Leave Me Love(4)

"Yes."

"You want to kiss them, don't you?"

"Yes."

He put a hand to my lips and I sucked on his thumb, pressure building in me like a wave about to crest.

"Come on my fucking fingers, Catelyn. Come for me."

I gave into the bliss, drowning myself in a tsunami of flame. "Yes. Yes." I bit down on his thumb, letting go of my fear and pain and worry of the future and surrendering to the pleasure he gave me in that moment.

His fingers stayed in me until my contractions abated, and my eyes opened as his lips claimed mine, the now-familiar taste of him a comfort to me even as it rekindled my arousal.

From the way his pants bulged, I wasn't the only one who wanted more.

As he helped me out of the bath, I rubbed my hand over his cock and whispered in his ear. "When I'm released from the hospital, I want to suck this."

He waggled a finger. "Dating before sex."

"Right. Then what was that?"

He had the devil in his grin. "The Ashton Davenport experience."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, the modesty. The modesty is too much."

"Other girls didn't think so."

"Other girls?"

He blushed. "Oh, shit. Shutting up now."

"Fetch my gown, Bath Boy."

He did and helped me back to bed, squeezing my ass as he pulled the sheets over me.

I smiled, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. A ringing filled my ears. "I need to rest."

"After that bath, so do I." He kissed my forehead.

I closed my eyes.



***



And I found myself in the corridor, alone.

It was quiet. The clock down the hall showed around 10 p.m. Hours had passed since my bath. A door to my side was ajar, and a young boy waved from inside, moonlight glinting on his dark hair. "What are you doing?"

Good question. "Walking."

He nodded. "I sleepwalk too, sometimes."

I brushed the bump on my head.

The boy frowned. "You okay?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you need a nurse."

"Maybe." Or maybe I just need to get out of here. "Don't tell anyone about this, okay? I don't like people knowing I sleepwalk."

He lowered his head. "Me too."

"Me neither."

"What?"

I shook my head. "Never mind. Goodnight." I found my way back to my room, only a few doors away, and lay down. It was dark, and Ash was gone. My IV hung to the side, discarded. I must have taken it out myself—I'd heard people could do stuff like that sleepwalking—or never put it back in. I buzzed for the nurse and checked my cellphone. Detective Gray had tried calling. I called back.

"Hello?" He sounded tired, like he'd worked too much on a day he'd wanted to sleep through.

"Detective Gray, it's Catelyn."

"Miss Travis, thanks for calling back. We tested the note."

I held my breath.

"No residue."

I dug my nails into the bed. "But I saw it."

"I'm sure you did. Look, sometimes we see things that aren't really—"

"Shut up."

"Goodnight, Miss Travis." He hung up before I could respond. Stupid detective.

I hadn't imagined the words. I'd read them. The ink had disappeared. It should have shown up in testing. Unless…

Unless they didn't test the same note I read.

Unless someone switched out the original note with a fake one.





Chapter Three


Coffee and Tea





THE NEXT DAY, I was finally discharged.

Every minute in the hospital had felt like torture. They'd tell me to rest, but would wake me up every few hours to give me medication. The medication would make my mind fuzzy, and my thoughts would drift as exhaustion and stress pulled me into a disturbed sleep filled with too many dreams.

When I had a moment of clarity, I'd called Detective Gray and told him my switching note theory. He'd said he'd look into it.

I looked forward to sleeping in my own bed and to more intimate time with Ash. He'd spent most evenings by my side, using his charm to get around visiting hours. But there were certain things you just couldn't do in a hospital.

The doctor, a middle-aged woman with greying hair and kind eyes, handed me a stack of discharge papers. "Someone has to keep you company at all times to make sure you aren't suffering any more concussion symptoms."

"What about work? School?" Already dressed in clothes Bridgette had brought me, I was ready to get the hell out of there.

"Take it easy—and if you notice any symptoms, come back in immediately," she said.

I nodded. In order to get out, I'd had to keep down solids while under supervision, so they knew my insides were working. I'd also had to 'prove my mental stability'—whatever that meant. I hadn't told anyone about the sleepwalking because I didn't want to give the doctors any leverage in keeping me here longer. Besides, it hadn't happened again.