Doctors office 2

 https://stumblingfillies.blogspot.com/2024/02/doctors-office.html

Jules, her senses swimming in a haze of rum and laudanum, felt the world tilt and sway as she straddled the doctor’s lap. Her fingers, clumsy from intoxication, fumbled with the fabric of her undergarments, but the doctor’s steady hands guided her, peeling away the last of her clothing with a practiced ease. The cool air of the office kissed her bare skin, sending a shiver through her that mingled with the warm, pulsing heat in her core. She giggled, a soft, breathy sound, as she caught her reflection in the nearby mirror—her cheeks flushed a deep rose, her brown hair tumbling loose from its pins, framing her face in wild waves.

“Easy now, Jules,” the doctor murmured, his voice low and soothing, though there was an edge of hunger in it that made her pulse quicken. His hands settled on her hips, steadying her as she swayed atop him. His cock, hard and ready, pressed against her inner thigh, and she let out a small, surprised gasp at the sensation. Somewhere in the fog of her mind, a flicker of propriety tried to surface—she should be shocked, she should pull away—but the liquor and the laudanum drowned it, leaving only a delicious, reckless abandon in its place.

“Feels… nice,” she slurred, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance as she shifted closer. The doctor’s fingers tightened on her hips, guiding her until the tip of his cock brushed against her slick entrance. Jules moaned, her head falling back as a wave of pleasure rolled through her, amplified by the intoxicating warmth coursing through her veins.

“Slowly now,” he instructed, though his own breath was ragged, betraying his restraint. He eased her down, inch by inch, until she was fully seated on him, her tight, virgin pussy stretching to accommodate his girth. The sensation was overwhelming—a mix of fullness and a tingling heat that made her squirm. She rocked her hips instinctively, chasing the pleasure that sparked with each movement.

“Oh… Doc…” she breathed, her words slurring into a soft moan as she clung to him. The room spun gently, the edges of her vision softening, but the feel of him inside her grounded her in a way that felt both foreign and thrilling.

The doctor’s hands roamed, one sliding up her back to tangle in her hair, the other guiding her hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “That’s it, Jules,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “Just like that.” His voice was a low growl, and the sound sent another jolt of heat through her, making her clench around him.

Jules giggled again, half-drunk, half-delirious with pleasure. “I… I like this… procedure,” she managed, her words punctuated by soft gasps as she moved against him. The armchair creaked beneath them, the only sound in the room save for their mingled breaths and the occasional moan that slipped from her lips.

The doctor chuckled, a dark, warm sound, and leaned forward to capture her lips in a kiss. It was hungry, ungentlemanly, his tongue teasing hers as he deepened the contact. Jules melted into it, her hands sliding down his chest, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt until she could feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. The rum bottle, forgotten, tipped over on the nearby table, its contents spilling onto the floor with a soft glug.

As their rhythm quickened, Jules felt a pressure building inside her, a delicious tension that made her toes curl and her breaths come in short, desperate pants. “Doc… somethin’s… happenin’,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Let it happen, Jules,” he urged, his voice rough with desire. His hands gripped her tighter, guiding her movements as he thrust up to meet her, each motion pushing her closer to the edge.

When the climax hit, it was like nothing she’d ever felt—a wave of pleasure so intense it stole her breath, her body trembling as she cried out, her voice echoing in the small office. The doctor followed soon after, a low groan escaping him as he held her close, his own release shuddering through him.

For a moment, they stayed like that, panting, tangled together in the armchair. Jules’ head rested against his shoulder, her mind a blissful blur. “That… was better’n rum,” she mumbled, a sleepy smile curving her lips.

The doctor laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re somethin’ else, Jules,” he said, his voice warm with amusement and something softer, almost tender. “Rest now. We’ll talk more when you’re sober.”

She nodded, her eyelids heavy, and let herself drift in the warm, cozy haze, the world fading to a soft, golden glow.

The morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of the doctor’s office, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Jules stirred from her slumber, sprawled unceremoniously across a narrow cot the doctor had set up in the back room. Her head throbbed faintly, a lingering reminder of the whiskey, laudanum, and rum from the day before. She blinked, her brown eyes adjusting to the light as she sat up, her dress—hastily pulled back on the previous night—wrinkled and slightly askew.

