EMMIE
Isleep like the dead. Well, if the dead’s slumber is full of dirty dreams of a certain green-eyed boy with a voice that just drips sex and has skills he’s too much of a cunt to have been blessed with.
The second I open my eyes, I look at the chair at the bottom of the bed. The one he was still sitting in when I passed out.
I didn’t intend on falling asleep with him here, but the second my head hit the pillow, my exhaustion, the weed, and the few drinks Dad had allowed me to have throughout the day hit me and I couldn’t stop myself.
My tongue sneaks out, wetting my dry lips. I pause halfway, realising they taste salty, just like his… “No,” I breathe, lifting my hand to touch my fingertips to my lips. “No, he wouldn't, would he?”
What the fuck am I even saying? Of course he fucking would.
I reach for my phone, opening the last conversation I had with him, and before I can think better of it, I scroll up to his dick pic.
“Damn it. You don’t deserve to have a cock that pretty,” I mutter in a huff.
Ripping my eyes away from it, I stare at the empty text box, my thumbs hovering over the letters.
What would I even type?
Thanks for being a total fucking creep but giving me the best head of my life?
An unamused laugh falls from my lips.
Like he needs me to tell him just how good he was to inflate his ego some more.
I sit there for the longest time, listening to people move around the cabin. The scent of bacon frying hits me and makes my stomach growl, but still, I never start typing.
When three little dots start bouncing on the screen, I damn near piss my pants.
Is he… is he also staring at our chat?
Surely not. He probably left the second I fell asleep and went and fucked one of those dim Barbie dolls. Someone who won’t tarnish his rep should he accidentally get her pregnant or some shit. Someone I’m sure his father would approve of. A daughter of one of his trusted soldiers. Probably of Greek blood.
“Ugh,” I groan, throwing myself back on the bed feeling ridiculous for the jealousy that knots my stomach up tight.
But that’s all forgotten when my phone vibrates with an incoming message.
Sucking in a deep breath, I try to prepare for what he might have sent.
By the time I pluck up the courage to look, I’ve convinced myself it’ll just be Calli or Stella and those bouncing dots were just my phone’s way of testing my nerve after last night.
Damn, did I want him to fuck me against that tree.
Even now, all these hours later, my thighs clench with the idea of how full I’d feel, fully seated on his cock.
My breath catches when I discover I’m wrong, that he was typing me a message after all.
His Lordship: Merry Christmas, Hellcat. Check your top drawer.
My eyes narrow at his message, but I’m powerless but to follow orders.
Inside the drawer, I find a freshly-made joint.
Rolling my eyes, I’m about to reply when another message pops up.
His Lordship: I hope you slept well.
Emmie: Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoyed the rest of your party.