Copper by Vanessa Devereaux Read Free Book Online Page B

pussy.
    “Ride me.”
    I lifted my buttocks up and down, his cock going deeper each time I sat back down on his thighs. I looked at myself in the mirror. Face flushed, breasts bouncing up and down. Perspiration broke out on my face. I leaned over so he could get a better angle and perhaps find his release quickly so I could leave and get back to Mark. As I came closer to his legs, I smelled something familiar. The same odor, the cologne I had smelled that day.
    I looked in the mirror, trying to look at him. He stared into it too and then pulled a knife from underneath the pillow at the top of the bed.
    I could not release myself from him quick enough, and he slashed my back. I held it and slipped off the bed, running to the window. I managed to bang on the pane, hoping Mark was there. I saw the catch and opened it, letting the cold air hit my face.
    “Help me,” I cried just as the knife slashed the back of my arm. I spun around, and he slashed my face. I could smell the blood, the metallic tinge to the air, the cold draft drifting in from the now open window, making me lightheaded.
    I was losing blood, losing consciousness, and I hoped someone would take good care of my son for me now that I was obviously departing this life. Mark hopefully would get his Christmas presents to him. I wished I had gotten to see Sam and hold him and tell him how much I loved him one last time.
    I slumped to the floor, and through my blurred vision, I was sure Mark had come to my rescue. Two figures fighting with the knife flashing through the air. I put my head upon the carpet and remembered nothing else.

Chapter Thirteen
     
    I was cold and afraid. I opened my eyes and saw a wall in front of me. I hurt. Hurt as I never had before. I tried to get up, but cried out. Nothing looked familiar, and I wondered if this was the afterlife. My punishment for doing the work I had on earth. I would spend eternity in pain as I had spent my life having men bring my body pleasure.
    “It is okay. You are going to be okay. Do not you worry now.”
    It was a woman’s voice. A lady with an Irish accent. She held my hand, and I focused on her face. She was a nurse.
    “Where am I?”
    “You are in St. Thomas Hospital. Do you remember anything about what happened to you?”
    “The knife. A man cut me.”
    She nodded. “You lost a lot of blood, but luckily he did not strike you deep enough that he got anything vital.”
    “My face.”
    “It will heal nicely, and you will be just as pretty as you were before.”
    I put my hand up to my cheek, feeling what I assumed were stitches where a doctor had put me back together again.
    “The detective?”
    “Ah, yes, fine young man, very handsome too. He saved you. Got cut up badly himself too, but he is just fine now.”
    “Is he at the hospital?”
    “Not right now, but he will be back soon to see you. He has been pacing up and down, waiting for you to wake up, but I sent him home for some rest.”
    I began to cry and the tears stung my wound.
    “Now, now, I will not have a patient of mine crying like this.” She squeezed my hand as someone tapped on the door.
    I looked over and Mark stood there, his arm in a sling.
    “Ah, talk of the devil, if I may so say. Come in and visit with this pretty young woman. I am sure she wants to thank you for being her hero.” The nurse stood and left me alone with Mark.
    “I am so sorry that I did not get to you sooner than I did,” he said, sitting on the bed.
    I reached for his hand. “Was that the man who killed Sir Michael?” Mark nodded. “Why did he kill him?”
    “He had once been a patient of the doctor. He has political aspirations, and wanted to destroy any notes the doctor had kept about his mental illness. However, Sir Michael walked in on him rifling through them so he decided to silence him and get rid of all and any evidence.”
    “And as you assumed, he thought that perhaps I had seen him that day.”
    “I should have taken better care of you, but I