His Sick Obsession

Easy... his voice was a raw, gravelly rasp.

I held up the medical ice pack, keeping my face blank as I examined it against the light. A hundred and seven degrees. Bear with it, Christian.

Showing absolutely no mercy, I yanked open his bathrobe and pressed the freezing pack directly against his inner thigh.

Chapter 1

Christian finally caught the bug. As one of the first employees to recover and return to the office, I was inevitably tasked with delivering medicine to his door. After driving across three blocks to snatch the last bottle of Tylenol and a few ginger-turmeric immunity shots, I knocked on his front door.

It took a full ten minutes before the door finally swung open.

The moment it did, I saw Christian's chiseled, painfully handsome face flushed dark red.

Avoiding his gaze, I shoved the paper bag forward. "Boss, the Tylenol, ear thermometer, and COVID test kits are all in here. Take care of yourself, and I hope you get well soon!"

Christian just stared at me, his face burning. He made no move to take the bag. His reaction time was completely shot. Did the fever fry his brain?

I set the bag down by the doorframe. The second I straightened up, his heavy frame collapsed straight toward me.

I scrambled to catch him, barely keeping us both from crashing to the floor.

His jaw struck my shoulder, the impact sending a sharp ache down my collarbone. Thank God he didn't black out completely. His large hands gripped my arms as he forced himself upright. He stumbled, catching the doorframe to steady himself.

He narrowed his eyes, struggling to focus on me. When he parted his cracked lips to speak, all that came out was a harsh, broken rasp. He touched his throat, his brows drawing together as if he couldn't believe that sound had come from him.

I froze.

Was he going to fire me the second he recovered just for witnessing this? Mission accomplished. Every instinct screamed at me to turn and run, but unfortunately, I had a conscience. Mostly, I was terrified that if I bolted, he'd crack his skull on the porch and I'd be out of a job anyway.

Even though my current position worked me to the bone, finding a stable paycheck in this economy was brutal. I couldn't afford to lose this job.

Resigning myself to my fate, I dragged Christian over to the living room couch and shoved him down into the cushions. I dropped the paper bag on the coffee table and poured him a glass of water. I pulled out the thermometer and checked his temperature.

Holy shit. 107 degrees. Incredible. Leave it to Christian to overachieve even when he was sick.

Completely drained of energy, he downed the water I handed him before his body went limp, sliding sideways against the back of the couch.

The bathrobe he wore was practically useless, held together by a single, loose tie. Between the fever and the delirium, modesty was completely out the window. The collar gaped wide open, the messy fabric falling away to expose his taut, narrow waist.

My eyes darted to his half-exposed, undeniably sculpted body. I swallowed hard. If he caught a chill lying here like this, things would only get worse.

I couldn't help myself. I reached out, carefully trying to pull the bathrobe shut. My fingertips accidentally brushed against his bare skin. He flinched, his dark eyes slowly fluttering open.

I snatched my hand back like I'd touched a hot stove and rubbed the back of my neck. "Boss, this is pretty bad. Your pecs are burning my handsI mean, your abs are burning my mouth" My tongue tripped over itself. "No, I mean you're burning up like a furnace..."

Christian collapsed back into the cushions, his eyes half-closed. He just stared at me, slowly raising a hand to signal that I needed to shut up.

I stood awkwardly beside him, my gaze uncontrollably sweeping over his tight abs that rose and fell with his breathing. "How about I watch you take your meds before I go?"

He pressed a hand to his forehead and forced himself into a sitting position. He opened his mouth to speak, but only that harsh, gravelly rasp came out.

My shoulders shook as I desperately fought back a laugh. He shot me a lethal glare.

I twitched my lips. Fine, be an ungrateful jerk.

I turned to bolt, but a large, scorching hand clamped down on my wrist.

Chapter 2

The hand clamped around my wrist was scorching hot, but it had no real strength, only loosely caging my skin. I glanced up at Christian. His usually expressionless, sharply handsome face was entirely flushed. Honestly, he looked like he was about to catch fire.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His lips were cracked, and his dark eyes were bloodshot from the fever. He forced out a harsh, gravelly sound, and I barely pieced together the words: "Please... take care of me."

My first instinct was to say no. I wasn't his assistant.

But then it hit mehis assistant and his driver were both out sick with the exact same bug. He didn't have a single person to help him right now.

Then again, wasn't this the perfect opportunity to score some major points? When this was all over, hed owe me. I wouldn't hold my breath for a promotion or a raise, but transferring me to a cushy, stress-free department would only take one word from him.

