Page 100 of Detectives in Love
Clutching his wrists, I feel his pulse racing under burning skin, his breath hot against my face. When I press a hand to his cheek, my fingers slide over damp skin.
Fever, I think. Probably inflammation. There must still be poison in his system…
“Newt…” Xavier whispers my name like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. “Newt…”
“I’m here. Are you okay?” I sit up quickly, squeezing his shaking hands. “Xavier?”
He gulps in air, eyes darting around the room, still trapped in whatever nightmare had him gasping for breath.
“You had a bad dream,” I murmur, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. “Just a nightmare…”
Without warning, Xavier lunges forward, arms locking around me in a tight, desperate hug.
“Xavier…” I say gently, my hands moving instinctively, rubbing his back. He trembles, face buried against my shoulder, holding on like he’s afraid to let go.
I hold him tighter, warmth spreading through my chest—but underneath it, the worry won’t settle. I keep thinking about the symptoms of severe chemical poisoning. Nervous agitation. Disorientation. Hallucinations…
“Hey, hey, shh…” I try to meet his eyes, but he clings to my shoulders, his grip unrelenting. “It’s okay…shh…you’re safe…”
Then I freeze.
His lips find my neck—planting a wet kiss there, then trailing up to my cheek, sliding down to my jaw, my chin, then back to my neck. His mouth is warm, a little desperate, as a quiet moan slips from him.
The room tilts. Heat floods through me in a slow, dizzying rush. My blood pulses—to my head, my core, my cock—everywhere at once, everywhere we’re pressed together.
“Xavier,” I breathe.
I cup his feverish face and gently pull him back, my fingers slipping into soft curls.
In the dim light, glassy blue eyes meet mine and go still—wide, teary, pleading. His hands tremble against me.
I want to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a whisper. “Xavier…”
I know the tears, the kisses—it’s all just a symptom of the poisoning. I know that. But looking into those red-rimmed eyes, I hesitate.
What are you waiting for? Do something.
“Newt…” Xavier breathes, barely audible.
Beneath my fingertips, I feel the frantic pulse in his neck.
A tear slips from his lashes…
…lands on my throat, trailing toward my collarbone…
Then Xavier leans in.
His burning lips graze my chin, then slide down my neck, tracing the tear’s path. His tongue flicks into the hollow above my collarbone, licking it away.
I gasp as his teeth sink into the base of my neck. Heat surges through me, coiling low in my gut, and I already know there’ll be a bruise there in a couple of hours. My mind scrambles for something to say, but all that comes out is, “Fuck…Xavier, stop—”
Xavier freezes, like he’s only just now hearing his own name. His fevered gaze clears, finally coming into focus.
I sit up against the headboard, my cock hard and aching in my pants. “You’ve got a fever,” I pant. “You need to lie down. Can you hear me?”
He blinks, and realization flickers in his eyes—then shame, tangled with panic. It’s as if he’s suddenly woken and finally understood where he is and what he’s just done. He nods, uncertain, then abruptly pulls away, scrambling to his feet.
“Sorry,” he mutters, breathless.
