Page 6 of You Give Me Fever

“Oh,” Clara tried again to look around her. She couldn’t make out anything but that bright glow from the thing’s eyes, the color of the sky just before the horizon eats it up. “We’re goi’na bed? Together?”

Her words rocked the demon. He had to stop walking at the top of the stairs for a moment to regain his composure. In bed. Together. Though he had been seated on her bed the previous night, this was different. A matter of six to ten inches of cotton real estate meant the difference between simply allowing his touch and wanting it.

“Well,” he said, using a tendril to open her bedroom door before carrying her in to lay her on the bed. “We’d better not. It’s not safe.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said, pressing her cheek to her cool pillow.

I wasn’t thinking about myself, he thought, trying to force his mind away from those delicious thoughts.

This proved impossible the moment he began to unbutton her dress.

Chapter

Three

I PREFER BEING IN DISTRESS

Clara was still feeling fuzzy in her mind. Her alertness came and went, fading in and out like the lights around the town cinema when there was a new picture. She felt hands slipping her buttons free and trailing down to her waist, gently tugging open the fabric as he went to expose her skin to the cool air.

“Mmmmy clothes,” she said in a weak protest, trying to squirm away from his hands that worked open the last button.

“Your body needs to cool down,” said Shiver.

“Ev’dently so does yours, fresh g-guy,” she said.

Shiver clucked his tongue and peeled her dress away, determined not to look at her body, to remain calm and focus on helping this stubborn little human girl without a thought to what sort of underclothes she had on.

But then it occurred to him—what sort of underclothes did she have on?

His eyes flicked down to her body for only a moment—or two—or... hell, he was staring. She was a terrible sin wrapped in innocence and seashell pink silk, from her tight brassier just barely cupping two adorable plum-sized mounds, to her ruffled panties that came down to the very tops of her thighs. The most delicate lace scooped around the bottom of her bra where it met her breasts, and the same lace trickled down the front of her panties as if to say Here, touch me here, lick me here.

What possible purpose could a woman have for wearing such clothes except to be fucked braindead in them? Shiver pondered the question, but could come up with no other answer.

“You’re staring,” Clara said, not even opening her eyes.

“I am not.”

He was.

“I’m just... checking. To be sure you’re comfortable.”

He was not.

“And am I comfortable?”

Shiver’s mouth dropped open. Was she doing this on purpose? Was she actually trying—and succeeding—to seduce a demon? Admittedly, it was not difficult to do.

“I... could not say. Yet.” His voice rumbled so low and deep that it drowned out the growling of the thunder steaming closer. The night grew darker, but neither being seemed to notice.

Clara shifted and groaned as the night air on her skin only seemed to fan the flames higher. She might be dreaming, but she didn’t feel like she was getting any rest. She jumped when she felt something cool against her forehead and squinted up at the black shape above her, who had taken the washcloth from the water basin by her bed and pressed it to her forehead. The cool water practically sizzled as it met her skin.

“Stubborn, foolish girl,” said Shiver as he stroked the wet cloth along the side of her face and down her neck. “You haven’t the first clue how fragile you are.”

Clara laughed in a huff.

“Can you b-blame me?” she asked. “I’ve had to be... not fragile.”

Shiver paused. He had no idea what had happened to her, why she had so little trust in others, why she was here all alone, but one thing was very clear—she had been alone a long time.