The doctor, already at his desk, looked up from a ledger, his expression calm but with a faint spark of amusement in his eyes. “Mornin’, Miss Julia,” he said, his tone professional yet warm. “Feelin’ alright?”

Jules rubbed her temples, her cheeks flushing as fragments of the previous day’s events flickered through her mind. “I… reckon I’m alright, Doc,” she said, her voice steadier now, though a touch hesitant. “Head’s a bit sore, but I ain’t feelin’ as wobbly as yesterday.” She paused, glancing at the table where the rum bottle sat, half-empty. A mischievous impulse tugged at her, and she reached for it, pouring a small measure into a glass. “Mind if I…?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop her. “Go easy, Jules. You’re sober now—let’s keep it that way for this talk.”

She took a sip, the sweet burn of the rum warming her throat, though she kept it to a modest amount. The taste steadied her nerves, and she leaned back against the cot, her posture more composed than the previous day’s drunken sprawl. “Alright, Doc,” she said, meeting his gaze. “What happened yesterday… that wasn’t just a procedure, was it?”

The doctor set down his pen, folding his hands on the desk as he regarded her. “The procedure was real enough,” he said, his voice measured. “The device I inserted—it’s meant to prevent pregnancy, like we discussed. But…” He hesitated, a rare crack in his usual confidence. “What followed… that was somethin’ else entirely. I shouldn’t have let it go that far, not with you in that state.”

Jules took another sip of rum, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “I ain’t complainin’, Doc. Felt… real nice.” Her cheeks flushed deeper, but her eyes held his, bold despite her lingering embarrassment. “I just… I ain’t sure what it means. For me. For us.”

He stood, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the cot beside her, keeping a respectful distance. “It means whatever you want it to mean, Jules,” he said softly. “You were drunk, and I was wrong to take advantage. But I won’t lie—I’ve been taken with you since you first walked into my office. You’re a rare woman, Jules. Spirited. Beautiful.”

Her heart skipped at his words, and she set the glass down, her fingers lingering on its rim. “You’re sweet-talkin’ me now, Doc,” she teased, though her voice trembled slightly. “I ain’t used to this. Men don’t… they don’t talk to me like that. Not proper-like.” She glanced down, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. “I liked what we did, but I don’t know if I’m supposed to. Ain’t ladylike, is it?”

The doctor reached out, gently tilting her chin up so she’d meet his gaze. “Jules, what’s ladylike don’t always mean what’s right for you. You felt good yesterday because you let yourself feel it. Ain’t no shame in that, not with me.” His thumb brushed her cheek, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through her. “But I need to know what you want now, sober and clear-headed.”

Jules bit her lip, the rum’s warmth emboldening her. “I want… more,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not just the feelin’, but… you. I ain’t sayin’ I’m ready to be some proper wife or nothin’, but I don’t want yesterday to be the end of it.” She reached for the rum again, taking a bolder sip, her eyes gleaming with a mix of defiance and desire. “Maybe I’m a fool, but I trust you, Doc.”

He smiled, a slow, genuine curve of his lips that made her stomach flutter. “No fool, Jules. Just honest. And I’d like to see where this goes, too.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “But let’s take it slower this time. No laudanum, no rush. Just you and me, figurin’ it out.”

She nodded, her heart pounding as she set the rum aside, her hand brushing his. “Deal,” she said, her smile mirroring his. “But I ain’t promisin’ I’ll go easy on the rum.” Her laugh was soft, teasing, and as their fingers entwined, the promise of something new hung between them, warm and unspoken in the morning light.

The afternoon sun dipped low, painting the doctor’s office in hues of amber and shadow. Jules sat on the cot, her earlier resolve to sip the rum modestly forgotten as the bottle’s sweet allure called to her. She’d poured herself another glass—then another—her laughter growing louder, her movements looser with each swallow. The rum’s warmth spread through her, reigniting the reckless, giddy feeling from the day before. Her brown hair, already slipping from its pins, tumbled over her shoulders as she leaned back, one hand clutching the glass, the other gesturing animatedly.

