HAVING ELDER PASS out mid-kiss affected not just my worry but also my ego—some superficial part of me that believed my presence was enough to cure him was slapped back to reality and given a stern talking-to.

A kiss would not heal him.

Only a doctor could.

Tess had been right.

Rest had done him a world of good. But now, his injuries needed tending to and food needed to be consumed. And the only way to do that was to enlist the experts.

Leaving Elder unconscious once again, I waited until dawn switched to acceptable morning politeness and padded downstairs to the kitchen.

There, I found Q dressed in a striking blue suit with graphite shirt and maroon tie, laughing with a plump lady who I assumed was the cook.

Their French quips and inside jokes stopped the moment I intruded. His face lost the ease of conversing with family and slipped into a polite mask of helpfulness. “Bonjour, Pimlico. Comment allez-vous?”

I knew enough basic one-liners to understand he’d asked how I was.

I nodded with a mirroring smile. “I’m fine.” I would’ve much rather bumped into Tess to tell her what I needed rather than her husband, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Do you mind calling a doctor? Or radioing the Phantom and asking Dr. Michaels to come? Elder is unconscious again, and I think he needs better care than what I can provide.”

Immediately, he put down his coffee and reached into his blazer breast pocket for his cell phone. “Of course. I’ll call my personal physician immediately.” Kissing the cook on her two flour-dusted round cheeks, he murmured something in French then passed me while pressing digits on his phone. “He’ll be here in thirty minutes. Wait upstairs. I’ll send him to you.”

He didn’t even wait for my thanks.

A whirlwind of efficiency, he was out the door and onto whatever vigilante endeavours or business dealings he favoured.

* * * * *

The day passed in yet another blur. Q’s doctor arrived and briskly stripped Elder down.

He assessed his bruises, bumps, and breaks, reset his bent finger, checked the strappings on his chest, noted his fever, then turned his attention to the stitches in Elder’s gunshot wound.

I kept a hand clamped over my lips as the doctor washed out the wound and re-stitched two areas that’d come undone.

I could handle my own broken bones and gushing blood. But seeing Elder’s…it hurt because I didn’t want him to be in pain. I wanted to take it away, and I couldn’t.

All I could do was hope and wait and beg him to be okay.

Once tended and tutted over, the doctor cleaned Elder’s injuries with antibacterial gel and secured yet another bandage over his stitches to keep the skin supple enough to knit together without forming too proud a scar.

I hated that Elder didn’t wake up while the doctor fussed and fixed. His eyelids didn’t twitch, his body didn’t jolt even when an IV needle was inserted into the back of his hand to deliver a drip full of antibiotics and glucose.

According to the doctor, Elder’s zombieness was fairly common for someone who’d depleted themselves to the level he had.

Six hours of sleep for a healthy person meant they’d be ready for a brand-new day.

Six hours of sleep for a sick person meant nothing. His resting would be entirely reliant on how quickly he healed and how fast his body fought his fever.

The doctor’s final task was checking Elder hadn’t torn the tendon off his ankle bone and re-securing the leg brace.

Before he left, he reeled off warnings and caveats, telling me with harsh command that although Elder wouldn’t die and most likely wouldn’t suffer long-term ill effects, it was his medical recommendation that he go straight to a hospital when he woke and arrange X-rays on his ankle and a cat scan for his shoulder to pick up any areas that might cause future damage.

I nodded and agreed, shooing the doctor out, knowing exactly what Elder would say to those suggestions.

No fucking way…or something to that end.

I smiled, loving the sensation of knowing Elder enough to hopefully predict what he might do. If I could predict, I could challenge. And if I could challenge, I might even win a few arguments.

Today, though, I’d won the war on getting him to stay and was in charge of paying the invoice the doctor had assured would be sent by the end of the week.

I had responsibility.

People looked at me and listened to my instruction and believed I was normal enough to do things like pay bills and look after loved ones. That I had possessions like bank accounts and credit cards. That I hadn’t been a prisoner for two years and my entire future hinged on the man passed out with blood staining the sheets beneath him.

I was his guardian angel now, and I wouldn’t rest until he was healed.

* * * * *

I lost track of time.

I didn’t care if it was morning or evening, day or night.

Suzette brought food in at random intervals, I helped a groggy Elder somehow crawl from the bed to the bathroom before passing out again, and Tess popped by to see how the invalid was doing.

We chatted a little, but the exhaustion that clutched Elder finally found me, and I dozed beside him with my knees pressed against his thigh and my arm thrown lightly over his chest.

