Sophie then looked up.

"Thank you," she said. "For what you did tonight."

Stan looked at her, at the earnestness in her face, the slight tremor in her voice, the lingering redness around her wrist where Damien’s hand had been, and felt something move in his chest that he didn’t immediately have a word for.

"You don’t need to thank me for that."

"I know I don’t need to," Sophie said softly. "I just want to thank you."

She didn’t let go of his hand.

The ice pack sat between their joined palms, cool and steady, and the apartment was very quiet, and the city hummed its distant, indifferent lullaby beyond the windows, and neither of them spoke for a long, warm, comfortable moment.

’Don’t fall in love,’ the mantra whispered from somewhere very far away.

Stan looked at the girl sitting in front of him, the girl who had dragged him off a dance floor so she could treat his hand, who had kissed his injury the way his mother might have kissed a childhood wound, who was looking at him right now like he was the most important thing in the room.

He looked at her but said nothing.

Sophie’s smile was warm and slightly mischievous as she gave one last look at his bandaged hand, the neat gauze, the precise tape, the small, professional result of twenty minutes of focused attention.

She pushed the first aid kit gently to one side of the coffee table, then looked back at him and winked, playful mischief sparkling in her eyes. "Come with me, Stan..."

Stan studied that expression for approximately half a second. He’d been around Sophie long enough to recognize the particular quality of that look, Sophie was probably planning something deliciously wicked.

"I wonder what naughty thoughts are dancing through that pretty head of yours this time," he teased.

She only laughed, soft and melodic, refusing to answer. The room was soft with low light, the curtains drawn against the city glow outside. Sophie turned and looked at him with a loving expression then guided him onto the bed with tender insistence.

She arranged him carefully so he could rest his head on the soft, generous swell of her breasts.

Stan settled in with a low, appreciative hum, positioning his face perfectly in the warm, pillowy valley of her cleavage. The plush, velvety weight of her breasts pressed gently against his cheeks, enveloping him in incredible softness and heat.

Her skin smelled faintly of sweet vanilla and warm woman, a scent that made his body relax even as desire stirred.

He took a slow, deep breath, letting her feminine warmth and scent fill his lungs, and released a long, satisfied sigh.

"God, Sophie... you always know exactly what I need."

She blushed fiercely, though he couldn’t see it from where his face was nestled. Her fingers threaded gently through his hair.

’He’s being flirty, stay normal. Just breathe normally.’ Her heart was beating fast to his words...

"You’re such a lustful man," she teased, voice warm with affection. "Of course you’d like this."

Stan chuckled, the sound vibrating pleasantly against her chest. "I’ll wear that title proudly. Tell me, which man in his right mind wouldn’t want to rest his head on such soft, perfect breasts? Think about it objectively: which man wouldn’t find this appealing? The holiest monks, the most disciplined priests, they all secretly want this. They’ve just been keeping it locked away for professional reasons, only people like that would refuse heaven like this."

Sophie was momentarily speechless, a rush of heat blooming across her face and chest. His words stirred something deep inside her. She thought of Stan, of how being fucked hard by him made her feel desired and loved, even when he grew distant afterward. But this, this felt different. Safer. Warmer.

She sighed softly. "Is that your actual reasoning?"

"It’s completely sound reasoning."

"It is absolutely not sound reasoning." She teased...

"Name a flaw."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Thought about it with more intellectual honesty than the question probably deserved, and arrived at the reluctant conclusion that his core argument, was not entirely without merit. After all it’s only natural one is attracted to the opposite sex.

She said nothing. Which was its own kind of answer.

Stan shifted slightly, settling more comfortably, and she felt his exhale warm against her collarbone.

"Honestly, Sophie," he murmured against her skin, "your breasts feel so good the pain in my hand has almost disappeared. All the stress, the tension... it’s melting away. I’m convinced I’d heal faster if you let me do this more often."

She laughed lightly, cheeks burning. "That’s not how healing works, you flirt."

"Who knows? No one’s properly tested this method yet," he replied, voice low and playful.

A comfortable silence settled between them, filled only by their breathing and the steady beat of her heart beneath his cheek.

Then Stan cleared his throat.

"Sophie..."

"Yes?"

"I’m hard."

She blushed deeper, biting her lip. "We shouldn’t... not with your hand like this."

"I can handle it," he assured her, voice husky.

"I don’t want you straining yourself."

"It’s nothing serious. Just a minor injury."

"I know, but still..." She hesitated, torn between concern and her own growing desire.

"So you’re going to leave me like this?" His tone was playfully betrayed. "Blue-balling me?"

She tilted her head. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you’re teasing me, leaving me aching and wanting. It can be more uncomfortable and painful than you think."

Sophie fell quiet. As a nursing student, she knew prolonged arousal could be genuinely uncomfortable for men. And truth be told, she was craving him too, her body already warm and slick with need. She simply hadn’t wanted to push him while he was hurt.

With a soft, decisive sigh, she made up her mind.

"Lie back properly," she whispered, voice tender yet sultry.

She undressed him herself, slowly, carefully sliding his trousers and boxers down his legs so he wouldn’t have to move his injured hand. Her fingers brushed reverently over his skin, savoring every inch she revealed. When his hard length sprang free, thick and pulsing with need, she let out a soft, appreciative breath.

Sophie leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss just below his navel, then looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes full of affection and desire.

"Let me take care of you tonight, Stan... gently."

Sophie smiled at him tenderly, her eyes dark with desire and affection.

She shifted lower on the bed, positioning herself between his legs with careful grace so he wouldn’t have to move his injured hand.

Leaning down, she brushed her soft lips along the length of his throbbing cock, placing slow, reverent kisses from base to tip.

"Muah~"

"Muah~"

"Muah~"

"You’ve been so good to me tonight," she whispered, her warm breath teasing his sensitive skin. "Let me take care of you now."