Page 17 of Savage

He really could snap me in half if he wanted to.

Savage pushes the shower door open and slowly guides me to stand on the bathmat. I wobble but manage to stay upright, even though the room is swaying. He grabs a towel from the nearby rack and drapes it over my shoulders. I stare at it, wondering if I can drum up the strength to dry myself, when I realize he’s stripping off his shirt.

There’s a hint of hair on his chest, thicker around his belly and where it leads down. I wonder if he’s one of the guys who likes to have his chest-hair played with, or if he’d yell at me for daring to accidentally hurt him.

He strips the pajama pants off too, but he’s wearing boxer briefs underneath them. His cock is desperate to escape its confines, but somehow, he keeps ignoring it. After he’s tossed his wet clothes into the hamper, he grabs a robe, puts it on, then turns back to me.

I should be surprised when he begins toweling me dry. Is his touch gentle? It’s hard to tell. The friction is too much for me to handle, but I’m trapped here, swaying as he runs the towel all over my body.

Finally he deems me dry enough.

“Back to bed,” he says. “I’ll change your sheets in the morning.”

I nod, leaning hard against him as I close my eyes. I’m just glad I didn’t throw up all over myself and the sheets. “Can I… Can I have another blanket?” I mumble. “It’s… It’s so cold in there.”

Savage’s arm wraps around my back, drawing me closer. “Yes. I’ll set out a bucket next to the bed too.”

I let out another sob and try to stop the tears from falling. It’s just a blanket. It’s a bucket for vomit.

It still feels like the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in months.

In years.

I bury my face against him, unable to help it, and I feel his body tense as I do. I don’t care. As long as he doesn’t pull away, it’s fine. I feel so dizzy and sick, though, and I want to get back to bed. “Please,” I croak, tears in my eyes.

Savage lifts me up again and carries me back to the bed.

I don’t try to protest the chains this time.

CHAPTER 5

Hunter

I check the camera feed again, and just like last time, Stef is still there, moaning and writhing through the throes of her detox. It’s unprofessional for me to be so distracted from my work, but I’d known from the start that I wouldn’t be able to concentrate while I was nursing her back to health.

I force myself to read another article in the medical journal. A doctor is only as good as his current knowledge. Even if it isn’t my own field, it’s good to read up on new discoveries in case there’s some overlap.

After another ten minutes, I realize I’ve absorbed nothing about the study. I sigh and minimize the tab, going back to the one showing Stef’s camera feed.

She’s finally fallen asleep, although from the way she occasionally jerks, I doubt her dreams are peaceful. It’s better than when she’d been crying out every few hours, convinced there was something in the room trying to dig underneath her skin.

My hand drops down to my fly, and I palm my cock through my slacks. The way she’d sat there while I washed her, the way she’d trembled and leaned against me…

Fuck. I hate how easily Giulio had read me, but I can’t deny that caring for Stef is doing a lot of things for me.

There’s no reason to keep denying myself. Stef is mine to do with as I please, and she’d been willing, even. It had taken all of my self-control not to shove my cock in her mouth or cunt.

I lock my laptop and head into Stef’s room. I leave the lights off, navigating by the bit of sunlight peeking through the edges of the curtains.

Stef moans and shakes her head, but her eyes are still closed, and she makes no indication of having woken. She hasn’t seemed to be a light sleeper, although I don’t care if I do wake her up.

Still, I want time to study her without her moving around and protesting, even if the tears are welcome to see.

I carefully draw the blankets back, revealing her body. She shifts a little, but she still doesn’t wake. I run a hand down her bony chest, my fingers ghosting over her nipples, and they pebble under my touch. A soft murmur escapes her, but she must be sleeping deeply—dreaming deeply, maybe, and I can’t help but wonder what about.

She’s still too pale, but she isn’t sweating as much as she had the first night, and her body isn’t wracked with chills. I dip my fingers into the divot of her pelvis bone, and I wonder how she’ll look when she isn’t so emaciated.

After I’ve made her beautiful again.

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