I probably shouldn’t touch him in case I hurt him, but I needed to touch him. I needed to sleep with his heat and bulk in my arms; otherwise, nightmares of him being shot and falling overboard tortured me on repeat.

Again and again, I heard the boom and splash. Smelled the sulphur and salt.

I clutched Elder harder.

* * * * *

Sometime later—who knew exactly how much later—while the sky inked black and the house hushed quiet, Elder finally mumbled something and flinched.

I shot upright, blinking away sleep, begging him to open his eyes. He’d woken a few times before—sometimes for a bathroom break and others while still in a dream—but each time, he’d not quite returned to me.

This time seemed different. His natural awareness and readiness to fight filled his body before his eyes cracked open.

Slowly this time, no longer unfocused and dazed but suspicious and lethal. His dark eyelashes feathered in the gloom.

I didn’t speak while he glanced around, studying, assessing. The tautness in his shoulders said he remembered our last conversation and most likely our kiss.

Does he remember passing out?

“Fuck…” he groaned, squeezing his eyes and shaking his head. “Did I really faint while kissing you?”

I laughed softly, glad to hear strength in his voice even if it was soft with sleep and rough with injury. “You did.”

“I’m an ass.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m not sick.” Raising his hand off the sheets, he squinted dangerously at the needle piercing his skin. “Who the hell put that in?”

I wished I could tell him Michaels did—at least he knew him and had some element of trust. I didn’t even know Q’s doctor’s name. “The Mercer family doctor came. When you passed out mid-kiss, I thought it best to get a professional.”

Grumbling under his breath, he dropped his hand. “I bet that bastard had a great time gloating about putting me in the infirmary.”

“It wasn’t like that, and you know it.”

He sighed. “I’m assuming I haven’t been out for ten minutes, either?” Glancing at the sky, he glowered at the fresh moon slightly thicker in crescent than the day before. “Shit.”

“A little longer than that, I’m afraid.” Swinging my legs off the bed and standing, I stretched out the kinks from sleeping stiff beside a healing patient. “I sort of lost track of time.” Looking back at him, I did my best to hide my wince.

He looks awful.

Somewhere along the way of battling and now, Elder had lost the strict rigidity he always carried in his spine. He’d given in to the bed’s embrace, collapsing into pillows, looking tamed and not at all happy about it.

With the sheet tossed to the side, the ankle brace clung to his limb like a growth—a manifestation of his pain.

In a way, he looked utterly exhausted and in another, he looked almost relieved to finally admit he needed someone to care for him…just for a little before he was back to his overly-generous, terribly-stubborn self.

Despite the dirt and blood still lingering on his skin, he warmed my heart and filled my thoughts with pastimes unsuited for patients and nursemaids.

“Why did you get up? Where are you going?” He yawned, white teeth flashing in the dark.

I had thought to head to the kitchen and retrieve dinner for him, but I didn’t want to leave.

I needed to be around him while he was awake, just in case he passed out again.

I have a much better idea.

“Don’t move,” I whispered.

His eyebrow rose. “I don’t think you need to fear on that account.”

Smiling, I left the bed and padded to the bathroom. There, I found a dish holding face towels and cute soaps shaped like feathers.

Tossing them out, I filled up the dish with warm water, stole two towels and some soap, then headed back to Elder.

His forehead scrunched while his eyes squeezed shut as if every breath hurt.

The moment he heard me, however, the truth of his discomfort vanished and his face smoothed out with a love-filled smile. “You came back.”

“Of course, I did.” Carrying my stash, I did my best not to spill warm water as I placed it on the bedside table. “I wouldn’t leave you.” I filled my voice with sincerity. “Ever.”

His gaze widened, drenched with tiredness and healing but dark with hunger and lust. “Even if you hadn’t just given me your word to never leave me, I would never be capable of letting you go, Tasmin.” He swallowed as his voice thickened. “You’re stuck with me. For however long my stupid heart keeps me alive.”

There he went again, using my real name in a suddenly passionate fragment.

“Your heart isn’t stupid.” Goosebumps scattered over my arms as I dropped my eyes. “It’s perfect.”

“You’re right. It isn’t stupid.” He reached for me, linking his fingers with mine. “It chose you.” His heat soaked into mine. “Come to bed.”

His touch somehow deleted everything, making me crave. I stumbled closer as he dragged me toward him.

Scooting down the bed, doing his best to hide his flinch and jolt from battered bones, he tugged until I kneeled on the bed beside him.

