Ike knew what her mouth tasted like, how tight her legs could wrap around his waist, and how fucking beautiful the combination of ink and steel was on her skin.
Jesus, his cock was never going to let him go to sleep at this rate.
And was it fucking hot in here or what? He tossed the cover off, wishing he had a ceiling fan downstairs, too. Something for the to-do list around this place.
Ike sighed and flung his hand over his head. And wondered why the hell he was torturing himself this way.
He could just go up there and get in the bed—and take what he wanted, and what he knew Jess would be only too happy to give. Neither of them was immune to the mutual attraction that had always been there between them. And her reaction to his kiss the other day made it crystal fucking clear that she was waiting for him to make his move.
Jess had plenty of one-night stands and casual hook-ups. Ike knew she was perfectly capable of handling that kind of relationship.
Except.
Except Ike wasn’t a clueless idiot, and he wasn’t in the habit of doing things he knew damn right well would hurt someone he cared about. Jess wore her emotions like she wore her ink—out loud and unapologetically. He had a pretty good idea that she was rocking some more-than-friendly and more-than-physical feelings for him. Right now, she thought them unrequited, and that kept a kind of sexually tense equilibrium between them. But if he let himself off the leash more than he already had—even just once—he’d very likely raise and dash her hopes, give her all kinds of mixed signals, and screw things up royally between them.
He shook his head and heaved a deep breath. If he wasn’t going to go the distance with her, he had no business taking the first step.
End of.
Oh, fuck. He was dying.
Pain throbbed in every joint and the bass beat of his pulse pounded against the inside of his skull. Dizzy and disoriented, he reached for the lamp—
Thud. The floor body-slammed an agonized groan out of him. What the fuck just happened? Where was he? Why was it so goddamned hot? His face, his neck, his chest were all damp with sweat.
“Ike, is that you?” came a soft voice. Somewhere above him, soft golden light glowed.
“Jess,” he rasped, his throat feeling like sandpaper.
“Oh, my God. Are you all right?” Footsteps raced down the stairs, and then Jess was kneeling on the floor beside where he still lay. Her hand fell on his shoulder, so cool against his skin. “Oh, no. I made you sick.”
“I don’t get sick,” he said, and then he realized how ridiculous the proclamation was given that he was currently laid flat-out on the floor. “Not usually.”
“Let me help you up,” she said, barely budging him.
He shook her off. “S’okay. Get me drugs?”
“Of course.” While she rushed toward the bathroom, Ike heaved himself back onto the sofa, the effort it took to move his ass like he’d just done an extreme weight-lifting workout. “Here you go,” Jess said as she settled next to him on the couch.
He accepted four little red pills and a glass of water into his hands and choked them down. The water was both a blessing and a curse—the cold brought relief, but even just water against the back of his throat was torture.
“Lay your head back,” Jess said.
When he did, she draped a cold, wet washcloth over his head from eyebrows to bald crown. “Fuck,” he said.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. She pressed a second cold cloth against the side of his neck.
Ike groaned. “Don’t be. That helps.”
“Good.” For a few minutes they sat in silence, Jess moving the rag over his neck, his face, his chest. Touching the one lying on his head, she said, “These are warm already. Let me wet them again.”
He tried to nod, but the movement sent the room on a Tilt-A-Whirl. Ike wasn’t sure how long it took before the combination of the cold compresses and the Ibuprofen made him feel good enough to stretch out and doze off. What he did know was that every time he woke up, Jess was right there, sitting on the floor beside the couch, ready with more drugs or a soft, soothing touch.
As the gray light of early morning streamed through the windows, Ike found her asleep with her head resting on her arms by his hip. Shit, she’d sat on the floor all night. For him.
He pushed himself up onto an elbow. The walls stayed in place, which Ike took as a good sign. As he stood, Jess didn’t react to his movement at all. No doubt she was exhausted after mostly pulling an all-nighter right after being so sick herself. He had to get her off the floor.
Curling his arms around her back and legs, he lifted. Annnnd the walls started spinning as the floor went wavy beneath his feet.
“Ike?” Jess grabbed onto his arms, steadying him. How fucking pathetic was he? “Did you fall off the couch again?”
“Was trying to put you back to bed,” he said, shifting to sit his weak ass down.