Essence (Nectar 3)
He delivered food to the bedroom at dinner time and found her sitting on the bed. Just sitting. Her complexion was pale.
“Eat,” was all he’d said when he put the tray down.
He’d waded through some of his work email in the afternoon, wanting the distraction and happy to have his own laptop, rather than the loaner that Adrian had provided, but hadn’t gotten very far as he had zero passion for anything at the moment, so delegated a lot of things he’d normally take care of himself to associates back home.
That night he climbed in with her again. She was awake but laying in the bed, in night clothes, looking off into space, smelling like she usually did, making him so fucking thirsty but not remotely interested in the disappointment of feeding when it probably wouldn’t taste like her. He wanted, down deep, to believe that since she was smelling like herself that she could come back in every way but he was afraid to hope.
He put his arm around her and hauled her back against his front. He fell asleep, playing with her hair, ignoring the almost overpowering urge to taste her, to take her.
Again, he woke up to her shaking, like she was having a seizure. She kept jerking and crying out, and then she was scratching up and down her arms and legs, frantic. He flicked the light on to get a better look at her skin. It looked fine, other than her nail marks.
“Kyla, stop! Stop scratching.”
She was on her back, scratching as if she was in withdrawals from him not feeding.
She stopped scratching.
“I’m hurt,” she whimpered.
“What hurts?”
“Me.”
Damn it.
“What hurts, Kyla?”
“Me.”
“What part of your body?”
She froze, mouth agape, looked dumbfounded, like she didn’t know how to answer.
Fuck.
“What can I do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Need medicine?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tylenol?”
“No.”
“Not that kind of hurt?”
She grunted painfully.
“Baby, I wanna help you but I don’t know how.”
She went back to raking her nails up and down her thighs. He grabbed her wrists and held them still, pinned over her head.
“Stop. Don’t scratch!”
He transferred her wrists to one hand while he sniffed her throat, her hair, put his free hand on her belly and felt to see if she felt bloated or if she expressed pain at being touched. She didn’t. He couldn’t sense anything wrong with her.
She started to squirm a little and he felt her tits pressing into his chest. He ignored the stirring in his groin.
“Is it worse?”
“No.”
“Is it better?”
“Yes.”
He let go of her and moved away.
Then after a beat she said, “No.”
“I wish you’d tell me what.”
She didn’t answer. She started to tremble again.
He grabbed her and pinned her underneath him and she stilled.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I knew what was hurting you, Kyla. I wish I could make it better.”
She squirmed and he could smell arousal from her. Like the scent of citrus and melons but musky. He frowned.
“You.”
“You? Me what? Do I make it better?”
There was a lump clogging his throat. Was she expressing the need to be comforted? She was aroused. His feeders rarely got aroused. They’d respond to commands, many would even get off, but he often had to lube them. Most of the time they were just like blow-up dolls. He felt guilt now about that, guilt he’d never before felt about taking what he’d been told he was entitled to.
Mesmerized women could typically function better than this. They were on autopilot. They couldn’t have elaborate conversations but they were generally able to express themselves. But Kyla was worse than the average mesmerized woman. She was barely more than catatonic.
He let go of her and rolled over, his back to her. He was testing.
“Tristan,” she breathed and she started trembling again. He rolled back her way and pulled her tight against him. The trembling stopped.
“Do you feel better when I hold you?” His voice was gruff.
She didn’t answer.
He jiggled her shoulders, “Do you?”
She nodded.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“But it’s a little better?”
“Uh huh.”
“So you feel things.”
No answer.
“Kyla?”
“Mm?” Her brows were furrowed.
“Are you in there?”
Silence.
He stared deep into her eyes, so deep that he could’ve sworn he saw something like a tiny spark of light deep in there.
Then, “Think so.”
Hope bloomed in his chest, he kept staring, “Should I take you to Adrian? Should I let him run tests? I don’t want him near you but if he can help…”
Fuck. Would that help? Or would it be more deceit, more games?
He let that hang. He waited a long time. She didn’t reply. He looked to the ceiling and let out a long breath in despair. He felt her forehead move down and nuzzle down his jaw to behind his earlobe. Then he felt her eyelashes caressing his throat as she blinked every so often.
He held her tight and tried to find sleep. It took a long while. But she had stopped shaking and scratching and eventually she stopped blinking so he finally closed his eyes.