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Damn, he smells good. And he feels good, so warm and strong. And he’s hard. Everywhere. He runs his thumb gently along my scar. “How’s your pain today?” “Not as stabby. More like a dull ache.” “Did you take your meds last night before you went to sleep?” “Yes.” “Good girl.” After a pause, he says in a throaty voice, “Are you doing that deliberately?” I blurt, “I can’t help it if I’m shaking!” “It’s more like quivering. Shivering, all over.” “If you’d stop using that tone, I’d be fine!” “What tone?” “That s*x tone!” He says something in Russian that sounds filthy then chuckles when my shivering grows worse. I try to get up, but he throws his leg over mine and drags me back against him, rolling me over so my stomach is pressed to his. I tuck my head under his chin and hide my f
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