“Doc, you ever… ever think ‘bout runnin’ off?” she asked, her words slurring as she grinned at him, her cheeks flushed a vibrant pink. “Jus’ leavin’ this dusty ol’ town, goin’ somewhere wild?” She giggled, spilling a bit of rum on her dress and brushing it off with a careless swipe.

The doctor, leaning against his desk, watched her with a mix of amusement and concern. “You’re gettin’ ahead of yourself, Jules,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with a smile. “That rum’s hittin’ you hard again. Maybe set the glass down for a bit?”

She shook her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Nuh-uh. Feels too good, Doc. Like… like floatin’ on a cloud.” She took another swig, then slid off the cot, swaying as she crossed the room toward him. Her steps were unsteady, and she nearly tripped, catching herself on the edge of his desk with a laugh. “Oops! Legs ain’t cooperatin’ again.”

He reached out, steadying her with a hand on her arm. “Easy, Jules. You’re drunk as a skunk.” His tone was gentle, but his grip was firm, keeping her upright as she leaned into him, her body warm and pliant against his.

“Mmm, you smell nice,” she murmured, her face close to his chest as she inhaled deeply. “Like… leather an’ somethin’ spicy.” She giggled again, her hands wandering to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. “Why’re you so buttoned up, Doc? Ain’t we past that?”

He caught her hands, his expression torn between restraint and desire. “Jules, you’re not thinkin’ straight,” he said, though his voice was rougher now, betraying the effect she had on him. “We said we’d take it slow, remember?”

She pouted, her lips glossy from the rum, her eyes half-lidded and teasing. “Slow’s borin’. I wanna feel like yesterday. All warm an’… an’ tingly.” She tugged one hand free, reaching for the rum bottle on the desk and taking a bold gulp straight from it. The liquid dribbled down her chin, and she wiped it with the back of her hand, laughing. “C’mon, Doc. Don’t be a spoilsport.”

He sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward as he took the bottle from her, setting it out of reach. “You’re trouble, Jules,” he said, his hands settling on her waist as she pressed closer, her curves soft against him. “But damn if you ain’t makin’ it hard to say no.”

“Then don’t,” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck as she tipped her face up, her lips brushing his jaw. The rum had stripped away her inhibitions, leaving only raw want in its wake. She tugged at his shirt again, this time managing to undo a button, her fingers grazing the warm skin beneath.

The doctor’s resolve wavered, his hands tightening on her waist as he pulled her closer, her body molding to his. “Jules,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, “you’re gonna regret this when you’re sober.”

“Don’t care,” she slurred, her hands sliding up his chest as she kissed him, clumsy but eager. The taste of rum lingered on her lips, sweet and intoxicating, and he groaned softly, returning the kiss with a hunger he couldn’t suppress. Her dress slipped off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbone, and his fingers traced it, sending a shiver through her.

“Bed,” she mumbled against his lips, tugging him toward the cot. Her movements were unsteady, but her intent was clear as she pulled him down with her, her laughter dissolving into a soft moan as his weight settled over her. The rum had her head spinning, her body alive with heat and need, and she arched against him, her hands fumbling with his belt.

“Jules,” he said again, his voice strained as he caught her wrists, pinning them gently above her head. “We do this, it’s ‘cause you want it, not just the rum talkin’.”

She grinned, her eyes glassy but burning with desire. “Want it. Want you, Doc.” She wriggled beneath him, her dress riding up to reveal the creamy skin of her thighs. “Please?”

He hesitated only a moment before giving in, his lips crashing against hers as he released her wrists, his hands sliding down to hike her dress higher. The cot creaked beneath them as they moved together, the room filled with the sounds of her breathless gasps and his low murmurs, the rum-fueled haze wrapping them in a world where nothing else mattered.

The cot groaned under their weight as Jules clung to the doctor, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The rum had set her senses ablaze, every touch amplified, every brush of his skin against hers sending sparks through her body. Her dress, now bunched around her waist, left her legs bare, and she hooked one around his hip, pulling him closer with a drunken urgency. The office was a blur of shadows and flickering lamplight, the world reduced to the heat of their bodies and the rhythm of their movements.

“Doc…” she slurred, her voice a mix of plea and pleasure as his lips trailed down her neck, leaving a path of warmth that made her shiver. “Feels… so good.” Her head lolled back, her hair spilling across the cot like a dark halo, her cheeks flushed with a mix of rum and desire.

