Giving him a smile of reassurance, I say, “I’m fine. If I have any problems, I’ll call you.” I follow Sam out and lock the door behind him. Returning to the kitchen, I fix a glass of ginger ale and a dose of Nyquil Flu and Cold. I am just picking the drink up when I hear a crash, followed by yelling from the bedroom. Heart beating fast, I run in that direction, skidding to a stop as I see Lucian face down on the floor. “Luc! What happened?”
As I drop to my knees and put my hand on his back, I hear, “fuckingfellovermyfuckingshoes.” The words are so jumbled I have a hard time figuring out what he’s saying. The multiple ‘fucks’ and something about shoes, I get. Looking down, I saw his shoes from earlier lying between his feet. Shit, he had tripped. Taking his shoulder, I pull on him, trying to help him up; it’s like pushing a brick wall with a feather.
“Luc, you’ve got to work with me here unless you want to sleep on the floor. I can’t pick you up on my own.” I hear another f-bomb roll out of his mouth before he struggles into a sitting position. I help him lean back on the side of the bed while he regains his strength. His hair is damp and sweaty, and his face is pale. Putting my palm against his forehead, I gasp in surprise at the heat there. I gently smooth his hair back with my hand, whispering, “You’re burning up. We need to get some medicine into you. Can you stand?” In response, a shiver racks his body, making his teeth chatter.
Leaning his head against me, he says, “Cold, baby.” My heart melts. He looks so much like a sick child cuddling against me for warmth. I want nothing more than to put my arms around him and make it all better. I wonder if there is someone who has more of a right than I do to be taking care of Lucian. Surely, Sam would have mentioned that. I harbor no illusions that just because I had slept with him, I am the only woman in his life. Someone who looks like him couldn’t possibly lack for company…ever. I am here, though, and I want…no, I need to be the one to help him.
“Okay, on the count of three, you do your best to stand, and I’ll help. One…”
“Have to pee.” The bathroom door looks a mile away. Damn, I should have made Sam take him before he left. I can do this. I can do this.
“All right, on the count of three, we go toward the bathroom then.” When I hit three, I take a deep breath and stand, pulling on his arm. He doesn’t appear to be trying to help at all. It’s no secret to any woman that men turn into big babies when they are sick. Jake got the flu last year, and Rose almost strangled him before it was over. A woman can work twelve hours with PMS and a heavy flow and not complain; men can stub their toe and be bedbound for a month. Maybe he needs some reverse motivation. “Luc, you stay right here, and I’ll go get a bowl.”
He opens one eye, peering up at me. “Bowl?”
Trying to appear nonchalant, I say, “Yep, since you’re too weak to make it to the bathroom, I’ll just help you pee in a bowl right here. We have to do what we have to do, right?” Oh, please, don’t let him agree. I will indeed do it, but I so don’t want to…at all. I almost laugh when he starts scowling. Bingo, the male pride has taken a direct hit. He struggles to his feet, weaving slightly. I take his arm, putting it around my shoulders, steering him toward the bathroom door. It’s a slow process, but we make it without either of us falling or peeing on ourselves. He falls back against the wall while I lift the toilet lid, praying he only has to pee. Things will get interesting if it’s anything else. Looking at his pale face, I give him a bright smile, saying, “You’ve got this, right? I’ll be right outside the door. Just yell when you’re finished, and I’ll help you back in the bed.” As I get to the door, I look back to see him struggling to pull his pants down. Don’t those pants have a pee hole? If they do, he seems oblivious. I pause, watching him start to stagger. He’s about two seconds from falling into the damn toilet when I straighten my spine and walk back to him. Without saying a word, I reach for his pants and lower them to his knees. I feel like a total pervert when I admire his cock. Even soft, he’s big and beautiful. I quickly avert my gaze as he takes it in his hand and what sounds like two gallons of water splashing fills the room. When the sound stops, I pull his pants back up and help him to the sink, washing his hands for him.
He’s trembling all over when we finally make it back to his bed. I tuck him under the covers and end up in a less-than-graceful belly flop onto his chest when he didn’t release his hold on me. I try to push away, but he only holds tighter. “Stay; you feel so warm.”