The thought of never again having to work endless overtime for a meager salary fueled me. I slipped my arm under his to support his weight and patted my chest. "Then I won't let you down. I'll take care of you until you're fully recovered!"

And then I immediately regretted that decision.

I crouched by the coffee table, staring at the physical cooling supplies in my hand with a grim expression. Oh, man. I had grabbed a large medical ice pack instead of the small forehead patches. But the pharmacies were completely cleared out of everything else, so this was better than nothing.

I turned to look at my clueless boss. He was staring back at me with a dazed expression.

I tried to explain it to him. "The way this physical cooling method works is... I need to press this ice pack against your inner thigh."

Christian's flushed cheeks seemed to turn a shade of purple.

Finally, he took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and gripped the hem of his bathrobe tightly. His footing was unsteady as he took a step back.

I called out to him. "Do you need me to help?"

Christian's tall frame stiffened. Without even looking at me, he rasped twice. I could barely make out the word: "No."

Ugh, what was there to be shy about? I was practically his nurse right now, and you don't act polite with your nurse.

While he was dealing with that, I walked into his kitchenwhich was so massive it made my head spin. I pulled out the ginger-turmeric immunity shots I had just bought, mixed them with a heavy dose of fresh squeezed lemon and a dash of chili powder, and whipped up a massive glass of my special detox water.

This was incredibly effective for breaking a sweat and lowering a fever. Whenever I got sick, my mom would force me to chug a huge jug of it, and I'd be sweating in no time.

I finished mixing the drink and walked back out. Christian was standing there, his long legs completely tense. His movements were stiff and incredibly unnatural as he shifted his weight.

I was always good at reading a room. I immediately rushed forward to support him, dragging him all the way into the bedroom and tossing him onto the massive mattress. He let out a low groan as he hit the sheets, but his body was completely limp and drained of energy. He had no choice but to let me handle him.

So, I wrapped my arm around his broad shoulders, propping him up. I forced him to chug two massive glasses of the ginger-turmeric detox water.

My boss absolutely despised the weird taste of ginger and chili pepper. Every time he went to a Western restaurant, his assistant had to explicitly demand that the kitchen leave out those exact ingredients. I had been out to eat with him a few times, and every single time, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the helpless chefs.

After forcing those two massive glasses down his throat, I had no idea if Christian felt any better, but I felt absolutely fantastic.

It was the ultimate, satisfying revenge.

He tried to fight me off a few times while drinking, but his fever-weakened resistance was useless. Eventually, his heavy frame slumped fully against me, his large hand limply pushing the empty glass away.

The detox water actually worked. The heavy dose of liquid instantly coated his raw throat. His voice was slightly clearer, though still a deep, rough gravel. He sounded completely drained as he muttered, "Too much... I can't drink anymore."

Chapter 3

I casually heated up two portions of mac and cheese. Christian took two bites before he couldn't stomach any more, but I devoured an entire portion in massive bites.

After eating, I went to the kitchen, grabbed a Ziploc bag, and filled it with crushed ice. I made a simple ice pack and pressed it against his forehead.

He was delirious from the fever, at my mercy. Taking advantage of his weakened state, I forced another massive glass of that ginger detox water down his throat.

He had been shivering under the thick blankets just moments ago, but after the fiery liquid hit his stomach, the deep crease between his brows slowly smoothed out.

I didn't dare wander too far, so I crashed on the bedroom sofa, fully clothed.

In the middle of the night, a sudden weight settled over me. I blinked my eyes open in a daze. Under the dim glow of the nightlight, Christian stood by the sofa, draping a thin blanket over my shoulders.

I immediately sat up, gripping the edge of the blanket. "Thanks."

He gave a stiff nod before turning around and collapsing back onto the mattress.

His forehead was still covered by the ice pack, so I pressed the back of my hand against his cheek, then trailed down to the side of his neck. "It's been over four hours. Why isn't the fever breaking? This physical cooling method should be pretty effective. How about we ice your inner thigh one more time?"

Christian's face darkened. He shook his head and lay completely rigid under the covers, refusing to make a sound.

I rubbed my palms together. "If you keep burning up like this, your brain is going to fry."

He lay paralyzed on the bed, stripped of all his usual strength, yet he still forced his heavy arm up to block the hand holding the ice.

I gripped the edge of his covers. "This is a matter of life and death. Drop the modesty."

He fought back with whatever weak resistance he had left, desperately trying to defend his last shred of dignity. It was completely useless. I ripped the blankets off him without a second thought.

My voice was deadpan and completely ruthless. "Relax. It'll be over in a second."

Ten minutes later, Christian was wrapped tightly in the blankets. He stared blankly at the ceiling with dead, hollow eyes, looking completely ravaged.

