Hello everyone — it’s been far too long. After a much‑needed pause, I’ve finally rediscovered that familiar pull to sit down and write again. It feels only right to return to where it all began: What Would Steven Do?

And for those wondering — yes, What a Difference a Summer Makes will be back as well. I’m giving myself the space to complete a few chapters before sharing anything new, so that when it returns, it does so with the momentum it deserves.

Life has slowed down in the best possible way lately, giving me the time and clarity to sit at my computer and let these ideas spill out of my head and onto the page. It feels good to be back.

Without further ado I present:

What Would Steven Do?

Prologue – Fifth Floor Confessions

The shit I do to get pussy. That was the first thought pounding in my head as I dragged my sore-ass leg up the fifth floor of Angela’s walk-up. No elevator. Old-school Lower East Side building with more stairs than common sense, and after pulling a calf muscle yesterday playing ball? This climb felt like hell with a hard-on. But pussy? Pussy always wins. Every damn time.

Angela’s door swung open before I could even knock twice, and there she stood, all legs and attitude in a barely-there silk robe that might’ve been tied once in another life. The heat hit me instantly—and not from the hallway.

Inside, she was already moaning, already bent over the couch like she’d been waiting hours, ass high and glistening under the dim lights. Her voice rang out, breathless and hungry, crying out for it like she’d summoned me from her core. Harder… please… Jay, this is your pussy…

And it was.

Fucking Angela always hit different. Thirty-three, white, petite frame, A-cup tits—but that ass? Thick and sculpted like a goddamn blessing. Her face? Soft brown eyes, pouty lips. That mix of librarian beauty and hardcore porn imagination. Angela didn’t fuck—she performed. She gave scenes. She gave awards. She gave a damn. Out in public, she could pass for a faculty member at NYU. In private? She was full-blown, certified filth. My kind of woman.

Between strokes, she gasped as I pulled her close, licking the sweat that trickled down her spine. Her skin tasted like sin. “This pussy’s mine,” I growled against her ear, my hips slamming forward.

She nodded, lost in it. “All yours, Daddy. Yours.”

Wasn’t into that ‘Daddy’ shit at first, but like I said—pretty face, filthy mouth, and an ass like that? You learn to adapt.

She turned, eyes wide and glossy, and slid down to her knees in one practiced motion, slow and sweet. Her lips found the head of my dick, just teasing at first, letting her tongue swirl before whispering, Does Daddy want me to put it all in?

I didn’t even answer. Didn’t have to. Her mascara was running before I knew it, her throat working like it had clocked in for overtime. My hand gripped her hair, guiding, pressing, testing her limits. She gagged a little, eyes still on mine, and pulled back with a smile.

“You like when your white slut takes it all, don’t you?” she murmured, saliva painting my cock, her breath ragged.

I loved this woman. The way she knew exactly how to push me right to the edge. The way she smiled like a giddy schoolgirl with her lips wrapped around something so nasty. Her mouth wasn’t just talented—it was strategic. Strategic warfare.

“Keep going,” I muttered, lifting one leg up onto the bed and letting her go to work on my balls. The slurping sounds were so obscene I almost laughed. But there was nothing funny about the load building up inside me.

“What do good girls want, baby?” I asked, barely able to speak. “What do they need?”

She looked up, finger pointed straight to her mouth. “Cum, Daddy. Give me all of it. Right here.”

That was it. I exploded like a goddamn water main. She took it all. Didn’t flinch. Swallowed and smiled, lips still glistening, mouth empty. She even opened wide to show off her clean tongue, proud like a kid with straight A’s. “BYEEE!” she squealed, collapsing onto the bed with me like she hadn’t just drained my soul.

She laid her head on my chest, breath slowing, one hand still casually wrapped around my now-floppy dick like it was hers. “I wish you could stay tonight,” she said, stroking it idly.

I smirked, still catching my breath. “You talking to me, or my dick?”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

“I wish I could, babe. But your husband’s due back tonight, remember? And I’ve got a shift.”

She pouted but knew the drill. “I know, I know…”

I stood, stretching, grabbing my scrubs from the floor. “I’ll text you later.”

“You better,” she said, and just before I could walk away, she slid two fingers into her pussy, dipped them in deep, and smeared them across my lips before pulling me into a kiss.

Yeah. I fucking loved this woman. Dirty in the right ways, and dangerous in the best ones.

I was stepping into the shower when her voice came floating from the bedroom.

“So, who you working with tonight?”

I called back over the water. “Dr. Robinson, I think. Nurses are Helen, Liz, Robert, Vicky—same crew.”

Her footsteps padded up behind me, and before I could react, she slipped in under the spray. “Liz? That bitch usually isn’t on Thursdays.”

I turned, confused. “What’s with the hate? She’s sharp. Picks up fast. And she likes you.”

Angela gave me that deadpan stare, the kind that said you really are that dumb, huh? “She wants your dick, Jay.”

Then she grabbed it—hard.

“This,” she whispered. “She wants this.”

Her hand was already working it like she was testing blood pressure. I groaned. “Angela… come on. I gotta go.”

“Doctor’s orders,” she said sweetly. “And you can stop me anytime.”

