Yes, Masters (Book 2 of Desire's Den)

Chapter 47 - Emma

Mateo didn't answer, and I couldn't be bothered to open my eyes, but I presumed he'd agreed, because a few seconds later, I heard the water turn on. While Mateo was getting the washcloths, Callan seemed to be massaging a part of my wrist.

My head grew even heavier the longer I was holding it up, but no matter how much I wanted to let it fall back and rest against Callan's chest, I knew the motion would only make me become sicker.

"Here," Mateo said quietly, as if to not disturb me, and when Callan let go of my wrist to grab the washcloths, I let out another soft moan, feeling the nausea take hold again.

I rushed forward to the toilet, and at the last second felt someone hold my hair up and away from my face. I should've been embarrassed by the sounds I made, but if there was one thing I could be thankful for, it was that when you felt this shitty, you didn't much care about anything else.

As the round of puking gave way to stomach cramps, Callan helped me into a more comfortable sitting position, but not after he carefully, and gently, washed my mouth with the now more cold than lukewarm washcloth. Once again, I didn't feel the embarrassment I would've felt if I was completely lucid, but I wondered if I would've been embarrassed even then, because the way Callan looked at me without a hint of disgust in his eyes, just pure worry, didn't make me feel ashamed, only comforted.

He swept away the hair strands that were stuck to my face, before placing the other washcloth to my forehead. The coldness of the cloth was a blessing to my aching head, but it didn't help the ongoing shivers.

Mateo came hurrying back in. I could see a glass of water in one hand, and a thermometer in another. "Here you go, Gorgeous." He squatted in front of me and held out the glass. "Just drink slowly so it doesn't trigger your nausea. Gideon's awake too. He's making you some ginger tea."

Instead of handing me the glass, he put the rim of the glass to my mouth and slowly tipped it. I didn't know what to feel about it, if I should feel like I was treated like a toddler or taken care of because I was sick, and this was the only way they could do anything at all.

It stung slightly as I swallowed, but it seemed like I couldn't get enough water to quench a sudden thirst, or maybe it was just a need to rinse my mouth and sooth my throat.

"Easy," Mateo said, pulling the glass away. "You'll get sick if you drink too much too quickly."

Maybe I was a damn toddler because I wanted to pout like one.

"Okay, let's take your temperature." He took the cap off the thermometer and motioned for me to open my mouth. "Gideon assured me this is a new one," he explained. "Hold your tongue up for me...yes, there we go."

I closed my mouth around it, disliking the feeling of the cold tip pressing against the underside of my tongue. I should thank my lucky stars he didn't put the tip in my rectum for a more precise reading. I almost wanted to laugh at the thought, but I'd probably puke if I used any abdominal muscles.

The thermometer peeped, and Mateo frowned down on it. "A hundred and two. I'll go grab ibuprofen."

As Mateo left, Callan asked, "You feeling any better, Sweetheart?" Only then did I notice that he was drawing circles on my back in a soothing motion with one hand, while still holding the cold cloth to my forehead. "Feeling well enough to move back to the bed?"

"I think so," I answered, my voice a little on the weaker side. I made a move to get up, but Callan was already ahead of me as he removed the cloth and placed one hand beneath my legs, and the other on my back before lifting me bridal style. When I started making protest about being able to walk myself, he shushed me. Shushed me.