I sat on the edge of the mattress holding a glass of hot water. The second his eyes locked onto me, his broad shoulders twitched, and he instinctively shrank back against the headboard.

I offered him a bright, innocent smile and opened my palm, revealing two massive Tylenol pills. "Boss. Meds."

He clamped his jaw shut. A dark flush crept up his neck as he turned his face away, his jaw locked in stubborn defiance.

He looked as if his absolute innocence had just been viciously violated.

I supposed I could understand. He had just been forced to let his twenty-something female subordinate shove an ice pack against his inner thigh.

But what did that have to do with me?

I felt absolutely fantastic. Mom, I've finally made it.

Stripped of his autonomy by the raging fever, the untouchable CEO was completely helpless. His only lifeline was little old me.

Riding a massive high of petty triumph, I grabbed his jaw, fully prepared to force the pills down his throat.

Suddenly, Christian jolted upright from the mattress.

Before my shocked eyes, he doubled over and violently emptied his stomach right onto my shirt.

My grip tightened, crushing the capsules in my palm. My entire body turned to stone. I couldn't form a single word. What a nightmare.

Finished, his massive body slammed back into the mattress, instantly passing out.

I glared daggers at him. If he had opened his eyes in that moment, he would have seen pure, unfiltered murder in mine.

Why did this feeling seem so incredibly familiar? I paused, letting the memory surface.

Oh, right. This wasn't the first time he had puked all over me.

Back when I first joined the department and led my first major project, I attended a business dinner with him. He drank entirely too much. The driver's wife suddenly went into labor, so he frantically dumped the boss on me. I was stuck taking care of him until midnight.

In the dead of night, in a total drunken haze, he had gripped my hand, buried his flushed face against my chest, and threw up all over me. He even had the sheer audacity to demand I pat his back and coax him to sleep.

He signed my paychecks. If he wanted to be coaxed, I'd coax him.

Chapter 4

Resigning to my fate, I stood up and haphazardly wiped the mess off my clothes. After running the carpet cleaner over the rug, I headed back to the bedroom. Surprisingly, Christian was awake.

He leaned against the headboard, staring at me blankly for a long moment. His dark eyes darted around, pausing as a deep flush crept up his neck. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as his gaze dropped to the pajamas in my hand.

I threw my hands up. "Boss, do you have any spare clothes?"

Christian gave a stiff nod. Dragging his feverish body out of bed, he rummaged through his massive walk-in closet and pulled out a set of unopened pajamas.

His cheeks were burning red. He held the folded silk out to me with both hands, his movements unusually stiff and entirely stripped of his usual arrogance.

I grabbed the designer sleepwearthe kind I'd only ever seen in high-end magazinesand ducked into the bathroom.

Christian was six-foot-two. His clothes swallowed me whole, hanging loosely off my frame. The collar gaped dangerously wide, exposing my collarbone.

I walked out, rolling up the oversized sleeves. I bent over to cuff the pant legs.

A rough cough broke the silence. I looked up. Christian had his head turned sharply away, avoiding looking at me entirely. The dark flush on his cheeks was burning even hotter.

My stomach dropped. Don't tell me his fever is spiking again.

What a nightmare. I let out a heavy sigh and forced him back onto the mattress. Kneeling on the edge of the bed right in front of him, I pressed the back of my hand against his neck to check his temperature. His eyes refused to meet mine, his gaze darting aimlessly at the far wall.

What, am I that hard to look at?

Showing zero mercy, I grabbed his face with both hands and forced his head forward. Eyes on me, tough guy.

The heat radiating from his skin intensified.

I slid my palms against his sculpted cheeks. He was burning up, but his skin was surprisingly smooththe absolute perfect hand warmer. I couldn't resist giving his cheek a slight, deliberate pinch.

His thick lashes fluttered. I met his gazehazy from the fever, yet dangerously intense. A jolt of guilt hit me.

I immediately snatched my hands back, shoved his broad shoulders down into the mattress, and pulled the covers up to his chin. "Sweat it out."

His gaze tracking my every move. The dim amber nightlight cast a golden glow across the sharp angles of his profile, making him look like a carved statue. His dark red lips were parted slightly, looking incredibly soft...

I swallowed hard. You try maintaining your professionalism with a visual like this in front of you.

So, I grabbed the edge of the heavy duvet and yanked it completely over his head.

Christian flailed under the thick fabric. The sudden suffocation seemed to snap him out of his delirium. He ripped the blanket down. "Quinn!"

His brain was practically melting and he still remembered my name. Was he going to hold this against me when he recovered?