Spoiler: I didn’t.

She dropped again, lips locking around me with surgical precision. Her deep throat game was hall-of-fame level. Like I said, sometimes I’d take the blowjob and skip the sex. That mouth was THAT good.

I could feel the end coming again. “On your face,” I growled.

She pulled off with a pop and nodded eagerly.

Three shots—one on her forehead, one across her left eye, and one trailing across her cheek. She rubbed it in under the water like it was high-end serum. A sight to behold. One for the books.

As she rinsed, she kissed me gently. “Now go, before you’re late.”

I smacked her ass on my way out. She jumped and yelped, towel barely clinging to her hips. I hit the stairs, only to remember—I forgot my damn keys.

Back inside, there she was again, holding them up, grinning.

“You always forget something,” she teased. “And remember—I’m on call tonight. If Robinson gets swamped. And don’t you DARE flirt with Liz.”

I leaned in, kissed her forehead. “Yes, ma’am.”

Angela Brand. Doctor. Director. Head bitch in charge. She was brilliant. Ruthless. Stunning. And mine—at least in this secret little world we built behind closed doors.

Let me backtrack properly now.

My name’s Jason Kevin Bridgewater. RN. 39 years old. My friends call me Jay. Or JB. The full name just sounds regal—sue me. I’m 6’0”, 220, Cuban-Jamaican mix, and if you need a visual? Think Laz Alonso in scrubs with a filthy mind.

And I’m living the dream.

On the road, I kill the radio and let the silence sink in. You ever do that? Let the tires and engine talk while you just… breathe?

At a red light, I spot this young Latina—barely sixteen, but built like sin. Bubble butt, long curls, braces. Jailbait. But damn. Then I spot the boy trailing behind her, maybe her age, trying to muster the balls to say hello.

I smile.

“I used to be you, kid.”

And then the light turns green.

This life I live? It could’ve gone so differently. But I had good people, smart choices, a little luck… and a silent mentor.

Steven St. Croix. Porn legend. Swagger specialist. The man who didn’t just fuck—he finessed.

Never met him. But he taught me more than any guidance counselor ever could.

Every time I faced a choice, I asked myself one thing:

What would Steven do?

This is my story.

Hope you’re ready.

Part 1 – The Shift

Finally—peace.

It had taken the better part of five hours, three Code Blues, and one meth addict trying to fight a vending machine, but I was finally at the nurse’s station, logged into the computer, updating charts, and praying for ten minutes of silence.

Working in the E.R. is like juggling chainsaws while someone sets your pants on fire—thrilling, chaotic, and exhausting. I only do this part-time now, thank God. Ten years full-time will burn the soul out of anyone. Multiply that shit by two if you’re in New York City.

And don’t forget—I had already cum twice before I even clocked in. Angela had drained me like a pro athlete’s Gatorade bottle. I definitely should’ve grabbed that Red Bull.

I chuckled at the memory, lips twitching into a smirk as I typed in a discharge note. My dick was still tired. My legs were still sore. But I couldn’t wipe that smile off my face. I was thinking about Angela’s mouth—when—

“What are you smiling about, mister?”

The voice pulled me out of my head like a needle skip on a record. I glanced over.

Liz.

Yep. That Liz.

Chocolate skin that shimmered under fluorescent lighting like it was made for it. 5’7”, legs for days, and teeth so white it looked like she bleached them between patients. Her smile could convince a priest to sin.

I blinked. “Huh? What?”

“I saw you smirking like you just won the lottery. So, what were you thinking about?” she asked, raising a brow.

My brain scrambled for something clever. All I managed was, “Nothing. Just… something earlier.”

She wasn’t letting it go. “Something… what?”

Persistent little thing.

Now, normally when someone gets all nosy like that, you hit ’em with a ‘mind your damn business’ and move on. But Liz? Liz wasn’t just anyone.

“Well, if you must know, Miss Nosy…” I leaned in slightly, flashing her a grin, “I was thinking about you.”

That eyebrow of hers crept higher, like a cat that just caught a mouse pretending to be a lion. “Oh really? And what about me had you smiling like that?”

Time to step it up.

“I was wondering where you were gonna take me after this shift. You know… a man’s gotta eat.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Why do I have to be the one taking you out?”

“Because I know the perfect spot. Great ambiance. Amazing prices. Five-star experience.” I winked. “All it needs… is you.”

She looked at me with those eyes—half challenge, half curiosity. Then smiled. “I’m in.”

She turned back to her charting.

I turned back to mine… trying desperately to think about anything other than Liz bent over my kitchen counter. My dick had no chill. It was standing at full salute, testing the stretch limit of my scrubs.

They say think about sports in moments like this.

LeBron. Steph. Serena. Shit—Tom Brady holding puppies.

But in the back of my mind?

Liz.

Mouth on my cock.

My tongue in her pussy.

My tongue in her ass.

God. Please. Turn off my brain.

Angela wasn’t wrong to be jealous. Liz Montgomery was fire. A fucking dime. And she didn’t even know how bad she was.

“Great job tonight, everyone,” came Dr. Robinson’s voice as he strolled over to the nurse’s station. “Seriously. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The nurses all turned to listen, nodding and smiling.