Chapter 12 Garrett
Chapter twelve
Garrett
I’ve never felt as needed or wanted as I do right now, wrapped around Roman.
Holding him while he shivers and whimpers, lost in fever ridden dreams. We’ve been in this same position for hours.
I dozed for a while, but his constant noises had me on edge, waking up to check his breathing, and run a hand over his clammy forehead.
The sheets beneath us are damp, as is his shirt. My own is not faring well either – cuddling a furnace for hours has me coated in a sheen of sweat.
Slowly, I extract my numb arm from beneath him, opening and closing my hand to push away the tingling pins and needles, then lift my leg off his hip. He whimpers, rolls onto his side and reaches out a hand, searching for me like a life raft.
I take his sweaty palm in mine, place it on my cheek, and rest my forehead against his.
“Roman,” I say quietly.
His eyes open, then close, and he shifts forward in an attempt to drag me back into his embrace.
As much as I want to pull him into me and fall back asleep, I can’t.
He needs out of these damp clothes, and my stomach is grumbling with hunger.
I also know from experience that while sleep helps when you’re fighting a virus, Roman needs sustenance. Water. Food.
The past few hours with him have woken a new side of me. A side which shouts care, nourish, protect every time I look at him, and that is exactly what I’m going to do. Starting with a shower, a cup of tea and dry clothing.
“Sweet thing,” I try again. “You need to get up for a bit.”
He moans.
I nudge his arm. “Come on.”
“More sleep. More you.”
“I know, but you can’t stay in those clothes. Let me change you and get you something to eat and drink.”
Roman groans, but his eyes open and he pushes up to sit with his back against the headboard.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking down at his hands, which are twisting in the sheets.
Crawling on the bed, I settle at his bent knees then tip his face up to look at me.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re sick, and I’m taking care of you.”
“You didn’t sign up for this.”
I shake my head. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t sign up to share this cottage, or to have my bed invaded by a wriggly koala.” He scoffs. “And I certainly didn’t sign up to be schooled on what tea to drink when, but if I was given the choice? I’d sign up for all of it. Every day of the week.”
His brown eyes blink once, then twice, before his lips are tipping up on either side. His cheeks are already flush with fever, but the pink in them deepens.
“You like me.” It’s a statement. One he repeats over and over, while wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I sit back and Roman shuffles into my lap.
“You really like me, my sexy lumberjack.”
“What gives you that idea?” I kiss his left cheek, trailing my lips across his skin to do the same on the right. He laughs before his body goes limp and he rests his head on my shoulder.
“I hate feeling like this,” Roman mutters. My hand dips beneath his shirt, caressing his warm skin.
Depositing him on his feet next to the bed, I keep my eyes locked on his as I wordlessly strip him out of his clothing, then standing, I take his hand and guide him to the bathroom. I take off my cardigan and trousers, and usher him into the shower.
It’s not big enough for the two of us, so I angle myself against the open edge so he can rest against me.
Pouring body wash onto a washcloth, I spread soap over his cock, up his chest, and into each armpit.
Then I spin him around, his arms wrapping around my neck, and repeat the action over his ass and up his back.
My dick is hard – I am only human, but I pay it no attention.
All my focus is on taking care of the man in my arms.
“Tip your head back,” I say, reaching behind him with one hand to pick up my shampoo from the wire holder.
Roman tips his head back, water cascading over his face and into his hair.
While he holds on to me, I lather his hair and scrape my fingers over his scalp, the suds building up and trailing like fluffy clouds down my hands.
“Gare.” Roman’s eyes open to meet mine. “I need to um…” He bites his bottom lip and looks over my shoulder toward the toilet.
Obviously, he would need to pee. He’s been asleep for hours and he consumes enough tea in a day for five people.
Why I didn’t consider that before pushing him into the shower, I don’t know.
“I need to rinse your hair before you can get out,” I say. “But if you can’t hold it any longer, it’s okay if…” Blood shoots to my cheeks. “If you let go…here.”
Dark pupils swallow the colour of his eyes, and his lips part on a soft exhale.
Our gaze locks, and I tip my head in a subtle nod.
Roman looks down and I do the same. His cock is half hard, and he releases one hand from my neck to wrap it around his shaft.
I suck in a breath as a stream of golden liquid spurts from the tip, pooling on the white tiles of the shower before being washed down the drain.
My fingers splay over his lower back, digging into his skin before I press him forward, closing the space between us and causing him to adjust his position so his cock is trapped between us, his piss streaming upward and soaking into my shirt.
Fuck. I did not mean for things to go this way.
Roman lets out a squeak. His head falling to my shoulder, his lips latching onto my neck with a painful grip.
Neither of us says anything as I detach the handheld shower head and rinse his hair, making sure every drop of soap is washed away.
“Ready to get out?” I ask, nudging his body away from mine.
He keeps his gaze on his feet, but nods.
I wrap him in a towel, and with my hand on his lower back, guide him to sit on the closed toilet lid.