Gazing down, I tucked glossy strands of black away from his forehead, checking partly for his fever and partly for strength. The way he watched me hinted he could pin me to the bed and be inside me in moments. But the reality was his breathing remained laboured; his skin filthy from his fight.

If he was in agony, then he needed to rest, despite our rapidly building chemistry.

I shook away the lust waking up in my veins, then tugged at the sheet covering his chest. “May I?”

He smirked. “You know you don’t need to ask.”

Bracing myself, I pulled the covers down his black and blue body, revealing a patchwork quilt of defeat, victory, and scars.

Oh, El.

My fingers moved on their own accord, stroking along his collarbone and a large scratch living there.

He arched into my touch, a groan tumbling from his lips. “As much as I like you focusing on that part of my body, other parts need tending to more.”

“Like every other bruise and bump, you mean?”

He chuckled under his breath. “I mean what’s between my legs.”

“I’m sure that’s the only thing at present that isn’t hurt.”

“Ha!” He shivered as I drifted my fingers down his chest. “It’s the one place that’s hurting the most.” His gaze narrowed with heat. “Whatever you’re doing is driving me insane, Pim. Lie down or get away from me. I can’t have you sitting over me like that and not want to fuck you.”

I sucked in a breath, tearing my eyes from his to focus on the bowl full of water. “Well, you can’t. Not yet. Not until you’re better.”

“I am better.”

I leaned forward and dipped a towel into the wet warmth. “I’ll say when you’re better.” Wringing out the excess, I moved to his hips, taking the covers with me.

“What the hell are you doing?” His nipples peaked from either cold or desire as a few droplets landed on his belly from my cloth.

I did my best not to focus on the blood-stained bandages and the stitches holding him together. “Looking after you the way you looked after me.”

His eyes burned as I continued to push away the coverlets to the bottom of the bed. He winced as I brushed against his ankle encased in its boot.

“Sorry.” I climbed back up, settling so close my thigh kissed his hipbone. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can.”

Bandages around his chest and over his shoulder blocked me from staring at his nakedness, but it didn’t stop the tail of his dragon and the tip of its snout peeking from the sides.

Tears sprang to my eyes to see him so decorated in pain. I pressed a kiss to his bandaged shoulder. “I hate seeing you like this.”

He swallowed a black chuckle. “Imagine what it was like for me when we first met and you were worse than this.” His good hand captured my chin, his thumb shaking a little as he ran it over my cheek. “It gutted me every time you were naked. Seeing how beautiful you were beneath all those marks and punishments. I wanted to fucking kill him all over again for what he’d done to you.” His voice wavered with loathing. “How skinny you were. How beaten. He’d tried so hard to break you but never could.”

I had no reply because now I understood yet another layer of what he’d embraced by saving me. He’d come from a world where he didn’t need reminders that pain and suffering existed to living with a very clear example.

He’d fallen for a woman who preferred nakedness to clothing, providing the constant reminder of what’d happened to her outside his control.

God, I was so selfish.

Leaning forward, I brushed my lips over his, my hands falling to his boxer-briefs. “I’m sorry, El. For making you see me that way when it was so hard for you.”

“What the hell are you apologising for?” His nostrils flared. “Seeing you that way made me grow the fuck up and remember I had a heart, after all. You helped me remember how to care for another without fear.”

My fingers inched around the elastic holding his underwear in place—the only thing the doctor had left on after his examination.

Elder stopped breathing as I gently tugged them down. As my hands undressed him, I leaned closer and pressed my lips once again to his.

His mouth parted, willingly letting me orchestrate this connection, content to follow my direction even though energy hummed and burned hotter and hotter with every heartbeat.

My attentions could be taken as sexual, but they came from a nurturing place deep inside.

I needed to take care of this man.

I needed it more than I could stand.

Breaking the kiss, I shimmied down his body, intending to pull his underwear off.

His stomach clenched, eyes hot and wild.

“Let me…” I implored, tugging a little for his cooperation.

Slowly, he raised his hips just enough for me remove his boxers.

His decency went from covered to revealed, his cock swiftly thickening as I paid attention to his broken body. Ignoring the lust building in every avenue, pathway, and neuron, I tossed his boxers to the floor.

Breath vanished from my lungs as I fully took him in. Even wounded, Elder was a magnificent man.

Time ticked onward as we both stared. He bit his bottom lip as he devoured every inch of my t-shirt and jean clad body. “Something isn’t fair in this scenario. You should be naked, too.”

