"That is wild!"
"Tell me about it! It felt so real!"
I left out the part about the ghost reminding me of Cole, but everything else was dead on as I remembered it.
"It felt almost real hearing you tell it, look, I've got goosebumps and an erection. Well I'm glad my dream self left you satisfied. As soon as you're healthy and out of here, maybe we can recreate some of your story. I was all hot and bothered by your text earlier, but now, hearing those erotic words fall from your lips, I'm almost ready to do what you said and pull myself out of my scrubs right now and…"
CRASH!
The empty tray that the doctor had left behind went flying off the counter and onto the floor.
"Easy now," I teased. "I think your elbow must have gotten as excited as the rest of you there when you went to yank on your scrubs."
"But, I didn't hit it. At least … I don't think I did."
The curtains parted again, and a new doctor walked in.
"Throwing things already? Didn't like the Jell-O or what?"
He introduced himself as the allergist after his teasing comments about the noise from the flying tray. As he picked it up and placed it back on the counter, he started talking about what all testing me to see what I was allergic to entailed.
I sat up to shake his hand and felt somewhat groggy doing so.
"Take it easy, your body has been through a lot today."
I just nodded at him and let him ramble on about patch testing my skin but my mind was on how sore my body was. The weird part though was that it wasn't the injection sites or any normal body parts that were sore.
It was my inner thighs that protested my movement. And the area between them.
I eased my hand down under my blankets, nonchalantly looking like I just had to scratch an itch on my hip, but I slid my fingertips between my legs real quick as the two men spoke to each other without looking at me.
I was sticky.
Maybe I'd gotten myself worked up a bit as well, telling Mark my naughty tale?
I was wet, but as I explored further down the inside of my thighs, I was more sticky than wet.
What the hell?
A quick flash of memory filled my brain. In my hallucination, I had yanked open the door right before meeting Mark in the hallway, with the other Mark's, or Cole's, or whoever my brain had invented's warm come still slick between my thighs.
Surely that's something else? Something from having my clothes cut off? Something from being worked on, unconscious? Cause it can't be come, I thought.
It can't be. Right?
Chapter 5
As I sat in the allergist's treatment room, hours later, preparing to find out what I was allergic to, my thoughts and emotions were a jumbled mess.
Mark was waiting in the Emergency Room for me. They'd come for me with a wheelchair even though I told them all that I was fine, and they'd made him stay put. He protested, wanting to stay with me, but they'd insisted.
I was fine with that turn of events though, not because I didn't want him around but because my thoughts and attentions were elsewhere. I knew it was probably all the drugs they'd given me to keep me alive that was making it possible for me to entertain the thoughts I was entertaining, but the thoughts persisted regardless of my thinking that they were insane.
Two things kept tripping over themselves in my head—my thighs were sticky, and Mark really hadn't been anywhere near that tray.
Taking them one at a time, I focused on my sticky thighs. My rational mind kept insisting that anything could have been spilled on me once the medics cut my costume off. I'd seen plenty of hospital dramas; people were not highly concerned with messes when someone was dying.
Things were ripped open with teeth and squirted with abandon. Anything could be coating my thighs—and yet every erotic second in that room at the party, the one that it wasn't possible for me to have been in, felt so real!
The coldness of the metal door against my nipples, the slickness of the fingers sliding around in my juices, the fullness as I was filled with hard cock … every touch, every grunt, every wave of my orgasm felt so real.
But according to Mark, I never even made it to that back room, I never even made it down the hallway. So how…?
I abandoned that train of thought out of pure frustration, and instead turned my attention to the tray. When I teased Mark about knocking it over with his elbow, I'd believed that was what had happened, even when he'd said he didn't hit it. But then when the doctor came in and picked it up, he'd put it pretty damn close to where it had originally been, and Mark was right- he was too close to me on the bed to have hit it with his elbow. So how did it fall?
Although fall was putting it mildly. It was almost more like it was … flung.
Hard.
Like maybe Cole wasn't happy that Mark was getting credit for my hallucination.