Page 18 of You Give Me Fever

"Don't?" Shiver swallowed, a great thump pounding at his chest. By all the dead gods, if she made him stop now, would he survive it? Would he even be able to stop?

"Don't… be… gentle," she said. "Don't be gentle."

His whole body went from lit tinder to a forest fire in half a second. He squeezed those generous hips as if he could use her to ground himself, to calm down before the storm began, but it was too late. The storm had not stopped for a moment since he first saw her.

"I won't," he said. He pulled back both his cock and the tendril he had inside her, feeling that warm honey inside her making his way easier. He gave her just a second of stillness, just enough to make her wonder if he might stop, just enough to crave him - and then he slammed back inside her up to his hip bones. The bed shook, and Clara shook too.

"Oh ffffff-!" She bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep herself from cursing, a part of her still certain she would be scolded for it.

She had to still be delirious; such things as this simply didn't happen. Demons were not real, and if they were, a good girl brought up with Sunday school and supper prayer should very likely not be letting one fuck her so hard she might break through to the floorboards.

Clara was happy enough to keep on blaming her fevered mind, as long as he kept going. Those strange tendrils that curled out like wisps of smoke but held her tightly in a strong grip, the big body against hers, piercing her on his cock, she craved more even as he was rocking and shaking her with every thrust. Those little fingers of smoke curled their way around her breasts, pinching at the pink tips, slipping between their bodies to play between her thighs, circling her clit, pinching, stroking. Inside, she was stretched to her limit, his cock fighting for space with the tendril that seemed to grow thicker with every thrust.

“Oh, Clara… gorgeous girl," he said through his teeth.

He was addicted to her. That extra softness she carried in her hips, in her belly, was so mouth-watering he wanted to bite her. He longed to treat her sweetly, to brush the tips of his fingers over every luscious inch, to make her drink cool water and eat fresh fruit he would fetch himself from anywhere on this globe if she asked for it, to tell her over and again that she was beautiful, that he would care for her—and he also longed to slam his hips into her till the house cracked apart.

Clara could feel it rising in her again. It didn't matter that her body was exhausted; Shiver was taking away the pain even as he created new little intoxicating pains all over, pinching her breasts, her clit, pounding into her like a hammer and eliciting little cries with every clap of his hips against the insides of her spread thighs, little cries that became big cries that became begging incomprehensibly.

"Come for me, angel," Shiver said between his teeth. "You're d-doing so well."

That compliment, given in a rush of halted breath, went right to her core, eliminating the last of Clara's defenses. She snapped her head back to the ceiling and screamed, clenching from her teeth to her toes. Shiver felt that clench, yanking him in deeper, demanding he follow her, and so he did, his vision stuttering into blackness for a moment as he came.

They collapsed together, shaking and panting and clutching each other tightly in spite of the boneless sensation in their limbs. Something new was there between them, something deep and frightening, something they couldn't talk about, not yet, something they both wanted desperately to protect at the same time they wanted to kill and bury it.

Shiver fully intended to die with those words left unsaid. It would be noble of him, and he had always wanted to try being noble. He would keep this dark, horrible secret; he would help her recover without ruining her. She would live far longer and happier never knowing.

"I love you," he said.

Well… fuck.

Chapter

Eight

BE FEMININE AND SWEET, IF YOU CAN BLEND THE TWO

Clara sat up and instantly regretted it. Her ears buzzed, and she lost vision as those bright gold moths fluttered and swarmed her eyes. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.

"Did you say…"

"Are you hungry? I keep forgetting your people need to eat every day."

"Shiver."

“Well, when did you eat last? I certainly haven't observed it."

"Jiminy Crickets, you stubborn old jack⁠—"

"I've always wanted to try cooking," said Shiver, helping Clara to her feet, whether she wanted to get up or not.

"Have you?" She asked, snatching a thin robe for the sake of decency and trying not to resent Shiver for having no trouble at all walking around in nought but the sin he was born in. "Human souls not so appetizing raw?"

"Depends on the human," Shiver said, before belatedly realizing she probably didn't want to know that.

She clutched his arm as they made their way down the stairs, dark interspersed with milky strobes of lightning from every window. When they found the kitchen, Clara fumbled around for a lantern and a match while Shiver looked for inspiration in the pantry.

"It's been so long, I've forgotten what your kind eat," he said, frowning at sacks of flour and tins of mustard.