He growled softly, his hands roaming her curves, one slipping beneath her dress to cup her breast through the thin fabric of her chemise. “You’re makin’ it damn hard to stay gentle, Jules,” he murmured, his voice thick with want as he nipped at her collarbone. His belt was undone now, his trousers pushed down just enough, and she could feel the hard length of him pressing against her inner thigh, teasing her already slick entrance.

“Then don’t be gentle,” she whispered, her words bold despite the slur, her eyes glinting with a reckless fire. She arched her hips, urging him closer, her body trembling with anticipation. The rum had washed away any lingering doubts, leaving only a raw, aching need that pulsed through her veins.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, searching her face, but the way she tugged at him, her nails grazing his back, was answer enough. With a low groan, he guided himself to her, easing in slowly at first, mindful of her tightness despite the previous day’s encounter. Jules gasped, her hands clutching at him as she adjusted, the stretch mingling with a pleasure so intense it made her toes curl.

“Oh… yes,” she moaned, her voice breaking as he began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that had her rocking against him. The cot creaked louder, protesting their fervor, but neither cared. Her legs tightened around him, pulling him deeper, and he obliged, his thrusts growing harder, more insistent, as her moans filled the room.

“Jules,” he rasped, his hands gripping her hips as he leaned down to kiss her, his lips hungry and demanding. She kissed him back, sloppy and eager, the taste of rum still lingering on her tongue. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she lost herself in the sensation, the world spinning around her in a dizzying, blissful haze.

The pressure built again, that same delicious tension from the day before, coiling tighter with every thrust. “Doc… I’m… I’m gonna…” she stammered, her words dissolving into a whimper as her body tensed, teetering on the edge.

“Let go, darlin’,” he urged, his voice rough as he quickened his pace, his own breath hitching. His hand slipped between them, his fingers finding the sensitive spot that made her cry out, her body arching off the cot as the climax crashed over her. She shuddered beneath him, her moans loud and unrestrained, her nails digging into his shoulders as waves of pleasure rippled through her.

He followed moments later, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he buried himself deep, his release pulsing inside her. For a moment, they stayed locked together, panting, their bodies slick with sweat. Jules’ head fell back against the cot, her chest heaving as she grinned, her eyes half-closed. “That… was even better,” she slurred, her voice dreamy as she reached for him, pulling him down for a lazy, lingering kiss.

The doctor chuckled, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face as he eased off her, adjusting his clothes. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Jules,” he said, his tone fond but tinged with exasperation. He helped her sit up, smoothing her dress down as she swayed, still drunk and giddy.

“Worth it,” she mumbled, giggling as she leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “Can we… do it again t’morrow?”

He shook his head, a smile playing on his lips as he steadied her. “Let’s get you sobered up first, then we’ll talk. Again.” He glanced at the rum bottle, now nearly empty, and sighed. “And maybe hide that bottle next time.”

Jules just laughed, soft and carefree, as she nestled against him, the warmth of the rum and his touch lulling her into a contented daze.

The next morning, Jules woke with a fierce determination to keep her wits about her. The lingering ache in her head and the hazy memories of the past two days were a sharp reminder of the rum’s seductive pull. She sat on the edge of the cot in the doctor’s back room, her dress neatly pressed—thanks to the doctor’s quiet efforts while she slept—and her hair pinned back in a semblance of order. She eyed the rum bottle, now tucked on a high shelf, with a mix of longing and resolve.

“I’m gonna be good today, Doc,” she declared, her voice firm as she smoothed her skirts and stood, only wobbling slightly. “No drinkin’. I wanna… talk proper, like you said. Figure this out.”

The doctor, preparing his instruments at his desk, glanced over with a nod, his expression approving but cautious. “That’s a fine plan, Jules,” he said, setting down a stethoscope. “I’m proud of you for tryin’. Let’s keep it clear-headed today, alright?”

She nodded, her brown eyes bright with determination as she busied herself straightening the cot’s blanket, avoiding the shelf where the rum sat. They spent the morning in quiet conversation, the doctor explaining the procedure again—how the device worked, how it would protect her—and Jules listening intently, asking questions with a clarity she hadn’t managed before. The air between them was warm, charged with an unspoken connection, but restrained, both mindful of her promise to stay sober.

