Strung by Bella Costa Page A

groan escaping from his throat; the desire in that simple sound igniting me instantly, making me gasp.  In a nanosecond, his tongue invades my mouth, steeling my breath.  My brain is still trying to jump-start when I feel his mouth relax and his hands slip away.  I pull back, stunned.  His eyes have closed and he is fast asleep.
    OKAY!  Some people talk in their sleep, others walk.  Chayton here is apparently a serial sleep snogger.
    I squirm uncomfortably on the bed, aware of the strength of my arousal.
    "Chayton, wake up," I shake him gently.  His eyelids flutter and he slowly wakes; rubbing his eyes.  "Sorry to wake you but you're restless.  You need to drink some more water and take another two painkillers.  Sit up."  Sit up and kiss me again .
    He sits up and glances around the room, his mind still caught in threads of sleep.  He looks so vulnerable.  I hold out a bottle of water and two painkillers on the palm of my hand.  He takes them without comment and downs all of the water.  I take the empty bottle, leaving it on the bedside table and when I glance back at him he is staring at me with a bewildered what-the-hell-just-happened, look on his face.
    "What?"  I snap.
    "Nothing," he responds sheepishly, a small shy smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.  His sheepish smile is cute.  Like a little boy who is really naughty but too cute to be angry at.
    I wonder if he is remembering a very recent dream, the one he shared with me less than five minutes ago and I squirm again at the memory of his fevered kiss.  He may have been dreaming about a kiss, but I seriously doubt I was the star of the show.  Lucky bitch – whoever she is.
    "You're looking a little better," I grumble, plumping his pillow.
    "I feel like death warmed up and served on very dry toast."
    "Yeah?  Well sorry to tell you this, but you're going to be feeling pretty bad for a few days yet and you could get worse before you get better."  My mind runs through some of the less savoury complications that have been known to accompany a good dose of Mumps.
    "Are you hungry?”  I ask.
    "Not really."
    "Fine, go back to sleep then." 
    "You need sleep as well," he counters.
    "I'm okay on the armchair."
    "No you're not.  You need to raise that ankle and you'll get all sorts of aches and pains sleeping there.  Go to bed."
    "You're too restless.  Besides, you get delirious when you have a fever.  I'll stay here."  He studies my face as I check the swelling on his neck.  It looks like this is as bad as it is going to get.
    "If you insist on sleeping in here then at least sleep on the bed.  It is big enough."
    "No.  I'll be fine," I insist.
    "Alright, it’s your body, but I don't want to sleep."
    "What do you want?  Should I get you something to read?"
    "Watch a movie with me."
    "Okay, if you think you can make it to the living room."
    "I don't need to."  Chayton leans over and digs in the drawer of the bedside cabinet, pulling out a small control.  He presses a button, I hear a faint click on the panelled wall and a section slides back revealing a large cinema unit.  He presses a few more buttons and the powerful, but haunting melody of the opening sound track for The Piano surrounds us.
    "You like this? ”  I ask, surprised.
    "Uh -huh.  Please make yourself comfortable."  He pats the empty space next to him on the bed.  I can't watch from the small armchair.  It is in the wrong place.  Well I suppose if I am on top of the covers and he is underneath, it is no different to sharing the back seat of a car or a sofa.  I hobble around the bed to the other side and crawl onto the offered space, leaning back against the headboard.  It does feel good to get my feet up.
    "What's your favourite track? ”  I ask.
    "This one; I think it's called 'The Heart As ks Pleasure First'," he murmurs.
    "I like this one too, but I can never figure out if it's happy or sad."
    "It is a powerful score.  I would say it's both."
    I am soon