Ravaged by the Night Nurse, Part II
Some men leave the hospital with medicine. Toby left with an invitation.
Catch up:
Ravaged by the Night Nurse
Toby's naughty fantasies turn real when his dominant night nurse, Jaby, finally takes what he wants—hard, rough, and without mercy. Explicit hospital seduction at its hottest.
I should’ve been happy to leave that hospital.
No more beeping machines. No more bland food. No more paper gowns that left my ass one wrong breeze away from a lawsuit. No more nurses waking me up every forty-five minutes to ask if I was sleeping.
But when Jaby walked in with my discharge papers tucked under one arm and that wicked little smirk on his face, I knew I wasn’t walking out cured.
Hell, if anything, he’d made me worse.
“You look disappointed,” he said, shutting the door behind him.
“I’m going home,” I replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. “That’s usually considered good news.”
“Usually.”
He stepped closer, all broad shoulders and quiet confidence, smelling like soap, clean scrubs, and trouble. The kind of trouble that didn’t knock. The kind that let itself in and made itself comfortable.
I tried not to stare at his mouth.
Failed.
Jaby noticed, of course. The man noticed everything. My pulse. My breathing. The way my thighs tensed when he got too close.
He held out the papers. “Doctor says you’re cleared.”
I took them from him, our fingers brushing just long enough to make my stomach flip.
“Guess that means you’re done with me,” I said.
His eyes lifted to mine.
Lord, I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Jaby leaned down, one hand braced beside me on the mattress, his voice dropping low enough to crawl under my skin.
“Now, Toby,” he murmured, “you know better than that.”
My breath caught.
He didn’t kiss me. Didn’t touch me past that almost-accidental brush of our fingers. Somehow that made it worse. He was close enough for me to feel the heat coming off him, close enough that all I had to do was tilt forward and ruin both our mornings.
But he pulled back first.
Professional as ever.
Cruel as hell.
“Get dressed,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
I hated that he was right.
By the time I changed into my regular clothes, I expected him to be gone. Instead, he stood by the window, arms folded, staring out at the parking lot like he owned the whole damn building and half the people in it.
When I grabbed my bag, he turned and handed me a sealed envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Discharge instructions.”
I stared at him.
His smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Read them when you get home.”
“Is that medical advice?”
“That’s an order.”
My mouth went dry.
I tucked the envelope into my bag like it was nothing. Like my heart wasn’t beating stupid hard. Like I wasn’t already imagining his handwriting, his address, his hands, his voice telling me exactly what to do once the hospital was behind us.
Jaby walked me to the elevator.
Neither of us said much, but the silence between us had teeth.
When the doors opened, I stepped inside and turned to face him.
He stood there, calm and unreadable, like last night hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t wrecked me in that room and left me staring at the ceiling afterward, wondering how one man could make a hospital bed feel like holy ground and bad decisions.
“Take care of yourself, Toby.”
I swallowed. “You too, Nurse Jaby.”
His eyes darkened at the title.
The elevator doors slid shut before either of us could say something reckless.
Coward.
That was what I called myself all the way home.
Coward, coward, coward.
I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter, kicked off my shoes, and told myself to be normal. Shower. Eat something. Maybe sleep for twelve hours like a respectable recently discharged person.
Instead, I dug that envelope out like it owed me money.
Inside was one folded sheet of paper.
No medical instructions.
No medication schedule.
Just an address.
A time.
And three words written beneath it.
Don’t be late.