I dropped my gaze. “If I was naked, my idea of taking care of you wouldn’t work.”

“You could take care of me in other ways.” The invitation should’ve been light-hearted, but it came out heavy and heated and just as hard as the cock between his legs.

It took every willpower, but I clutched my wash-cloth and shook my head. Scrambling off the bed, needing some distance, I dipped the towel into the warm water again.

Elder never looked away as I soaked it, lathered some soap until sweet honeysuckle surrounded us, then wrung out the excess.

I’d repeated what I’d done because I couldn’t get my body under control to trust myself around him. My insides echoed to be filled. My mouth watered to be kissed. My skin bruised to be touched.

But this wasn’t about him taking me tonight. This was about me thanking him for everything he’d given me.

I need to remember that and get on with it.

Taking another deep breath, I climbed onto the bed and poised on my knees. I couldn’t magic away his injuries, but I could tend to him. I could make sure he was clean from his battle and relaxed from his fight. I could lavish him with affection and appreciation for everything he was and had become.

And then, I would let him sleep.

“I want to wash you. Do you give me permission?”

His face etched with torture. “You want to wash me?”

I nodded.

Would he see this for what it was or think I enjoyed him in this position of weakness? Had I honoured or emasculated him?

I opened my mouth to give some sort of explanation, but he strangled. “You want to touch me. Everywhere?”

I nodded again. “If you’ll let me.”

“Fuck,” he cursed at the ceiling. “Of course, I want you to. I’d let you do anything you wanted, Pim. But that…goddammit, knowing you want to serve me that way?” His eyes glittered raven. “It makes me want to bow to you and corrupt you in equal measure.”

“You can do both…when you’re better.”

“Christ, you can’t—”

Before he could finish, I pressed the warm cloth to his cheek. “I love you. Let me show you how much.”

He froze, every muscle locking as the bed vibrated with every restriction he placed on himself. The only thing that moved were his eyes, dancing over my face, fevered and desiring as I washed his jawline, erasing the blood splatters and sweat.

He didn’t moan or flinch as I worked my way down his throat, swirling softly, leaving a wake of clean skin, but he did suck in a breath as I meticulously bathed around his bandages, licking my lips at the ridges of his muscles, enjoying myself far too much.

My heart swelled with love and power but also sank with guilt for enjoying the role reversal. It brought tears to my eyes to express my affection this way but shame for revelling in his every hiss and groan.

I grew wet and heavy, my legs squeezing together the longer I cleaned his body.

Was this how Elder felt when he tended to me? Drunk on protecting and curing me? A strange aphrodisiac as I slowly grew stronger, knowing in some way—he was the reason I was better?

If he felt a tenth of what I did as I ran the washcloth down his arm and wrapped around each finger, then he must’ve been constantly turned on.

My skin was on fire. My nipples hard as stone.

I shivered as I dunked the cloth and applied more soap, wringing it out before returning to his body.

His breathing ratcheted as I repeated the attention with his other arm then around his belly and parts of his chest not bandaged.

Once the top part of him was clean, I repeated the process with a rinsed cloth, ensuring I removed every trace of soap and grime.

With a clean towel, I prepared to focus on the other parts of his body, that until now, I’d done my best to avoid.

Elder stiffened, knowing that things were about to get a lot more…personal.

Prickling with electricity and wetter than I’d ever been, I slowly moved down his chest to his legs. My heart raced as I trailed the tip of the towel over his erection.

His back bowed off the bed. My core clenched. We both groaned in unison.

Too much…

His chest rose and fell as his cock bounced, begging for touch.

Too tempting…

He was hurt, and I wouldn’t be able to control myself.

Focus on something else.

Gritting my teeth, I shuffled farther down, avoiding the tops of his thighs and groin.

For now.

He huffed impatiently but didn’t command I return. He glared into my eyes as I repositioned myself by his feet. Never looking away, I draped the towel over his toes and massaged his sole.

His gaze rolled back, and his breath came short and laboured.

“You’re killing me, little mouse.” Harsh and guttural, begging for everything I was denying us. Yet he didn’t try to stop me. He didn’t grab me and wrap my hand around his length.

He balled his hands—or the best he could with a broken finger—and gave himself to me, enduring this specific brand of torture I’d stupidly designed for us.

What the hell am I doing?

All it would take was a few short seconds to shed my clothing and climb on top of him. I could heal him in other ways. I could grant an orgasm, and he could fade back into sleep.

But even as I imagined riding him until we both dripped in sweat, I continued to massage his legs and feet.