My shoulders flinched perfectly on cue. Pure corporate instinct took over as I blurted out, "Copy that." Damn this corporate slave muscle memory.

After tossing and turning for half the night, he finally settled down. I curled up on the sofa, pulling the thin blanket he had given me tight around my shoulders.

Hours later, a sudden sensation of falling jolted me awake. I rolled over, pushing myself up in a daze. I rubbed my head, looking around in the dark. Right. I fell off the couch.

It didn't even hurt. The incredibly thick, high-end rug absorbed the impact entirely. Honestly, the floor was perfectly comfortable. I didn't even bother getting up.

I just dragged the blanket over me and went straight back to sleep on the carpet.

Sometime later, in the hazy space between asleep and awake, I felt my body being lifted into the air.

But my eyelids were far too heavy. I couldn't pry them open. I was already on the floorit had to be a dream.

Whatever. I was too exhausted to care. I just needed to finish sleeping.

Chapter 5

When I woke up, sunlight was spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows right onto my face. I blinked and stretched my arms.

Christian's carpet was softer than my actual bed at home. I slept unbelievably well.

Wait. The texture under my hand was wrong.

Still half-asleep, I rubbed my palm against it. It was smooth, firm, and radiating heat.

I snapped my eyes open and followed the line of my arm, immediately locking onto a pair of deep, dark eyes. Christian was staring right at me, one brow slightly raised.

And my hand had slipped completely under the hem of his pajama shirt. Resting flat against a literal hot potatohis scorching skin.

I let out a sharp yell. Pure panic kicked in, and I shoved the burning weight next to me off the mattress.

A heavy thud echoed through the room.

My chest heaving, I watched as long, pale fingers gripped the edge of the bed frame. Christian slowly hauled himself up, a dark flush of suppressed rage spreading across his neck.

"Boss... I'm so sorry!" I scrambled over the covers and frantically hauled him back onto the mattress.

I rubbed my messy hair, my brain slowly booting back up. I stared blankly at the empty pillow next to him. How exactly did I end up in his bed last night?

Christian seemed to read my mind. He parted his lips to speak, but the moment he did, his brow furrowed sharply.

Based on my own recent experience, I diagnosed him immediately: he had reached the swallowing-razor-blades stage of the infection.

I shoved my phone into his hand. "Use this." I leaned in close, watching his thumbs fly across the screen.

Up close, his hands were incredibly distracting. Long and pale, with sharp knuckles and clean nails. Thick blue veins stood out against the back of his hand, trailing all the way up his muscular forearm, giving off an intense mix of raw power and strict control.

He typed out on the notepad app:

[ I carried you to the bed last night. You were going to catch a cold on the floor. ]

I froze.

He was worried I'd catch a cold. He dragged me onto the mattress while running a massive fever. And I just kicked his weakened body right off the bed.

I was going straight to hell.

Then, the corners of his lips twitched. He kept typing:

[ If you got sick, I wouldn't have anyone to take care of me. ]

...

Fine. I clearly misunderstood this ruthless capitalist.

Christian leaned back against the headboard. His messy dark hair fell loosely over his forehead. His broad shoulders, which usually radiated an overwhelming dominance, sloped slightly downward. His tight muscles shifted beneath the loose pajama shirt, exposing a deadly kind of vulnerability.

I reached out and pressed my hand against the side of his neck. The heat had finally dropped.

He stared at me, slightly dazed by the contact. He subtly shifted backward, forcing out a rough, gravelly whisper: "I'm sweating. It's gross."

Please. Men are so dramatic.

I grabbed the ear thermometer, leaning close to his face, and pressed the scanner directly into his ear. A quick beep broke the silence.

Ninety-nine degrees Fahrenheit. After an entire night of pure chaos, the fever had finally broken.

I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when Christian choked the breath right back out of me.

He said he was taking a shower.

Oh, God. Someone save this clean freak.

When I caught this bug, I ran a fever for three straight days. The first time I tried to shower after it broke, I nearly passed out on the bathroom tiles. This was barely day one for him. Ignorance really is bliss.

He was basically asking to be put back in a coma.

I grabbed his pajama pant leg. "Maybe just hold off? Taking a shower right now is risky."

Christian yanked up the waistband I had just practically pulled down. He rasped through his completely wrecked throat, "I can't stand it. I'm taking a shower."

Don't listen to the survivor, see what happens. You're going to regret this.

Paranoia kept me hovering right outside the bathroom door, listening to the rushing water. Ten minutes passed. Suddenly, a massive, sickening crash echoed from inside.

My stomach plummeted. I knew it.

