Nik, Part 2 of Primitive Fix: The first thing Nik felt was throbbing in his head then he felt the fire flowing through his veins and knew that he was alive. Small wonder, that. He thought he was going to die out in the swamp, and he still might as far as he knew. He willed his eyes to open, but they were so heavy and his body was coated with a layer of sweat. Opening his mouth, he tried to cry out, to call to anyone who could hear him and help him, but his throat was too dry, his voice refused to work. Swallowing hard, trying to work up the energy, he realized his mouth felt like cotton and there was no point in trying. No one would hear the muffled cry that lodged in his chest, refusing to be heard. “Hush now. Don’t move.” The voice hovered somewhere near his face and was one he didn’t recognize. Female. With a harsh edge. Not exactly friendly. He wanted to grin against the thought. When was the last time he’d met any human who was friendly? It had been a long damned time since Nik Maddux had been able to call anyone friend. He tried to speak again but felt a hand on his shoulder and it stilled him, caused him to settle a little. The touch was light yet firm, commanding him to remain still. “I’m going to help you sit but I don’t want you moving too fast. And don’t try to move your arms. You can’t.” He tried anyway and realized she was right. Both his arms were stiff and heavy and refused to move, his wrists numb. A shiver ran through him when she leaned over him, her scent filling his nostrils. She smelled of the woods, of water and earth and pine and all things that he considered holy. Her hair brushed against his bare chest sending another sensation through him, one that he was sure he incorrectly identified as desire. He hadn’t even seen the creature yet and was already feeling lustful thoughts about her? He must be either dead or feeling much better. Based on the pounding in his head, he bet on the former. When she had the pillows arranged so that his head was raised and pushed forward a little, she held something to his lips. “Drink.” The word was a soft command but a command all the same. Whoever she was, she was used to getting what she wanted, used to being in charge. He obliged and let the liquid flow into his mouth, slide down his throat. He had never tasted anything so good before. Sweet and warm with a hint of cool at the same time. Nice and soothing. He swallowed too fast, too hard and a cough built in his chest. “Slowly,” she chastised as if she were correcting a child. “It’s chamomile and mint tea with some other herbs. It will help your throat. You have screamed it raw.” That didn’t sound like him at all. And if he had been screaming, surely he would have been aware of it. He was obviously in the pits of hell and she was an angel of mercy here to repair him until the devil could have his way with him again. He wanted to tell her thank you but that she shouldn’t bother, but his throat was exactly as she said and when his voice came out, the words were unintelligible. “I know. Just hush. I’ll get you out of here soon enough, I promise.” She tipped the cup back to his lips, this time not allowing him more than a couple of sips before moving it. Then she tipped it back again, repeating the motion until his throat felt completely coated with honey. Better. He swallowed hard and this time it didn’t hurt as much. “That’s the whiskey. Not exactly an herb but a home remedy all the same.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice, something that contradicted her earlier tone. His tongue darted out to coat his lips, which were painfully cracked and raw. “Yeah. I’ll put some more salve on them for you.” He didn’t protest as a light touch fluttered across his lips, applying a generous amount of balm to them. Resisting the urge to pucker them against her fingertips, instead, he let her touch sink into him and inhaled her scent again. Heaven. There was no way this was hell unless she had in fact been pulled from heaven to tend to the wicked. His hell would not be home to a woman like her, someone with a rough voice and a gentle touch, a scent that could wrap itself around a man and seduce him before he even set eyes on her. “Better?” He nodded. Almost. If she would just continue touching him, moving her hands lower, run them along his neck, his chest, lower. God, he wanted her. The thought hit him hard and he felt his cock stir beneath the covers, a pain shooting through him. If she noticed, she gave no indication. Instead, she just sat there, so close if he could move his arms, he could reach out and touch her.
Posted on: Tue, 01 Oct 2013 23:55:13 +0000
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