ChapterEleven
Wynter
I peelmy eyes open slowly, squinting at the burst of light raining in through the curtains. I don’t recognize the space as I look around.Where am I?
My head is pounding and closing my eyes seems like the key to that happening less, so I let my eyes fall closed. I want to roll off the bed and get up, but thoughts are hard to form.
A warm hand slips across my hip and I realize that I can’t move my legs. I’m also warm, burning up, and I notice the sweat running down my back. There’s someone back there.
I throw my hand back to feel around, not wanting to open my eyes and a groan greets me. My hands wander farther down investigating the hard object jabbing me in the back and I instantly regret it. I’d know what that is anywhere.Who the hell did I sleep with?
My brain does a rapid quick-fire trying to remember what happened last night, and the memories are foggy. I remember Weston kissing me like his life depended on it in the bathroom and my leaving. Addison came over and we went out. We had shots and then danced, but I remember nothing after that. Surely Addison wouldn’t have let me go home with the model guy, but I’m afraid to roll over and find out.
“Morning, Chief.” His voice is gruff and sleepy, and I can’t help the tingle that crawls up my body over how gravely and sexy he sounds.
“Please tell me I did not sleep with you last night.”Really, brain? Is that the best you could come up with?I chide myself.
“Oh yeah, Wynter. You slept with me all night long.”
A lump forms in my throat and I wonder if I had drunk sex with my sworn enemy again. If I’d really asked for his D a second time. A brief whisper in the back of my brain tells me that maybe he’s not really a sworn enemy anymore, but I refuse to listen to it.
I throw my hand up covering my eyes and groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”
“Relax. We slept together as in… you slept over there. I slept over here under a different blanket and I promise there was no funny business. I would never take advantage of a drunk girl.”
That gets my attention and I roll over toward him, an eyebrow quirked.
“I’ll have you know all of my sexual encounters were definitely consensual.”
“Uh huh.” Realizing too late that my move has brought his face right next to mine. Morning breath is an actual thing, so I shut my mouth, trying to breathe through my nose. His boner is poking me in the stomach and making me think of things that shouldn’t happen between us.
He smirks, reading my thoughts as he looks at the protruding appendage reaching out to touch me. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and run my hand up the velvety smooth length of him. To feel the steel softness he has sheathed in his pants. My core clenches at the thoughts of feeling him inside me again. I won’t let it happen though, it can’t. It would be wrong on many levels.
A wave of nausea floods over me and I jump out of bed, assuming his hall bathroom is in the same place as mine, my hand covering my face. I make it to the toilet in time to exhume the contents of my stomach. The bile tastes sour on my tongue. Hands pull my hair away from my face and embarrassment floods me. He’s seeing me at my lowest. You can’t get much lower than vomiting with a hangover.
A drumline pounds out a beat against my skull and I slump over the toilet, waiting for the end. Weston places a warm compress gently across my forehead and I take a deep breath in.
“Why are you being nice to me?” I ask him, confused. I’ve done nothing but push him away constantly, yet he’s still here. Taking care of me.
I’m a train wreck. I haven’t looked at my face, but I can only assume I resemble a drunk raccoon.
He tips my head up to his, angling us closer, and I grimace, hoping he can’t smell my awful puke breath. “Let me take care of you, okay? Don’t fight me this time.”
I nod, sagging into him. I like the way his hand caresses my cheek and for a minute everything else falls away. The hate, the fighting, the pretending. All that’s left is him and me. My heart urges me to try, but my brain still holds me back.
Sitting back, I lean against the wall, waiting for the next bout of nausea to cease. Weston runs a warm washcloth gently cleaning under my eyes and down my cheeks. No doubt cleaning up my smeared makeup. He traces it over my lips, paying close attention to the corners.
I’ve never felt this cared for in my life. Image is everything with my family and the closest thing to this feeling I’ve ever had was when my nanny would make me feel better by making sugar cinnamon toast and tea.
My need for him almost knocks me out - the desire to be held and near him.
I’m not planning on writing him a love song soon though.
Another layer pulls back from Weston Croix and I realize there’s more to him than the charming, cocky bastard who loves to hate play with me. He may have a soul in there.
Once I feel less nauseous, he picks me up, carrying me back to his room. I quirk an eyebrow at him, but say nothing, resting my head against his broad chest. For once, I plan to follow and not lead.
The soft blanket swallows me up, and I get lost in it. Weston leans down placing a bristly kiss to my forehead and tingles erupt in my body even though I feel drained from tossing my stomach.
“I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” He disappears quickly, bringing back a trash can and tissues in case I don’t make it to the bathroom next time. Smiling softly he turns to leave.
“Wait, stay with me… a little longer?” I beg.
He turns to look at me. My face imploring him to do as I ask. Need, longing for his touch, to chase away the sadness of being alone. For once, I don’t want to do this on my own.
Watching as he sits down on the bed, he lifts his arm for me to slip between it and his warm body. Laying my head against his chest, I listen to his steady heartbeat under my ear and feel the rise and fall with each breath. Why does it seem so easy, yet so hard?
I wonder what he’s thinking but don’t dare ask him. I’m not sure I want to know. Being in his arms feels comfortable and a slight smile crosses my lips. I’m happy even though I feel miserable.
Eyelids growing heavy listening to his breathing, I let myself fade away, feeling his lips pressed against my temple.