The booster had burned out of his system within thirty minutes of the Council address.
Now Justin lay completely limp beneath me, every trace of artificial strength stripped away. His body was heavier, more helpless, more mine. The restricted recovery protocol had been perfectly calibrated — he was healing, but the strength he craved remained firmly denied.
I straddled his waist in the dim blue light of the treatment room, my white coat open, breasts barely contained beneath my scrubs. His c**k was trapped between us, burning hot and slick, throbbing uselessly against my stomach.
“Denied strength,” I whispered, rolling my hips slowly so the length of his c**k slid through my slick folds through the thin fabric. “This is what it truly means now.”
Justin’s golden eyes were wet, unfocused
