Page 108 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“So be gentle.”

My restraint, already pulled taut, snapped. I swung a leg over his hips and settled myself on his sheet-covered thighs. Baxter watched me, his gaze both hungry and amused. I pulled the sheet down to his waist, grimacing as I uncovered the bruising on his chest. He’d undressed himself, taking a pair of scissors to his T-shirt when it had proved easier than removing the sling, so it was the first time I’d seen it properly. He still wore the sling, the white of it stark against his skin.

My scrutiny had Baxter looking down. “Not pretty,” he said.

“Very pretty,” I argued, already reaching out to touch. I ran gentle fingertips over his skin, tracing the worst of the bruising. “This is going to look even worse tomorrow.”

Baxter shrugged. “It’s just bruising. It’ll heal.” I lowered my head to his chest and followed the path of my fingertips with my lips, Baxter giving a little laugh as it tickled. When I sucked on his nipple, he stopped laughing. I carefully extricated him from the sling—the doctor had said he didn’t need to wear it in bed—resting his injured arm on his stomach with infinite care. I started at his injured wrist, kissing that before working my way up to his shoulder. “Sore parts covered,” I said.

“Not all of them.” Baxter turned his head to the side to display the graze on his cheek. I dutifully kissed it and then kissed his lips. They might not have been sore, but they were there. I paused for a moment with our lips barely inches apart. “I love you.”

“I know.”

I blinked. “Alright, Han Solo.”

Baxter smiled. “I would have thought he was a bit modern for you. And not French enough.”

This time, I kissed him to shut him up, careful to keep my weight off him.

“I have another sore spot,” Baxter announced.

“Where?” What if there was something he hadn’t told the hospital? Internal bleeding? Something worse? Was there anything worse than internal bleeding? Calisto’s car still sat five floors up in the multistory car park, so I’d need to call a cab to get us back to the hospital. My mind raced as I examined Baxter, finding nothing on his chest besides the bruising. I had zero medical qualifications, though.

“Lower,” Baxter urged when I reached his stomach.

I got it then, sitting back to stare daggers at him. “You had me freaking out, and you’re talking about your cock.”

“It’s sore.”

I pulled the covers back like a magician unveiling a magic trick. “It’s hard. Hard is not sore.”

“It’s swollen. I need you to reduce the swelling.”

“Cold compress,” I suggested.

“I was thinking more mouth and tongue.”

“I bet you were.” I rearranged myself so I had the space to lean forward. “I’ll do this,” I said with my lips inches away. “But I’m not fucking you.”

“I didn’t realize it was such a trial.”

“You know exactly why I’m saying that. You need to heal first.”

“Orgasms are good for healing.”

“Where did you hear that?”

Baxter smiled. “I don’t know, probably some magazine article. It’s something to do with endorphins and oxytocin acting as a natural painkiller. You should look it up, History Man, extend your horizons into the world of the living.”

I shook my head. “You and Verity are so going to get on once she realizes you’re here to stay.”

“I look forward to that day if I haven’t died of old age first.”

“How,” I said, only half joking, “did I end up with you?”

“You were due some luck.”