By midday, though, the quiet of the office felt stifling. The sun beat through the windows, and Jules’ resolve began to waver. She fidgeted, her fingers twisting in her dress as her eyes darted to the shelf. “Just… one sip wouldn’t hurt, would it?” she muttered, more to herself than to him, as she stood and paced. “To take the edge off, y’know?”

“Jules,” the doctor said, his tone gentle but firm as he stepped closer, intercepting her path to the shelf. “You said you wanted to stay clear. You don’t need it.”

She bit her lip, her resolve crumbling under the weight of temptation. “I know, but… it makes everythin’ feel so good,” she admitted, her voice soft, almost pleading. Before he could stop her, she darted to the shelf, her fingers closing around the rum bottle. She poured a small glass, her hands trembling with both guilt and anticipation, and downed it in one quick gulp. The familiar burn spread through her, loosening her limbs and igniting that reckless spark in her chest.

“Jules,” the doctor sighed, but there was no real anger in his voice, only a resigned amusement as he watched her pour another. “You’re hopeless.”

She grinned, already feeling the rum’s warmth chasing away her nerves. “Maybe,” she slurred, taking another sip, her eyes glinting with mischief. “But you like me this way, don’t you?” She swayed closer, her dress brushing against him as she set the glass down, her fingers grazing his arm.

He caught her hand, his touch steadying her as her cheeks flushed pink. “You’re trouble sober or drunk,” he said, his voice low, a smile tugging at his lips. “But yeah, I like you plenty.”

The rum worked fast, her head spinning as she leaned into him, her body soft and pliant. “Then show me,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear, her breath warm and sweet with rum. Her hands fumbled with his shirt, less coordinated now, but her intent was clear as she pressed herself closer, her curves molding to his frame.

He groaned, his restraint fraying as he cupped her face, kissing her deeply, the taste of rum mingling between them. “You’re gonna make this a habit, aren’t you?” he murmured against her lips, his hands sliding to her waist, pulling her flush against him.

“Only if you keep lettin’ me,” she teased, her words slurring as she tugged at his belt, her movements clumsy but eager. The room tilted around her, the rum blurring the edges of her vision, but the heat of his touch grounded her, setting her skin alight. Her dress slipped off one shoulder, and she giggled, not bothering to fix it as she pulled him toward the cot.

They stumbled together, her laughter dissolving into a moan as he eased her down, his hands deftly hiking her skirts. “Slow down, darlin’,” he said, but his voice was rough with desire, his fingers tracing the bare skin of her thighs. She arched against him, her body responding to every touch, the rum amplifying every sensation until she was trembling with need.

“Want you, Doc,” she slurred, her hands clutching at him as he positioned himself, his cock hard and ready. He entered her slowly, mindful of her state, but her moans urged him on, her hips rocking to meet his. The cot creaked beneath them, the rhythm of their movements growing frantic as the rum-fueled haze wrapped them in a world of heat and pleasure.

When the climax hit, Jules cried out, her body shuddering as she clung to him, her nails digging into his back. He followed soon after, his breath ragged as he held her close, their bodies tangled in the aftermath. She grinned, her head spinning, and mumbled, “Told you… rum makes it better.”

He chuckled, brushing her hair back as he eased off her, helping her adjust her dress. “You’re gonna be the end of me, Jules,” he said, his voice warm with affection. “But we’re gonna have to work on that sober thing.”

She giggled, already half-asleep, and nestled against him, the rum and his warmth lulling her into a contented stupor.

The morning sun crept through the doctor’s office windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Jules woke slowly, her head heavy but clearer than the previous days, the rum’s grip loosened by a night of fitful sleep. She sat up on the cot, her dress wrinkled but properly fastened, her hair a tangled mess she hastily pinned up. The doctor was already up, his coat on, preparing for a busy day of seeing patients. The rum bottle, conspicuously absent from the shelf, had been tucked away somewhere out of sight.

“Mornin’, Jules,” he said, glancing over from his desk, his tone warm but brisk as he sorted through a stack of patient notes. “Got a full day today. Folks comin’ in from all over town. You feelin’ steady enough to head home?”

