Chapter 4

The following thirty-six hours were pure hell. Torin tried to make me feel better, as I shook, cried, cramped, screamed, cursed, as well suffered through horrible bouts of diarrhea and vomiting. But I did nothing but snarl, bitch, whine, and complain. 

Three days after the worst year of my life, I was finally beginning to feel half-human again, when the smell of food cooking hit me square in the face. My stomach churned once again, and turning, my hand covering my mouth, I bolted toward the bathroom.

Despite my vain effort, halfway down the hall, the contents of my stomach gave up its struggle. 

Falling to my knees, I vomited, then completely collapsed to the floor. As I lay in my own puke, I was unable even to find the will to pick myself up out of it. Once again feeling disgusted with myself for having fallen so far from the dreams I'd once held. 

Tears of shame began to trickle down my cheeks as I curled into a ball, but at the thud of Torin's boot heels on the floor coming toward me, the trickle turned into a complete washout. 

Face flushing ten shades of pink, I wondered at the fact I had any humility left after all the liquid he'd seen evacuating my body over the last few days.

When he finally reached my side, I evaded his eyes as he knelt down beside my collapsed form. Without saying a word, he gathered me in his arms. Then,  standing, he tossed the towel he'd held clutched in his hand onto the floor, covering the mess I'd made. Afterward, he turned and began making his way toward his bathroom as I buried my head in his shoulder, huge sobs shaking my frame.

Moments later when he reached the entrance to the bathroom, he shouldered the door open. Following the action, he made his way over to the shower. Kneeling, and keeping a firm hold of me on his lap, he leaned forward. Twisting the knobs of the faucet, he adjusted the water's temperature. Then straightening and regaining his feet, he set me on the closed lid of the toilet, stripping me of my shirt. 

Shortly following the action, he pulled me to my feet, and shoved down my shorts, urging me to step out of them.

Stripping himself of his own jeans and shirt, he lifted me back into his arms and stepped beneath the water's spray, allowing its warmth to cascade down over the both of us.

As I blubbered like a baby, he showed an inordinate amount of patience. Cradling me against him until the deluge of tears finally expended themselves out. Then lowering me back to my feet, he turned me until my back was braced against the hard contours of his chest, as grabbing a bar of soap, he began bathing me. 

At his touch, and even though I was spent from the storm of tears, and over fifty hours worth of withdrawals, I couldn't help the hitch of my breath as his hands began to soap my breasts. 

My body begged for every stroke, every glide of his hand across it, and I responded to his touch with hardening nipples that became torrid peaks beneath his administration.

Behind me, Torin's own breathing grew heavy, a shudder rippling through his frame. Then with a growl and seemingly unable to stop himself, he cupped the undersides of my breast, using his thumbs to further stimulate my nipples. A low  groan of, "God, I need you," slipped from his mouth.

I couldn't help my gasp at his words, nor the low whimper that escaped my lips, as lifting a hand, he placed long, masculine fingers under my chin and pulled my head up and around. 

Lowering his head, he placed his lips against mine. 

Several seconds passed with his tongue exploring my mouth, before drawing away, he wrapped his hand within the thick mass of my hair. Pulling at it until he had my neck arched, he exposed its silken length to his lips.  

His lips leaving a scorching trail of fire, he reached the delicate curve leading into my shoulder, as nibbling at the sensitive flesh, he husked, "God you're fucking beautiful!" Afterward, he roughly bit into the ultrasensitive junction. Then sucking the skin up between his teeth, he marked me.

The thought of him giving me a hickey was my undoing, and heat roared toward the core of my femininity, causing me to push back against his hardened length—the instinct older than time.

At the contact, Torin emitted a low, hoarse moan and thrust forward, sliding the length of his cock up and down the soap-slickened crease of my ass. Shudders wracked his frame, and he began a sensuous glide. 

A slow, ageless dance commenced between us. A symphony composed and played out for centuries. A seduction of the senses, mind, and body with each movement; the action carnal, and unbearably arousing.

The mating song between us could have lasted for minutes; it could have lasted for hours. Lost within the sensual, erotic communication of our bodies, time became endless, before with a bit off exclamation, Torin stilled. Then grasping my hips and voice a rough, heated throaty growl, he breathed, "God, baby, you're killing me."

With a swift move, he pulled us out of the reach of the shower spray, and gently placing the side of my face against the shower wall, he captured my hands. Following the action, he placed them palms out against the smooth tiles above my head. 

Shortly, he began a soft, slow, mind-numbing journey of seduction—one laid down by his tongue as he traced the intricate, lacy design that flowed down my spine to where my ink ended at the rounded curve of my butt. 

With a slow swipe of his tongue within the crease of my ass, he groaned before continuing his way down a rounded cheek and toward the apex between my thighs.

Spreading my legs, he positioned me until he had me bent at the waist, my butt sticking out, and open for him. Inhaling, he breathed in the scent of my arousal, giving another low-throated groan before beginning to lick and tease the exposed, trembling folds bared to him.