Chapter 6

I shoved the bathroom door open. Through the thick, billowing steam, I saw Christian lying completely bare on the wet tiles, the showerhead relentlessly blasting water right onto his face.

I scrambled forward and slammed the water off. The soap had long been washed away. My gaze uncontrollably dragged down the tight ridges of his abs, dropping lower...

Well, this was an involuntary visual assault.

I swallowed hard. The awkwardness in the tiny space was suffocating. Every instinct screamed at me to back out of the room, but I couldn't just leave him to die.

I squeezed my eyes shut, blindly grabbed a massive bath towel from the rack behind the door, and tossed it over his exposed lower half.

I tried dialing 911 twice, but the lines were completely jammed. Makes sense. With the brutal flu season peaking, the medical system was swamped.

Besides, if I actually got an ambulance here and had him wheeled out of his penthouse buck naked, he would absolutely murder me the second he regained consciousness.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and stared down at him. I couldn't just leave him on the hard floor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I stretched my arms, crouched behind him, and hooked my hands under his armpits. Gritting my teeth against his dead weight, I dragged his massive frame out of the bathroom.

By the time I finally heaved him onto the mattress, I was drenched in sweat. That dark, familiar flush had already crept back up his neck. I pressed my palm flat against his broad chest, and my stomach plummeted.

Fantastic. The fever I had just spent hours breaking was back with a vengeance.

I told him not to shower. He just loved making my life a living hell.

I wiped my forehead and headed to the kitchen. I whipped up another batch of the ginger detox water, and while I was at it, handled dinner. I was starving, so I pulled a premium ribeye from his fridge and seared it.

Since the boss himself couldn't stomach solid food, I just forced another massive glass of the ginger detox water down his throat.

By midnight, the thermometer spiked back to 107 degrees. He was delirious, muttering broken syllables.

Was he seeing the light at the end of the tunnel?

My gaze landed on the spare medical ice packs on the nightstand. I had completely mixed feelings about this.

Forgive me, Boss. But to prevent your billion-dollar brain from melting into mush, I have to do this.

I yanked open the hem of his bathrobe. Ignoring the way his long legs instinctively kicked and fought against me, I pressed the freezing ice pack directly against the scorching skin of his inner thigh.

A low, rough groan ripped from his throat. His massive frame curled inward. Damp with sweat, he crashed heavily into my chest, his long fingers blindly gripping the hem of my shirt. The deep crease between his brows returned.

I held my breath, tossing the empty ice wrapper straight into the trash can. I let him shift against me a few times until he found a comfortable spot, burying his face heavily into the crook of my neck. The tension in his brow finally smoothed out.

Shaking my head, I reached out and dragged the heavy duvet over him. His restless shifting had kicked the towel completely away, exposing that sharp V-line and... yeah, time to cover that up.

I pulled out my phone and loaded a telehealth app.

[ Can a person survive this level of fever delirium? ]

I waited in the digital queue for half an hour. The doctor was typing for a solid five minutes, and still couldn't give me a straight answer.

My ear twitched. I leaned in close, catching the broken syllables slipping from his lips.

"Take it away... no..."

My curiosity spiked. What was he seeing in that fever dream? Take what away?

"Take away that damn ginger detox water..."

I went completely deadpan.

That detox water practically saved his life!

Refusing to accept defeat, I leaned in even closer, desperate to pry some actual corporate gossip out of his melted brain. "Christian, do you have someone you like?"

Before the words fully left my mouth, his dark eyes snapped open.

Chapter 7

The sudden movement nearly gave me a heart attack. The light caught his eyes perfectly. With barely an inch between us, I could hear his shallow, fractured breathing. My own face reflected in his dark, obsidian gaze.

His fever-bright eyes stared at me, completely unguarded.

I shot up and scrambled to the foot of the bed on my hands and knees.

Pure delusion. A massive illusion. This was a ruthless capitalist who practically fed on the tears of his employees!

Look at this massive penthouseit literally had an echo. He bought this place entirely off my endless overtime. In a way, I was the one paying his bills!

I took a deep breath, snapping back to reality, and turned to check on him.

Just as I predicted, Christian had regained a shred of consciousness and was now entirely mortified. He ripped the heavy duvet back, stared down at his bare skin, and his eyes went wide. He whipped his head toward me, his dark eyes wide. "You... I... we..."

...

Give me a break. Don't look at me like that. I just saved your life, I didn't steal your virtue.

I explained the medical necessity of the ice pack at least three times. But even after he managed to pull his pajama pants on, Christian just sat there, his head tilted slightly, staring at me in a complete daze. The information simply wasn't computing