Chapter 8

Wes slept like the dead.

He made no noise, didn’t move—hell, his eyelids didn’t even flutter while he dreamed. His heartbeat, the soft rise and fall of his chest and the warmth of his breath on my hair were the only things that hinted that he was still alive. I lay there on his chest for a long time, listening to his heartbeat, listening to the language that his body spoke, the sounds that filled me with warmth because just hours ago that heart had worked in overdrive, quickening from taking and giving pleasure.

I had no idea what time it was. I hated being up before noon, but out of habit most days I woke up at five. It made me a grouchy little gremlin, but coffee usually helped. Right now I was feeling very much like that grouchy little gremlin. Fuck, I needed to get some coffee. And check in with work. And freshen up. And a bunch of other things. I can never go back to sleep after waking up anyway.

I untangled myself from Wes, wincing because my entire body was sore. I could barely sit up and get my legs to the edge of the bed. Jesus fucking Christ. He’d been rougher than I’d thought.

“Mm, don’t,” said a muffled voice, thick with sleep.

I felt a strong, warm hand close around my wrist, stopping me before I could get out of bed.

I guess sleeping like the dead and being a light sleeper operated on two separate sides of his brain.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I am. Do you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“No.”

“Then get back here.”

“I need to check my emails.”

“You won’t be able to walk. Don’t bother. C’mere,” he said, tugging me back.

“What makes you think I won’t be able to walk?”

“Because I made sure of it. Now get over here before you wake me.”

“You are awake.”

“I’m not. On-call forces you to...” he yawned, not even bothering to finish the sentence.

I bit my lip. I technically could get by without checking in until noon. If it was past seven then there were at least twelve supervisors on the floor by now, and all of them were senior agents that I’d promoted and personally trained. They’d be able to hold the fort down.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

He lifted the covers and I crawled back in. He was a real psycho. What kind of a person could hold a conversation in their sleep? It made me think about every single doctor’s appointment I’d ever been to, wondering if those doctors also had this weird little superpower. Was it something they all just picked up in residency? Or was Wes just really a psycho? I was willing to bet it was the latter.

I’d thought that I’d never be able to fall back asleep. Wes (even in his fucking sleep) seemed to sense it. He took me into his arms and stroked my back. It gave my sore muscles some relief, so much so that I closed my eyes in contentment and...

The smell of coffee could probably wake me from my grave. I rolled over in the soft sheets, my face turning in the direction of the delicious waft. I could almost feel my body tensing from the withdrawal. I needed professional help.

“Good morning.”

I opened one eye, squinting because it was way too fucking bright.

“Says who?” I grumbled.

“Says me. Do you want some coffee or not?”

“Help me up before it gets cold. I can’t move.”

“You’re such a baby.” Wes laughed as he slipped an arm under me and sat me up, supporting me against his chest. I don’t think I really knew what was happening when he put a mug in my hands. I only know that I practically inhaled the coffee.

“Mmm.”

“Adorable.”

“Shut up.”

He rubbed my shoulders while I began to wake up, and holy hell I was sore.

“You monster. You broke all my bones.”

“Did I?” He ran his hands down my naked body until I had to slap him away from touching the places that would definitely lead to inviting more soreness.

“I was just checking for injuries,” he said innocently.

“Well, you’re a terrible doctor if you can’t see that I’m injured.”

“Are you in pain?” He sounded so serious that it made me want to laugh.

“Yes, doctor. It’s just terrible. I may need morphine.”

“Just to make things clear, I’m never writing you a prescription.”

“Killjoy. I thought I was gonna get all the perks. I did sleep with you after all.”

“I can’t treat you if you ever get sick, but I can probably find out what’s wrong. If it’s bad enough I’ll find someone to get a second opinion and they can write you a prescription.”

I laughed. Jesus, he was so serious about this.

“Why wouldn’t you write me one?”

“Because it’s unethical.”

“You know what’s unethical? Letting your fuck buddy suffer.”

“You are not my fuck buddy.”

“What am I then?”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I thought it was obvious.”

“It’s too early. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Give it to me straight, doc.”