He Hid His Changing, Then His Doctor Became His Mate novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Treatment

Cavan burns through his first heat in the palace and Fenny stays to ease it with his hands. Afterward, alone in the bathroom, Fenny's own body goes hot and hard and his pills do nothing.

Cavan opened the door because his legs would not hold him up against it.

Fenny came in with the leather bag in one hand, shut the door with his heel, and locked it.

"Bed," he said. "Lie down."

Cavan crossed the room and the wool of his trousers dragged on his skin.

He was slick already. He could feel it, wet and shameful, soaking the seat of his clothes.

He sat on the bed and then he was lying on it, curled on his side, one hand gripping the sheet.

The sweet smell of his own body filled the room.

"Look at me," Fenny said.

He had taken off his coat and rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbow.

He put the back of one hand to Cavan's forehead, then to his neck.

Cavan leaned into the touch and made a sound he had never made in front of anyone.

Fenny's hand went still.

"You're burning," he said. "How long since you ate?"

"I don't know."

"Drink this."

It was water with a bitter edge.

Cavan drank it with Fenny's hand holding the back of his head, and when the glass was empty he did not want that hand to move.

"Doctor," he said.

"Yes."

"It hurts."

Fenny crouched by the bed, and his glasses were gone again, his hazel eyes bright and direct.

"Where?"

"Everywhere. Low." Cavan pressed his face into the pillow. "Please. I can't make it go quiet."

For a moment Fenny said nothing.

His throat moved when he swallowed.

"There's a way to ease it," he said. "It's clinical. I'll go slowly."

"Do it."

"Say you understand what it is."

"You're going to touch me." Cavan rolled onto his back and looked up at him, panting. "Fenny. Please."

Fenny undid Cavan's belt and drew his trousers down his thighs.

His cock sprang free, hard and flushed and dripping against his stomach, and the slick had run all the way down to the backs of his knees.

Fenny drew a breath through his teeth.

"Sorry," Cavan said, and tried to cover himself.

"Don't." Fenny caught his wrist, gently. "Don't ever cover yourself from me. This is what a heat does. You're doing it right."

Then he wrapped his long fingers around Cavan's cock.

Cavan's back came off the bed.

Fenny's hand was cool and sure, and it moved with a slow twist at the head that made Cavan's eyes roll back.

"Breathe out," Fenny said. "Three things in the room."

"Hand. Lamp. You."

"That's two and a half. Again."

He stroked, firm, from the root to the slick tip, and Cavan bucked into his palm.

"There," Fenny murmured. "That's it. Let it come."

But it did not ease.

It only climbed, and below the pleasure there was an empty ache that Fenny's hand could not reach.

Cavan's hips shifted and his thighs fell open.

"Not enough," he said, wrecked. "Fenny, it's not enough. Inside. Please."

Fenny stopped breathing.

Cavan looked up at him and saw a muscle jump in his jaw.

"With my fingers," Fenny said, hoarse. "Only that."

"Anything."

Fenny reached for the oil in his bag, then put it back, because there was no need.

He slid two fingers down between Cavan's cheeks and found his hole, wet and swollen and clenching at nothing.

"God, you're drenched," he whispered.

He pushed one finger in.

Cavan cried out.

The finger was cool and slim and went in so easily, and Cavan's body clutched at it and tried to pull it deeper.

"Easy. I've got you."

A second finger followed, and Fenny curled them, searching, until Cavan shouted at the ceiling.

"That," Cavan said. "That, that, there..."

Fenny worked him in a steady rhythm while his other hand stroked his cock in the same slow time.

Cavan fisted the sheets and fucked himself down on the fingers.

The slick ran over Fenny's wrist, and neither of them said a word about it.

He was close. He was so close it frightened him.

"Fenny."

"I know. Go."

Fenny pressed hard against that spot inside him and twisted his hand over the head of his cock.

Cavan came with a shout, spilling hot across his own stomach, clenching around those fingers in long, helpless pulses.

Fenny held him through every one.

When it was over, Cavan lay shaking on the bed.

The heat had dropped to a low, warm glow.

His scent was shifting back, pine smoke rising slowly through the honey.

Fenny drew out his fingers carefully, wiped his hand on a cloth, and tugged the sheet up over Cavan's hips.

"You'll sleep now," he said. His voice was not quite steady. "I'll be at the desk."

"Stay here."

"I'll be at the desk," Fenny said again, and went.

He did not go to the desk.

Cavan heard the washroom door close and the tap run.

Then he heard a sound through the wall, a small harsh breath, and the rattle of a tin.

He lay awake and listened.

The tap ran a long time.

At last Cavan got up, wrapped the sheet around his hips, and padded to the washroom door, which stood open a hand's width.

Fenny was braced over the basin with both hands on the rim.

His shirt clung to his back. His sleeves were shoved to the shoulder, and the skin of his arms was flushed dark red.

The tin lay open on the stone, and two pills sat in his palm.

He swallowed them dry and gripped the basin again.

"Go back to bed, Prince," he said without turning.

His voice had dropped, rough and low.

And the air in the washroom, thick and hot, smelled of pine smoke.

Cavan stood very still in the doorway.

Fenny Fox was a beta.

Betas did not smell like that.

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