Jules nodded, smoothing her skirts as she stood, testing her balance. “I’m alright, Doc,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “Bit of a headache, but I ain’t swayin’ like before.” She hesitated, her eyes lingering on him, a flicker of the past days’ intimacy sparking in her chest. “You… need me to come back later?”

He smiled, a gentle curve of his lips that softened his professional demeanor. “Best you get some rest at home, Jules. We’ll talk soon, alright? I’ll check on you in a day or two.” His tone was kind but firm, a reminder that their recent encounters needed a pause, at least for now.

She nodded, a touch of disappointment mingling with relief. The haze of rum and passion had carried her away, but the clarity of sobriety brought a mix of emotions—excitement, uncertainty, and a nagging sense of propriety trying to reassert itself. “Alright, Doc,” she said, offering a small smile. “Don’t work too hard.”

He chuckled, escorting her to the door. “You stay out of trouble, Jules. And keep away from any rum bottles at home.” His hand brushed her arm, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through her, but he stepped back, turning to greet his first patient of the day, an elderly woman already waiting outside.

Jules stepped into the dusty street, the late summer heat wrapping around her as she made her way home. The small town buzzed with its usual rhythm—horses clopping, merchants calling out, children darting through the alleys. Her modest boarding house was a short walk away, a single room she rented above a seamstress’s shop. As she climbed the narrow stairs, her mind replayed the past few days—the doctor’s touch, the rum’s warmth, the dizzying pleasure that had felt so right in the moment but now left her wondering.

Inside her room, she sank onto her narrow bed, kicking off her boots. The space was sparse but tidy, with a small table, a chair, and a chipped ceramic pitcher. Her eyes fell on a half-empty bottle of whiskey tucked in a corner, a gift from a neighbor months ago. She stared at it, her fingers twitching with temptation. “No,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “I said I’d be good.”

But the quiet of the room pressed in, and her thoughts swirled—memories of the doctor’s hands, his low voice, the way her body had come alive under his touch. Her resolve faltered, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed the whiskey bottle, pouring a small measure into a tin cup. “Just one,” she whispered, as if convincing herself. The first sip burned, sharp and familiar, and she sighed as the warmth spread, loosening the tension in her shoulders.

One sip became two, then three, and soon Jules was leaning back against the wall, her head pleasantly fuzzy. She giggled, the sound echoing in the small room, and let her mind wander to the doctor. “He’s prob’ly charmin’ some ol’ lady patient right now,” she mumbled, a grin spreading across her face. “But he likes me best.”

The whiskey bottle was lighter now, and Jules swayed as she stood, crossing to the small mirror above her table. Her reflection showed flushed cheeks and bright eyes, her hair slipping from its pins again. “Look at you, Jules,” she slurred, laughing softly. “Gettin’ drunk all over again.” She tugged at her dress, letting it slip off one shoulder, mimicking the way it had fallen in the doctor’s office. The memory sent a pulse of heat through her, and she bit her lip, her hands wandering over her own skin, imagining his touch.

A knock at the door startled her, and she nearly dropped the cup. “Who’s there?” she called, her voice louder than intended.

“Miss Julia? It’s Mrs. Harper,” came the seamstress’s voice from below. “Just checkin’ you’re alright up there.”

Jules giggled, stumbling to the door and cracking it open. “I’m fine, Mrs. Harper,” she said, her words slurring slightly. “Just… restin’.”

The older woman’s eyes narrowed, catching the scent of whiskey. “You take care, girl,” she said, her tone stern but kind. “Don’t go makin’ a habit of that bottle.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jules replied, her grin unrepentant as she closed the door. She sank back onto the bed, the cup still in hand, and took another sip, her thoughts drifting back to the doctor. “Tomorrow,” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy. “I’ll see him tomorrow… and maybe… maybe we’ll try sober again.”

As the whiskey pulled her into a warm, dreamy haze, she curled up on the bed, her last coherent thought a promise to herself—and to him—that she’d try harder to keep the bottle at bay. But for now, the familiar glow wrapped her in comfort, and she drifted off with a smile, the memory of his touch lingering like a whisper.