He sits, hugging his arms around himself while I strip off, have a quick shower and climb back out.
Back in the room, we dress ourselves, Roman slipping into sweats and an oversized hoodie and me into clean trousers and a blue cardigan.
He still won’t look at me, but I decide to finish up everything else before dealing with that.
“Go lie on the sofa, and I’ll change the sheets and then bring you something to eat.”
“You don’t have to,” he replies, his eyes down turned.
Lifting his chin so he’s looking up at me, I say, “I know. But I want to. Do you want me to take care of you?”
He nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing thickly.
“Good, then do as I said and lie down.” I infuse a level of command in my voice and he turns on his heel and leaves the room.
I chop the leeks, onions and potatoes for lunch before clicking the kettle on. Then I place the vegetables along with water, stock, garlic, salt and pepper into the biggest pot I can find, and leave it on the stovetop to boil.
Opening the cupboard, I browse Roman’s selection of tea, trying to work out which he would pick for this time of day. With no milk, Earl Grey and Assam are both out – he’s already told me he likes those milky. My hand hovers over blood orange and cranberry before I take out the camomile.
In the back of my mind, I recall my grandmother making me a mug of this when I was ill. It’s a memory from so long ago, I’m surprised by the vividness of it. But then, it was the last time someone truly cared about me, so it’s a memory that sticks.
The kettle clicks then falls silent, indicating it’s reached boiling point. I put tea bags in two mugs, pour water over them and let the bag steep for exactly three minutes, as previously dictated to me by Roman. I never knew that there was a ‘perfect brewing time’ until I met him.
Carrying our drinks to the lounge, I find Roman curled up on the sofa, his heavy purple blanket draped over him. His eyes are closed and an instrumental festive tune is playing in the background. The fire died down hours ago, but the electric heater is running, keeping the chill out of the air.
“Here you go.” I place the mug on the table in front of the sofa and Roman’s eyes open.
He sits up, tucks his legs beneath him and wraps both hands around the hot drink.
“Thank you.” He doesn’t look at me, just stares at the mug in his hand. Even when I perch next to him on the sofa, my hip brushing his leg, he doesn’t make eye contact.
“Roman,” I say sternly. “Look at me.”
Warm brown eyes peer up through thick black lashes.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed.”
He sits straighter, taking a large sip of his tea, then shakes his head.
“Oh. I’m not embarrassed. I’m…I don’t know what the word is. Worried, maybe? I know I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. Not at all.”
He looks away from me again and I lean over and, with a hand on his cheek, nudge his face until we’re eye to eye.
“Why are you worried?”
He lowers his voice. “Because I peed on you.”
“That you did,” I reply, cocking my head to the side and tipping my lips into a grin. “But I encouraged you to.” His eyes widen, and he scoots closer, sliding his foot under my thigh.
“So you’re not upset or grossed out?”
“Short Stack,” I chuckle. “You know how you have that fantasy about a lumberjack – well, I don’t know the full story there – but you have a fantasy, right?
Roman leans forward. “I have a few, but yeah? Go on.”
“Well, I have one too. About –” I wave a hand in the general direction of the bathroom. “That.”
“Oh. Oh. Oh. Okay. Yes…hmm.”
Roman puts down his tea, takes mine from me, then climbs into my lap, straddling my waist. My hands hold on to his sides, one slipping beneath his hoodie to make contact with his skin.
He’s still burning up, but his cheeks are no longer flaming red, and his eyes are brighter than they were earlier in the day.
“That’s hot,” he says, leaning his full weight on the tops of my legs. “If my body wasn’t rebelling against me right now, I’d be very turned on. Super turned on, actually.”
“So you’re not grossed out?” I ask, turning his earlier question back on him.
Roman adjusts his position so his ass is on my lap, his legs on one side and his upper body plastered to my chest. His head falls to my shoulder.
“No. I want to talk about this more. But can I close my eyes for a little longer? I don’t feel good.”
I kiss the top of his head. He smells like me, and that makes my heart tumble around in my chest.
“Do you want to lie in the bed?”
His hair brushes my neck as he shakes his head.
“Right here is good. Tight hug, please.”
Smiling, I wrap both arms around him and squeeze. He sighs, his eyelids fluttering closed and one hand resting over my beating heart.
“Tell me about your story, Gare Bear.”
“The one I’m working on now?”
“Hmm,” he replies.
“It’s about a detective who finds himself falling for the man he’s protecting.”
“I thought you don’t write love stories,” he mumbles.
“I don’t. I write police –”
“Police procedurals and murdery blah blah blah, I know,” Roman interrupts.
With a hand in his hair, I tug his head so he’s peering up at me. His eyes are heavy but he’s grinning widely.
“Murdery blah blah blah?”
He ignores my remark, closing his eyes and settling deeper into my hold.
“It sounds a lot like a romance novel to me. Is the detective in love?” Roman asks.
“Not yet,” I reply.
“Hmm… he will be soon enough.”
DI Jack Sniper has no business falling for a man he’s only known for a few days. No business whatsoever.