The next morning, Damien looked much better, but he was still moving slowly. The fever had broken, yet his body was clearly exhausted. I was making coffee in the kitchen when he walked in, shirtless, hair messy from sleep. He leaned against the counter and watched me for a moment.
“I still feel sticky from the fever,” he said quietly. “I need a bath. A real one. With you.”
My stomach tightened. “Damien… yesterday was enough. You were sick.”
He stepped closer, eyes soft but still carrying that deep hunger. “Please. I’m not going to force anything. I just need to feel you close. The water, your hands on me, us together. I missed that.”
I stood there fighting with myself. Part of me wanted to say no and walk away. The other part remembered how scared I had been when his fever was high and
