Page 37 of Wreaking Havoc
Kai’s frown turned into a grin. “I’ve been holding you all night. It’s been a very tempting arrangement.”
Sascha rocked once against him, almost absent-mindedly. “You insisted.”
“I did.” Kai lowered his voice. “Take out your cock, Sascha. Press it against mine.”
Sascha arched a brow. “Bossy.”
But he did as Kai asked. Kai hadn’t gotten a good look the day before, but Sascha’s cock was a lovely sight, with its pink skin and ruddy tip. Its smaller size looked obscene next to Kai’s girth, which was substantial, even in human form. “Stroke us,” Kai ordered.
Sascha tried, one elbow digging into Kai’s chest as he wrapped a hand around both of them. But he had trouble keeping them together. “My hand’s too small,” he complained.
“Mm.” Kai hummed his agreement. Why was that so enticing? He knocked Sascha’s hand away, grabbing them both, using his natural lubricant to ease the glide. This position was much better than the one the day before because he could see Sascha’s face, see the way his eyes began to grow glassy, his lips parting, the flush on his cheeks spreading down to his neck.
Until Sascha dropped his head down with a gasp, mouthing at Kai’s skin.
Kai wanted that mouth elsewhere.
“Kiss me,” he demanded.
Sascha raised his head expectantly, and Kai craned his neck to reach, pressing against soft lips. Sascha whined, his hips jerking as he tried to deepen it. “You’re too tall.”
“You like how tall I am,” Kai told him, darting out his tongue to lick along Sascha’s lips. “Even more so in my demon form.”
“Who says?”
“The way you look at me says.”
Sascha dropped his head down, pressing cool kisses to Kai’s chest again. Kai sped up his strokes, desperate now for both of them to reach their release.
It didn’t take long, and when they’d both emptied themselves onto Kai’s stomach, Sascha rolled off to the side, flushed and panting. Kai wanted to tuck him back against himself, but he was filthy, so he rose from the bed.
Even after Kai had cleaned himself with a towel from the bathroom, cleaning Sascha gently as well and tucking him away in his leggings, Sascha remained flushed and panting, sprawled out in the bed.
Kai frowned down at him. “Are you all right?” Was the human’s stamina really so poor?
Sascha threw an arm over his eyes. “’M okay. Just getting sick maybe.”
Panic tightened Kai’s chest. “What?”
Sascha waved his free hand in the air weakly. “I didn’t play around in the dirt enough as a kid, I guess. I get sick easily. I’d say it’s from being out in the cold yesterday, but that’s not actually a thing.”
Sascha was sick. It was perhaps the most terrifying thing Kai had ever heard. He could protect against soldiers, mobsters, swords, guns—he could do nothing for illness.
Not without a bond.
“What do I do?” he asked.
Sascha sighed. “Nothing. I just need to rest, I think. Drink plenty of water, all that jazz.”
But as the day progressed, rest and fluids were useless. Sascha grew weaker and more lethargic, switching between sweat and chills and coughing halfheartedly. When Kai stroked his forehead, his skin no longer felt cool. It matched Kai’s own temperature, and Kai knew enough to know a human shouldn’t be that hot.
It was unacceptable, all of it. Kai had seen illness take too many men in the human realm. Often after a battle it was the fever that killed, not the wounds themselves. Kai had once joked to the incubus that pestilence did half his work for him.
What was he supposed to do now?
He didn’t know how to reach a modern-day healer, and even if he did, he wouldn’t trust one.
And Sascha wouldn’t tell him what steps to take. When roused, he batted at Kai irritably, telling him to leave off.
