“Why on earth would he go off his dampeners? So quickly?” His voice is a low, simmering growl.
“Um, who can say?” I mumble, inching up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to be away from that gaze.
“Fawl,” he calls, and I pause, halfway up the staircase, his voice pulling me back. “If he is purposely trying to harm himself in some kind of misplaced protest…”
For a second, just a flicker really, I see something I don’t expect: real fear. Real concern, even. It’s gone almost as soon as it appeared, replaced by a mask of control, but it was there. I’d swear on it.
“He’s not trying to hurt himself,” I say, and I surprise myself by how certain I sound. “He just wanted a change.”
I can’t help it. The curiosity is gnawing at me, so I ask the question I probably shouldn’t. “Why let this marriage continue if you love him? You’re the only one with the power to stop it. You know he loves Lily.”
His eyes narrow just a touch. “You’ve met Lily,” he says. “How did you find her?”
The look on his face makes me wonder if I’m walking into a trap. I don’t answer. Instead, I just hold his gaze, letting the silence stretch between us.
We both know something we’re not saying, and in that moment, we silently agree to keep it that way.
I slip into the room and freeze at the sight of Ben tangled in the sheets, his twisted body looking like he’s trying to escape the bed. The fever still has its claws in him, and his breath comes in short, uneven gasps.
I can’t tell if he’s aware of me, if he even knows where he is, but I creep to the bed anyway, getting close enough to smell the antiseptic spray on his metallic and brown skin.
Suddenly, his arms shoot out to pull me toward him. The breath whooshes out of me, and my knees buckle. His grip is so strong—thank God he’s as weak as a toddler, or I’m certain he’d crush me, crack my bones with the strength he barely controls. His cheek presses against my belly as if he’s listening for something deep within me. His face is hot, far too hot, and I can’t fathom how anyone could survive a fever like this.
“I don’t know what to do, Ben,” I mumble because fear has taken root in my chest.
I whisper his name over and over like it’s a spell that might bring him back from wherever he is. “Ben…Ben…” This fever, this madness, belongs to me as much as it does to him.
My fingers find their way to his hair, threading through the thick curls that rise and cluster around my fingers like blossoms. He nuzzles into my touch, his lips brushing against my palm, hungry for the contact, for the connection.
Skin to skin—that’s what he needs. That’s what he’s reaching for, isn’t it?
His theory of skin.
I undress quickly, my movements hurried, almost frantic. I feel like a dumb genius, like I’m on to something obvious. I remind myself that he won’t remember this, that when the fever breaks, this moment will be lost to the haze of his mind. But I don’t let myself think too long on it. I feel sure that what he needs is the simplest, most human thing—contact, connection, something to anchor him.
I get in the bed next to him, and, with quick hands, I pull his linen pants down, feeling the soft brush of the fabric against my cheek as his hips rise slightly. Naked, he is terrifying in his beauty. I throw the sheets over him before smoothing his chest with my hands, practicing the gentle massage he taught me, and touching as much of my skin to his as possible.
His eyes flutter open.
“Touch me,” he says, and it feels like a command. His hands roam over my back, pressing me into him.
“Ben, wait.”
My stomach twists, a knot of something dark and primal tightening inside me. My nipples keep grazing his hot chest, and the sensation is like a wet tongue across them. When I reach over him to adjust his pillow, his neck stretches to nuzzle the space between my breasts.
“Touch me,” he pleads, and his lips move against my sternum.
Ben moans like he’s in pain, and his hips rise again. His cock rises like a sundial underneath me. He holds my wrist and moves my palms over his hot erection. In the shuffle, he got his mouth around my nipple, and he sucks me until I’m soaking wet.
“Let me…fill you,” he moans.
“You’re sick right now,” I squeak out.
He’s petulant and grabby, lifting his body to suck my nipples and pushing his fingers inside any concave space.
I scramble off him, even though I’m tight and throbbing with raw need. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s not right. Though no one has ever touched me like this, like I’m his lifeline. I cover his writhing body with the cool sheet again and lie with my back to him, taking space to breathe and calm my galloping heart.
I take three quick breaths before I feel his arm again, reaching out to pull me against him. Clamping down on me like a trap, he envelops me in what should have been an innocent, warm little spoon. The difference this time is his cock, hot and pulsing against my ass, pushing into me, his hands swooping down and filling with my breast.
