Page 44 of Outbreak Protocol
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Day 37
FELIX
I wake with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar weight across my chest. Sunlight streams through the half-drawn blinds, casting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets. Erik lies beside me, one arm flung possessively over my torso, his face relaxed in sleep. The sharp angles of his jawline look softer in the morning light, his usually meticulous hair delightfully mussed.
Last night floods back in vivid detail—his hesitant touches turning bold, the way he surrendered to pleasure with the same intensity he applies to data analysis. The memory of his body opening for mine, his control fracturing into raw need, sends heat coursing through me.
He's beautiful like this. Vulnerable. Human. So different from the composed epidemiologist who stands before projection screens and calculates disease vectors with cool precision.
I shift slightly, my morning arousal pressing insistently against his thigh, the friction of skin against skin sending electric currents up my spine. The movement causes Erik to stir, hiseyelids fluttering before opening to reveal those pale blue eyes, momentarily soft with sleep before sharpening with awareness, darkening with desire as he fully awakens.
"Good morning," I whisper, suddenly shy despite our intimacy hours before, the memory of his hands mapping every centimetre of my body still tingling across my skin.
His lips curve into that rare smile that transforms his face, making my heart stutter. "Felix," he murmurs, voice deliciously rough with sleep. His hand slides deliberately down my stomach, fingers tracing the line of dark hair before finding me hard and aching. "I see you're awake in every sense."
My laugh dissolves into a desperate moan as he wraps his long fingers around my cock, stroking with deliberate pressure that makes my hips buck involuntarily. "God, Erik—the way you touch me—"
He silences me with a kiss, hungry and demanding, his tongue sliding against mine as he continues his expert ministrations below. Something's different this morning—a newfound confidence in his touch, as if last night broke through some final barrier. His body covers mine completely, no longer tentative but possessive, his weight pinning me deliciously to the mattress as his erection presses hot and heavy against my thigh.
"My turn," he whispers against my ear, his breath hot and moist, teeth grazing my earlobe as he reaches for the nightstand drawer.
I surrender to him completely, trembling as his slick fingers prepare me with the same methodical attention he gives everything, stretching me open with gentle persistence. When he finally pushes inside, the burning pressure and fullness steal my breath, my body yielding to accommodate his considerable size. His face above mine is a study in concentration and wonder, sweat beading on his brow as he restrains himself, muscles in his forearms straining with the effort of holding back.
"Move," I plead, clutching his shoulders, nails digging half-moons into his flesh. "Please, Erik, I need to feel you."
He complies, withdrawing almost completely before sinking back in with excruciating slowness, establishing a rhythm that gradually increases in intensity until the bed creaks beneath us and the headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall. The angle shifts as he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, and suddenly stars explode behind my eyelids as he strikes my prostate with devastating accuracy. He notices my reaction—the scientist in him cataloguing every response—targeting that spot relentlessly until I'm reduced to incoherent sounds, my hands fisted in the sheets, cock leaking against my stomach.
"Felix," he groans, his voice strained, sweat dripping from his brow onto my chest. "Look at me. I need to see you."
I force my eyes open, meeting his penetrating gaze as he drives into me with increasing urgency. Something passes between us in that moment—something beyond physical pleasure, beyond the biological release building in my core. His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing with surprising tenderness, and that simple connection sends me careening over the edge. I come with his name on my lips, untouched, my body clenching rhythmically around him as hot streaks paint my stomach and chest. He follows seconds later with a guttural cry, his hips stuttering as he empties himself deep inside me, his face transformed by pleasure in a way I've never seen before—all control abandoned.
Afterward, he collapses beside me, our breathing gradually slowing in the afterglow, bodies slick with sweat and other fluids. His hand finds mine again, our fingers intertwining on the damp sheet as the morning light bathes his flushed skin in golden hues.
The spell is broken by a small insistent voice calling from down the hall.
"Uncle Felix? I'm hungry!"
Erik's eyes widen comically, and I stifle a laugh.
"Coming, Emma!" I call back, then whisper to Erik, "We'd better shower quickly."
"Separately," he adds firmly. "Or we'll never make it to breakfast."
Twenty minutes later, we're in the kitchen. Emma sits at the counter, swinging her legs as she watches Erik prepare pancake batter with the same precision he applies to laboratory procedures.
"Can they have chocolate chips?" she asks hopefully.
"I don't see why not," Erik replies, reaching for the bag I indicate in the cupboard.
"Dr. Erik makes pancakes?" Emma sounds impressed.
"Dr. Erik is surprisingly talented at many things," I say, catching his eye over Emma's head. A blush creeps up his neck.
"Is he your boyfriend now?" Emma asks with a child's directness.
I choke on my coffee. Erik freezes, whisk in mid-air, batter dripping back into the bowl.