Jessica didn’t answer immediately. She adjusted the strap of her bag, smoothing nonexistent creases in her dress.
“You are threatening me that you would tell Frank?” Rhoda pressed, her voice trembling now. “You’d tell him about the hotel? About… Fred?”
Jessica stood, but she still didn’t reply. She avoided Rhoda’s eyes deliberately. If she held that gaze too long, perhaps fifteen years of shared secrets and birthdays and late-night tears would weaken her resolve.
She couldn’t afford that. If this was the end of their friendship, so be it. Money was louder than loyalty. Survival louder than sentiment.
She picked up her bag and walked toward the door. Her heels clicked sharply against the tile, each step final. At the doorpost, she paused without turning around.
“Harry will call you later today,” she said. “Don’t mess this up.”
The door shut with a hollow thud. Rhoda remained frozen, fingers digging into the arm of the sofa. Only when her legs gave way did she sink into the chair, heart pounding so violently she could hear it in her ears.
The first time had been a favour. Jessica had been away. Harry had insisted. She had stepped in to cover for her friend. Or had she walked into a trap carefully laid for her? The realisation slithered into her mind slowly.
If she didn’t act fast, this would never end. Today it was Harry. Tomorrow, someone else. Each demand was wrapped in a threat. Jessica would keep tightening the rope until there was nothing left to breathe.
Outside, Jessica slid into her car and shut the door with a satisfied exhale. The engine hummed to life beneath her hands.
She glanced into the rearview mirror and smiled at her reflection. Perfectly handled. She did cherish Rhoda. But she cherished money more. Her mother’s hospital bills stacked higher each week.
The world did not reward loyalty; it rewarded leverage. And she had leverage on almost everyone.
Rhoda, Kate, Fred and Frank.
Her smile shifted, now slower and more deliberate. Frank was next. She had always wanted him. From the first time she saw him laughing in that careless way of his. But he had been untouchable—her best friend’s fiancé, and besides, she was fucking his brother too.
And now she held something far more intimate than desire. She held his secret. And secrets, she knew, were currency.
As she pulled out into traffic, the sun glinting off her windshield, she felt it, the thrill of control. One by one, she would tighten the net. And when it snapped— No one would escape unscarred.
The emergency unit of St. Augustine General hummed with its usual nocturnal pulse, the low, rhythmic symphony of monitors beeping in staggered counterpoint and the soft hiss of oxygen flowing through tubes.
Fred adjusted the cuffs of his white coat as he stepped into the last room at the end of the corridor. Behind him followed the two nurses assigned to his afternoon round.
Charity, the senior nurse, moved with composed authority. Her crisp white uniform was tailored neatly to her figure, hugging her curves perfectly, the fabric starched and fitted stretched tight across her full breasts and hips.
A silver name tag gleamed beneath the fluorescent light. Beside her, Nurse Jane, a junior staff member, eagerly clutched a patient file to her chest. Her uniform was similar but less adorned, the sleeves slightly oversized, her pen tucked nervously behind one ear.
The patient was a man in his late fifties, his face pale against the hospital sheets. A bandage wrapped partially around his head, disappearing beneath thinning grey hair.
He had been brought in days earlier after a brutal road accident, with severe internal cranial injury. Since then, he had not opened his eyes. A coma had claimed him.
Fred leaned over the rail, eyes flicking across the vitals. He adjusted the oxygen mask slightly, ensuring it sat properly over the man’s nose and mouth. His fingers pressed against the patient’s wrist, counting the rhythm beneath papery skin.
He checked the pupil response with a penlight, lifted an eyelid briefly, then gently replaced it.
“How long since the last sedative adjustment?” he asked quietly.
“Four hours, sir,” Charity replied smoothly.
Fred nodded, studying the heart rate again. He leaned closer, listening to the ventilator’s sync with the man’s chest.
“Mild intracranial pressure spike,” he murmured to Charity without looking up. “Prepare him for the phase two scan tomorrow.”
Charity scribbled swiftly into the file Jane held open. The younger nurse’s eyes darted between them, absorbing every movement of the doctor’s hands as though memorising choreography.
When he finished, Fred stepped back, slipping his stethoscope into his coat pocket.
“You will inform his family that we will commence the second phase of the scan tomorrow,” he said, tone clipped and professional.
“Yes, sir,” Jane replied with a slight bow of her head.
The three of them turned toward the door in unison. Then Charity jerked— as if struck by sudden recollection.
“Nurse Jane! Kindly check on Mrs. Okoro in 504. She’s due for another dose of artesunate in her drip. I almost forgot.”
“Okay, ma!” Jane’s reply floated back, already receding, footsteps quickening toward the elevators.