Elder wasn’t simple in bed.

Once wouldn’t be enough for him.

Twice, neither.

He would have to have me three times to put the compulsion aside, and I doubted he had enough energy to complete one round, let alone multiple.

This is about him…not you, remember?

With my teeth tightly locked, I carefully undid the Velcro from around his ankle and unwrapped his leg.

He stayed locked tight, barely breathing as I set aside the brace and washed his inflamed joint.

Swollen tissue and heat painted bright red around the bone and halfway up his leg.

He jolted with the gentlest pressure, enduring new pain. He didn’t relax until I’d re-wrapped and fastened and switched to washing his other leg.

The reminder he wasn’t whole—that he most likely should be in a hospital and not in some stranger’s French chateau—helped me focus. I didn’t turn my nursemaid routine into sex-maid escapades. I ignored what was between his thighs and climbed off the bed to replace the water for new.

Elder’s gaze seared me with every step across the room, and I prickled with loneliness the moment I entered the bathroom.

I was empty away from him. I wasn’t used to the heavy breathlessness I endured. Was this what it felt like to crave sex? To be so mindless with my body’s insistence to be fucked that no amount of rationality or distance could stop the quakes in my womb?

All I could picture was feral kisses and aggressive thrusting.

God…

My hands shook as I tipped the pink-grey waste down the drain. I fumbled to turn on the tap.

While the water ran, I looked at myself in the mirror, noticing the high points of red on my cheeks and the crazed lust in my eyes. My hair curled around my face as if Elder had already had his fingers digging into my scalp while fucking me.

For the first time in my life, I toyed with the idea of touching myself. Of somehow finding relief from the pressure-cooker passion inside, so I didn’t pounce on Elder the moment I returned.

Squeezing my eyes, I scolded myself with every reason I couldn’t have him.

He’s sick. He’s recovering. He’s black and blue and probably still has a fever. Your job is to help him heal. Then and only then can you ask him to take you.

The pep talk didn’t work, and I padded back to his bedside with blood boiling and mind on fire.

I dared look at his face. He seemed to be in the same brimstone, hellish place I was. Halfway through a sponge bath, he ought to look relaxed, spread out on the mattress.

He was the exact opposite of relaxed.

Every cord of muscle and sinew etched beneath scratched and bruised skin. Every ridge and hollow of his stomach tightened, ready to give me exactly what I wanted.

He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. The way he glared at me stripped me bare and commanded I straddle him.

But some sadistic part of me still had the power to say no, and with a ragged gasp, I tore my gaze away.

I made the smart decision to stay standing by his bedside and not sit.

The distance helped.

I would stay professional and look after him the way he deserved.

Dunking a fresh towel and lathering it with soap, I studiously focused on washing his legs. Calves and knees. Shins and thighbones.  

Not once did I go higher.

Not once did I look higher.

His breathing turned harsher with every stroke. His hand lashed out once I’d rinsed him, latching tight around my wrist. “We both know there’s only one place you haven’t washed yet.”

I froze.

He guided my hand past mid-thigh to upper thigh. “If you won’t do it…I will.” His fingers branded my wrist, hotter, fiercer, filled with every frustration I felt. “I’m dirty, Pim. So filthy you’d better spend extra attention with that towel of yours.”

I swallowed a moan as he guided me. “I shouldn’t…”

“Yes. You should.” He licked his lips. “Please…”

His plea unlocked my self-control, and I yanked at his hold. “Let me go.”

His eyes flared as if to argue, then glazed over as I slid the final way on my own.

His head fell back, understanding exactly what sort of demoness he’d unleashed and all too happy to play the victim.

My whisper tasted sweet as sin and sugar. “I’ll make sure you’re extra clean.”

“Holy shit.” He writhed on the bed, sweat gleaming on his freshly washed brow. “Who are you, Tasmin Blythe?”

I didn’t know the answer to that question. Maybe I’d never know. But tonight, I was his just as much as he was mine.

“Be quiet and let me wash you.” I slid my towel between his legs and grazed the tight twin balls beneath his erection.

“Jesus—” He let out a strangled grunt, clutching the bed with his good hand.

My nipples tingled and belly flopped and breath choked and heart heated as I slowly, carefully, maddeningly, ran the washcloth over him. I cupped his balls, rolling them gently, cleaning and seducing at the same time.

His head tossed to the side. His neck strained, jaw wide, teeth sharp as he bit into the pillow. His entire body twitched as I slid upward, wrapping my fingers around his hardness.

