Chapter 141: Nurse Anna’s Special Treat: Healing Sucks and Strokes *

The infirmary was quiet during lunch period. Most students were either in the cafeteria or still buzzing about the fight in the courtyard, which meant the sickbeds stood empty and the examination rooms sat dark. The only light came from the small office at the back of the ward, its door slightly ajar, a sliver of warm yellow spilling across the tile floor.

Silas had spent the last twenty minutes answering questions from Sir Wesley, deflecting praise from random students, and watching Nelson Argent get carried to this very infirmary with what looked like genuine concern from the staff. The silver-haired idiot had been twitching less by the time the stretcher arrived, but Silas figured a few hours of regeneration magic would sort him out.

What he hadn’t figured on was Anna.

She’d been a bit distant since they returned from Gorgath, not cold, but watchful, like she was calculating something. He needed to talk to her. To understand what had shifted in those golden eyes of hers.

He pushed the door open wider.

Anna sat behind her desk, a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose, her dark hair tied in a loose bun. She wore a white coat over a cream blouse, the collar of her uniform crisp and professional. A half-empty cup of tea sat beside a stack of patient files. The room smelled of antiseptic and something floral, her perfume, the same one she’d worn in the bathroom that night.

She looked up, and her eyes softened when she saw him.

"Silas." She set down her pen. "I heard you threw someone through a wall."

"He lied to me."

"About?"

"The Student Council President thing."

Anna’s lips twitched. "That was Nelson Argent, the first S-Rank of the academy; well, that’s what everyone believes."

"Well, his appearance sucks. He should work more on it."

"Ah." She leaned back, the leather of her chair creaking. "I feel embarrassed now."

Silas blinked. "What?"

"Nelson is a distraction. A loud, flashy one. The main guy uses him to draw attention away from him, before he strikes." She smiled. "He knows. He plays the part well."

Silas processed that. "So I beat up a decoy."

"You beat up an S-Rank decoy. That sends a message regardless." She stood, rounding her desk. The white coat fell open as she moved, revealing the curve of her hips beneath the pencil skirt. "But you didn’t come here to talk about Nelson."

It wasn’t a question.

Silas watched her approach. The professional mask she wore in public had begun to slip, revealing the woman beneath. The one who had swallowed him to the root in a cold bathroom. The one whose throat still remembered the shape of him.

"I came to talk," he said. "About us. About what happened."

Anna stopped in front of him. Close enough that he could smell her perfume, something floral, understated, layered over the clinical scent of antiseptic. Her hand rose, her fingers brushing his jaw, tilting his face to examine the faint bruise forming along his cheekbone.

"You have a bruise."

"Fighting a supposed S-Rank."

"Mm."

Her thumb traced the discolored skin, and a faint warmth bloomed beneath her touch. The ache dulled, then faded entirely. When she pulled her hand away, the bruise was gone.

"Thanks."

"Don’t mention it."

Her hand dropped to his collar, tugging it down to reveal the mottled purple spreading across his collarbone. Another impact he’d taken during the fight, another mark he hadn’t noticed.

"You’re reckless," she murmured.

"Occupational hazard."

Her fingers pressed against the bruise, and warmth spread through his chest again. The purple faded to pink, then to nothing.

"You came to talk," she said, her voice dropping lower, "but I don’t think talking is what you need right now."

She looked up at him, her golden eyes catching the light, and Silas felt the shift in the air between them. The careful distance she’d maintained all week collapsed in a single breath.

"Anna..."

"Shh."

Her hand pressed against his chest, guiding him backward until his hips hit the edge of her desk. Papers scattered as she pushed him onto it, her body slotting between his legs, her hands finding his shoulders.

"I’ve been thinking about you," she said, her lips brushing his ear. Her hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, stopping at his belt. "And I don’t want to talk anymore."

Silas’s breath caught as her fingers worked the buckle. "The door-"

"Locked it when you knocked."

Of course she had.

Her hands found his waistband, pulling his trousers open with practiced efficiency. Her fingers wrapped around him, already hard, already aching, and she stroked him, watching his face with those predator’s eyes.

"You’re still tense," she observed. "From the fight."

"You could tell?"

"Your shoulders." Her thumb circled the head of his cock, spreading the bead of moisture gathering there. "Your breathing. The way you held yourself when you walked in."

She sank to her knees.

The sight of her there, Nurse Anna, Head Nurse, the composed professional, kneeling between his legs on her office floor with the infirmary stretching quiet and empty beyond the door, sent a jolt of heat straight through him.

Her hands found his hips, her mouth found his length, and she took him in one smooth motion, her throat opening to accept him without hesitation.

Silas’s head fell back, his hands gripping the edge of her desk, as she worked him with that same methodical intensity she’d shown in the bathroom. Her tongue traced the underside of his shaft with every stroke, her throat rippling around him when she reached the base, her hands gripping his thighs to steady herself.

She pulled off just long enough to gasp for air before diving again. Faster this time and deeper.

Her nose pressed into his pelvis, her throat convulsing around him, and she held there, her golden eyes looking up at him through half-lidded lids. Her hands found his shirt, pushing it up, revealing the mottled bruises across his ribs, impacts he’d taken during the fight that he’d forgotten about.

She pulled off, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock.

"More," she breathed.

Her hand pressed against the bruise on his ribs, and warmth bloomed across his skin as the discoloration began to fade. At the same time, her mouth found him again, taking him deep, her throat working him as her hand healed the damage he’d accumulated.

Every pull of her mouth, every swallow, every flick of her tongue was matched by the steady warmth of her healing. He felt the bruises on his ribs fade. The ache in his shoulder dissolved. The tension in his spine unspooled.

And through it all, she kept him buried in her throat.

His hands found her hair, gripping her dark locks as she moved, her pace relentless, her hunger bottomless. She swallowed around him, and he felt his release building, coiling in his gut like a spring wound too tight.

"Anna-"

She hummed in response, the vibration traveling through her throat, through his cock, through his entire body. His vision went white at the edges.

"I’m-"

She pulled off.

He gasped at the sudden emptiness, his cock slick and aching, twitching in the cool infirmary air.

Anna rose to her knees, her lips red, her chin glistening, her eyes bright with satisfaction. She pressed a kiss to the head of his cock, then another to the hollow of his hip, then another to the fading bruise on his ribs.

"That," she said, her voice husky, "is what happens when you come to my office during lunch."

She rose to her feet, smoothed her skirt, and walked back around her desk as though she hadn’t just had his cock in her throat.

Silas sat on the edge of her desk, his trousers undone, his body humming with unresolved tension.

"A-are you going to-"

"Finish you?" She sat down, picked up her pen, and smiled. "That depends."

"On what?"

Anna’s golden eyes sparkled.

"On whether you come back after your next class."

He stared at her.

She was going to kill him. She was absolutely going to kill him. And he was going to enjoy every second of it.