Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
YOU NEVER GIVE THE ORCHIDS I SEND A GLANCE, NO, YOU LIKE CACTUS PLANTS
"I could get used to being carried around like an invalid," Clara said against Shiver's chest as he crested the stairs.
“Well, see that you don't," he said. "The instant you're in good health, it'll be right back to hard labor and bringing me iced drinks."
She gave a sleepy laugh, burrowing deeper into him.
"It's a deal. I'll see if I can get my mitts on some giggle water."
Shiver had to laugh too, even though he hadn't the foggiest clue what she meant.
He peeled back her covers and laid her down on the bed, trying for once not to stare as the half-sheer bit of nothing she wore for a robe slid up one creamy thigh.
"Get some rest," he said, fully intending to leave, but that thigh was right there, out for the whole world to see, and he had the sudden urge to make absolutely sure she rested.
He slipped the tie of her robe free and peeled back one side to reveal her to him, the milky flashes of lightning making her glow.
Trailing his fingertips down from her neck, over the swell of a pink-tipped breast, across the soft plane of her stomach, he took his time, relishing the silk of her skin along his newly formed fingerprints.
Clara shifted and made a sleepy little sound, either of complaint or enjoyment; it was difficult to tell. Shiver parted her thighs and nearly groaned himself as he watched the gem between them appear.
"Shiver, what…"
"Shh, ignore me, just rest," he said, stroking her petals open. "I need to make sure you'll sleep through the night."
Clara squirmed, her face getting hotter as she tried to close her legs for the sake of modesty, but she felt one of his long tendrils holding her open as his fingers stroked and probed.
"A-and that… that will… help?"
Sometimes, Shiver still felt like the demon he was. He smiled, running his tongue along his sharp teeth.
"It will if you hush and let me work," he said.
Was that really true? He had no idea. It seemed to help before, and it would certainly make him happy. And then there was the fact that she might recover any day, and he’d never get another chance.
His fingers sought out that little pearl where all her nerves were centered, and he rolled it with his thumb.
Clara might have had a response—when it came to Shiver, she was seldom without some manner of retaliation—but her breath caught in her throat and all her attention was focused right where he touched.
It felt like the lightning flashing outside, shivers of electricity shooting through her.
When he dipped his fingers inside her and returned them to her clit, soaking wet, Clara clapped a hand over her mouth to shout into it.
"You can make noise, honey, it's just us," he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple.
He worked in circles, stroking her tiny little pearl until she was breathless, then plunging his fingers inside her heat to gather more of her honey.
He had to touch more of her; it was unfair that he couldn't do everything at once.
More tendrils snaked out of the shadows to caress her, pinch her, and slip between her thighs to find that secret place just beneath her navel.
"Shiver!"
"I'm here, Clara, you're all right," he said, swirling his fingers against her pearl and pinching gently. "Relax and come for me."
"Oh! Don't talk like that!" She cried, clutching her pillow to her hot face.
Shiver tore the pillow away and tossed it over the side of the bed. No one obstructed his view of his woman, not even her.
"Don't tell you to come on my fingers at once?"
"Oh sssstop that! I c-can't!"
Shiver increased the pressure of his tendril inside her, thrusting in deeply and stroking upward.
"You can give me one more, honey, just one, and then you can rest," he said softly against the side of her face, burying kisses in her hair.
He could feel her body shifting, the tension rising as he touched her. Before she made a sound, he felt her body clamping down on his tendril as hard as a closed fist, and finally, she sucked in a long breath and shouted out to the ceiling.
Those lightning bolts tore through her now, crashing and rumbling and shaking her down to her bones. With a final cry, she collapsed against the mattress, boneless, a pool of melted butter.
“Ohh, that was good," Shiver said in a purr as he eased his tendrils back into the darkness and pulled the covers up over his beautiful little human. "Now you go right to sleep, hear me?"
"Tyrant," Clara mumbled into the sheets.
If he laughed at her or said something clever, she was asleep before she could hear it.
The combination of her illness draining every drop of her energy and Shiver following behind to eradicate everything else had sucked her down deep into a sleep that—at least until her fever woke her again—was as peaceful as the grave.
Shiver was anything but peaceful. He sat by her side a long while, just watching her. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips like little flower petals, so soft and tempting. He clutched onto his pain with every limb, adoring it even as it splintered him like the glaze on an old teacup.
The poor girl had no concept of how he loved her. He had never entertained the thought of letting a human recover from their illness—it was not done, it was simple survival. He himself had witnessed the starvation of other demons, and he thought far too well of himself to allow that fate to be his.
Until now.
He would give her Hell itself if she couldn't get warm. His own pathetic, murderous, damned soul did not stand a chance. He would die in ecstasy, knowing she would live.
Shiver hadn't realized how long he'd watched her until the weak grey light of dawn began to creep its way into the room, those first ominous bird calls warning him that he would soon be called away.
"Oh fu—"
A yank that felt like it was coming from inside his ribcage, and then he was sucked down into the Abyss.