muscles clamp together.

“Jack, what are you doing?” you question.

He shushes you gently.  “I’m just helpin’, baby,” he mumbles. “Just helpin’ with the cramps.”

He feels the dampness in the curls that protect your folds, the blood that clings to your skin. His middle finger teases your slit, picking up some of that wetness as he swipes through your cunt. 

“Let me help you,” he whispers.  He finds your clit with two fingers and slowly starts to circle it. His lips press against your cheek, soothing you tenderly. 

A soft moan tumbles from your lips, making Jack smile. 

“That feels good, doesn’t it, sweetpea?”

You nod, whining needily in response. 

He keeps his touch gentle, just massaging your bundle of nerves for now. You’re in enough pain as it is; he won’t give you his fingers until you’re a little more relaxed. Instead, he uses his free hand to slide under your sleep shirt and cup your breast. He feels the tenderness, the swollen tissue, and sighs pitifully. 

“I got you, just relax,” he whispers. 

His fingers keep swiping over your clit, easing you off towards an orgasm. Your face scrunches up beautifully, brows drawing together in bliss. For a moment, all cramps are forgotten as Jack guides you over the edge. 

You cum softly—not so hard that it might disrupt the peaceful cocoon he’s been working hard to spin around you, but enough that your body releases happy hormones, which ease the cramps naturally.

Jack coos faintly and presses a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“Better?” he whispers. 

You nod, eyes half-lidded. 

Jack smiles and pulls his hand from your panties, dismissing the blood underneath his nails completely.  “Good. Just what the doctor ordered, hm?”