Charity waited. She counted silently in her head. Five… ten… fifteen seconds. Then she reached behind her and quietly locked the door.
The soft click sounded far louder than it should have. Fred turned slowly. For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Then he smiled.
“You didn’t have to send her that far,” he said, a knowing curve tugging at his lips.
Charity chuckled, biting her lower lip. “Full privacy.” She stepped forward, closing the space between them.
She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, her lips trailing down his neck, down to his collarbone. her hands sliding up to the back of his head. She pulled him down.
Their mouths collided, hungry, hurried, no preamble. Tongues met in a wet, aggressive dance, teeth grazing lips, breaths stolen between bruising kisses.
Fred’s hands slid to her hips, pulling her flush against him. Charity’s breath hitched softly against his neck. She could feel herself getting wet now.
She pushed his hand up under her uniform, parting her legs slightly. As his hand gently massaged her inner thigh, pushing higher.
“Oh dear,” She whispered into his ear,
“You’re driving me crazy.” Her legs parted further and his hand pushed further up until he reached the top. He slipped his fingers into her panties, finding her wet and ready. He cupped her chin, lifting it gently, and she kissed him again.
She raised one leg up, allowing him to stroke her pussy, slowly running a finger along her dampness, his fingers sliding against her slick flesh, her moans growing louder with each touch.
Fred pushed his finger inside her, prompting another deep moan and a mini flood from Charity’s eager pussy. He used her wetness to run his fingers back up her slit and trace deliberate, gentle circles around her clit. She whimpered and moaned a little louder, holding on to him for support as her legs trembled. His pace increased; she could feel her orgasm approaching.
Soon her eyes crossed, her legs shook, her whole body shuddered fiercely as she came on his finger.
Fred held on to her tight, his free hand wrapped around her waist to prevent her from falling over as her aftershock rocked her. Then he waited patiently for her to get down from her high, while his other hand still stroked her clitoris, pleasuring her slowly.
Once her orgasm dwindled, calm came over her face. She hiked her gown up, hiking it up over her thighs and ass until it gathered around her belly. Thick, smooth thighs gleamed under the harsh light; white cotton panties clung damply to the swollen outline beneath.
Fred’s hands found her ass—firm, generous, yielding just enough—and he lifted her effortlessly. Her legs locked around his waist like they belonged there.
He carried her the few steps to the narrow metal desk shoved against the wall, set her down with a metallic clank that made the unconscious man’s monitor stutter for half a heartbeat. She shoved her panties down in one fluid motion, kicking them aside.
Fred’s belt buckle rattled; zipper rasped. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, already leaking at the tip. He gripped her thighs, spreading them wide, the flesh dimpling under his fingers. She leaned back on her elbows, breasts straining against the bunched fabric of her top.
He rubbed the blunt head of himself along her slick folds, once, twice, teasing her engorged clit, then drove in with one brutal, deep thrust. Charity’s head snapped back on a choked gasp. He didn’t pause.
He drove in hard, relentless strokes, each one slapping wetly against her. The desk creaked in protest. Her walls clenched around him, hot and greedy, milking every inch.
They stole glances at the comatose patient; the steady beep-beep-beep never faltered, the chest rose and fell in artificial rhythm. The risk only sharpened the edge, made every thrust feel like lightning.
After long minutes of frantic pounding, she twisted, sliding off the desk. With two tiny fingers, Charity pushed Fred lightly, and he landed on the wooden chair, then she positioned herself above him, her hands on his shoulders, straddling his hips.
He took her by the hips, with deliberate slowness, guiding her as she lowered herself onto his shaft inch by inch, sinking down into him until he was balls deep into her.
Fred groaned as he felt himself filling her up, her pussy stretching around him like a glove. Her cunt was tight, hot and wet, so wet that it made squelching sounds as she began to ride him, her pace slow and calculated.
Her nails dug into his skin as she began to grind her hips, moving in a circular motion that had him seeing stars.
Just when he was adjusting to her slow moves, Charity picked up the pace and began to ride him harder and faster.
She was talking dirty, whispering crazy things into his ear that had him wanting to fuck her even more.
She rode and grind him like the hungry cock slut nurse he knew she was, rolling her hips and grinding her ass back and forth against his lap.
A pang of guilt pierced through Fred as he stole a glance at his patient on the bed. He knew Charity was in a serious relationship with another junior doctor in the same hospital.
And he had Kate, his wife of seven years, the mother of his daughter. Yet, he couldn’t resist Charity’s allure. Being with her felt different, dangerously intoxicating.
He knew his own body too well, and he couldn’t deny how much he craved what she made him feel.
Written by Tito
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