I’d never been so consumed by something before. All I wanted to do for the rest of my life was this—destroy him to this quivering, pillow-biting animal and have my hands on the one part of him no one else ever would again.

Clutching his entire length, I pumped him through the towel. My fingers slid up and over his crest, washing away the past, cleansing him until he was completely, utterly mine.

I’d never owned something…someone before.

But here, now…I owned Elder.

I couldn’t just give that power back.

I could never give that back.

Shaking, I somehow managed to swirl the towel in fresh water and wipe away the soap before the possession in my blood forced me to do something I couldn’t possibly deny.

Leaning over him, I fisted his erection and inserted his heat into my mouth.

I wasn’t prepared for my reaction or his.

His hands sank into my hair as his hips thrust up, forcing himself deeper onto my tongue. His groan rattled windowpanes and shattered the glass frosting around my heart.

My legs buckled until I half-kneeled, half-hung in his hold, sucking greedily, not caring how I sounded or seemed.

We both lost our last shreds of dignity.

I could pleasure.

I could be pleasured.

Everything to do with my body and Elder was right and perfect and pure.

His cock rippled in my mouth as I sank deeper, widening my jaw.

His fingers tore at my hair, ungentle and brutal but somehow utterly worshipping. “God. Fuck. Holy—” Sentences no longer fell from his mouth, just punctuation in the form of crude cursing.

The first droplet of salt teased my tongue, hinting that Elder wasn’t equipped with his usual stamina.

I loved it.

Loved that he was so undone that it would only take him seconds to come. That I had the control to make him do something he probably wouldn’t want to do.

Not yet anyway.

Not until he’d had his fill of my mouth.

I bit him gently as I slid as deep as I could go. Humming, I switched every trick I’d been taught and turned every disgusting skill I knew into something I was proud of.

I wasn’t a virgin.

I wasn’t pure.

But he knew that and accepted me anyway. He’d tried to rent me for pennies and buy my thoughts for millions and now he’d get my everything for free.

I whispered around his length. “You’re clean now. Every inch.”

His body jerked off the bed, his large hands splaying over my head. “Christ, stop.”

I didn’t.

He teetered on the edge. “Pim!”

I sucked harder.

“Stop!” Pushing me away, he hissed as his cock bounced and the smallest drop appeared on his crown; his face turned ugly with denied release. A few seconds while he glowered at the ceiling and chanted, “Not yet, not yet, not yet,” before he blinked and gave me a rueful, devilish smile.

Not one hint of injury.

Not one note of pain.

Only lust—the strongest drug of all.

“I’m in so much trouble with you.”

The smile on my lips wasn’t from me but from sex itself. I owned it. I matched him dirty for dirty. I was finally whole enough to admit it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He laughed, torture and addiction equal tones. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He grabbed my hand. “You’re a temptress who’s going to give me a goddamn heart attack if she doesn’t get naked and sit on my cock right now.”

My entire body flushed. “I can’t.”

“You can.” He tugged me forward. “I’ll even show you how.” His attention fell to my rapidly breathing chest. “Undress, Pim. Let me see you.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you need to rest.”

“I am resting. You’ve got me on my back, woman. I can barely see straight from wanting you. I’m utterly paralysed unless you fuck me.”

“Paralysed?”

“Completely.”

“That’s my fault.” My cheeks pinked. “I shouldn’t have sucked you.”

His face darkened, buying into my blush, the predator revealing itself. “If you knew you shouldn’t, then why did you?”

“I couldn’t help it.”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “Why couldn’t you help it?”

His questions sent yet more liquid heat pooling. “I needed you in my mouth.”

He groaned loud. “And I need you on my cock.”

“We shouldn’t have sex.”

“Who said anything about sex?” He visibly trembled. “This isn’t sex, Pim.”

“It is sex.” I stumbled as he yanked me harder against the bed. “It’s—”

“It’s so much more than just sex.” His tongue wet his bottom lip, sending another coil of desire. “It’s the only thing keeping me alive right now.”

Every second we discussed reasons for yes and no, my mind blacked out every argument. We needed this. But I also needed him to be healthy.

And this…it wouldn’t be healthy.

“We can’t.” Standing firm, I tilted my chin. “Not until you’re stronger.”

His eyes blackened. “Stronger?”

“Better.”

“I am better.” He never looked away as he grabbed the IV needle and yanked it from his hand. “See? All better.”

Throwing the medicine off the bed, his voice slipped to dangerous seduction. “Now strip, Pimlico, and get into bed. I won’t ask again.”