A Cure for the Afflicted - Sex Stories

A Cure for the Afflicted

... determine if I'm able to help her, but you must leave us."

The man hesitated a moment, then nodded and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Matteo took a deep breath, drawing in the bitter smell of wormwood. After setting his cane aside, he sat down on the edge of Beatrice's bed and removed his gloves. The woman balled her hands into fists, all the while moving as though she were copulating with some unseen being. Matteo placed his palm on her forehead. Her skin was warm but not feverish.

It was then that Beatrice stilled beneath his touch. Slowly she woke, her lids opening to reveal large brown eyes. "Am I dreaming?" she asked in a raspy voice. "Are you here to take me to my mother?"

"No," Matteo replied. "I'm a doctor." His words were muffled by the mask he still wore, and he didn't know if Beatrice could understand him in her confused state. As it was now quite clear the young woman had no infectious illness, Matteo decided to remove his mask. Sweeping strands of dark hair back from his perspiring face, he offered Beatrice a faint smile. The odor lingering in the room struck him then, for he no longer had the wormwood to combat it. It was not the smell of death, which he'd grown accustomed to, but rather the scent of Beatrice's arousal. Sharp and pungent, it clung to his nostrils. He swore he could taste it on his tongue.

The life of a plague doctor was often brief and inevitably lonely. Matteo had no family, and it had been many months since ...

... he'd lain with a woman. His days were spent seeing patients, most of whom were beyond help, while also compiling a written record of deaths. When he wasn't venturing into plague-ridden cities, he languished in quarantine, waiting for the beginnings of a fever or for the first boil to appear. He had long ago learned to subdue his carnal desires, but he now found Beatrice's scent maddening. Her nipples, hard beneath the shift she wore, beckoned to his hands and his mouth.

Matteo forced himself to hold her gaze. "Your father summoned me, for he believed you were gravely ill."

"Am I?" Beatrice looked around the room. "How long have I been resting?"

"Three days," Matteo replied, "but I am certain you haven't contracted the plague."

"Three days!" Her eyes grew wide, and she tried to sit up. "I must take care of the household, and my brothers and sisters."

Matteo placed a hand on her shoulder, easing her back onto the bed. "Beatrice, you're still not fully well. I promised your father I would try to help you."

"I feel fine now," she insisted. Yet she lay back against the pillow without further protest.

Matteo regarded her for a moment. "I'm told you lost your mother only a year ago." Though his voice was low and gentle, Beatrice's features grew pinched with grief at the mention of her mother. "It must be quite difficult for you, mourning her while tending to a large household such as this."

"I don't mind; it's what my mother would have wanted." Beatrice turned ...