“Come for me,” he grunts. “Come for me again.” There’s no way not to do what he says because my body is already so close to the edge, a little closer every time he grinds against my clit, and every time he fills me up. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to, and I don’t want to. Even if it’s only happening in my head.
“I think… I think I’m… oh god!” And then everything explodes, and it’s unreal, the way wave after wave of unbelievable bliss rolls through me, starting at my core and rippling out until my entire body sings with pleasure. I want to hold him close, but I still can’t make myself move much—not that it matters because, a moment later, he pulls away and comes across my stomach.
Whatever happened to make me dream that, I want it to happen again. “Wow,” I whisper. I think I hear him chuckling softly but can’t be sure. I’m already sinking back into the darkness, and I don’t want to. I want to savor this. I want to ride out the sweet aftershocks for as long as I can. I don’t want it to go away.
My eyes are forced open when I feel something warm on my stomach again. He’s standing over me, looking peaceful. Satisfied. Mirroring my own feelings. He’s even smiling a little, his sexy dimples showing as he wipes me with a washcloth. I lick my parched lips and try to find the words, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to feel. I have no idea where this is coming from. Why would my mind make this shit up?
“Now you go to sleep,” he whispers, draping a blanket over me, covering me up to my shoulders. I think I feel him stroking the hair back from my face, but I’m not sure. That can’t be possible. None of this is possible. I’m so lonely and so desperate for kindness that I’ve resorted to dreaming about it.
“Why can’t you be this nice to me in real life?” I whisper. My eyelids are so heavy I can’t keep them open anymore.
“Don’t worry about that, love bug. Just sleep.” Something warm and soft brushes against my forehead.
Did he just kiss me? It feels like it, and I could laugh at myself for being so pitiful, so needy. Instead, I give up struggling to make sense of what just happened in favor of allowing myself to let go and drift away.
CHAPTER13
Damn. I feel like a truck ran over me. My eyelids are so heavy I can barely lift them. It’s like somebody put scotch tape over them. When I do manage to get them open, the light streaming into my room only makes me flinch as my head starts to pound. I quickly squeeze my lids shut again.
Note to self: no champagne with painkillers. Maybe no champagne anymore, ever. That might be a smarter idea.
Shit. Today is the wedding. I’m not going to be able to lie around in bed much longer. I’m surprised Mom hasn’t already come in and demanded to know why I’m still in bed. I had better get moving before she does because I’m not sure I could handle her shouting at me when my head already feels like it’s in a vise.
I start to throw the blankets back, an old trick I learned for getting my ass out of bed back when I was training both before and after school, sometimes waking up as early as four in the morning to make it to the gym. I don’t miss those cold, dark mornings, but they taught me a lesson. The sooner I’m not so comfortable, the less reason I have to burrow deeper in the bed and fall asleep again.
Only there’s a problem, a big one that reveals itself as soon as the blankets are off. Why am I naked?
I yank the covers up around my neck, eyes bulging, my heart taking off at a sickening pace. Why am I naked? Wait. How did I get to bed, to begin with? Why can’t I remember?
Why can’t I…
Oh. No.
I don’t want to do this because I don’t want the confirmation. I reach down between my legs and confirm how sore I am. What happened last night wasn’t a dream.
I had sex with Colt. Or rather, he had sex with me while I was too out of it to know the difference between reality and something my drugged-up brain had concocted.
And now I’m going to throw up.
Once the wave of panic-induced nausea passes, rage quickly takes its place. He knew I wasn’t in my right mind. That was the whole reason I had to come home in the first place. I was totally out of it, but he had sex with me anyway.
Headache forgotten, I jump out of bed and hurry through getting dressed before marching down the hall. I’m going to kill him for this. After everything he’s done to me, this is the worst. How could he take advantage like that? How could he use me?
Unfortunately for him, he’s in his room with the door cracked, sitting at his desk with his back to me. I wish it was as easy as sneaking up on him from behind and, I don’t know, plunging a knife into his back or his neck or something like that. But then again, no, I wouldn’t want it to be quick. I’d want it to be slow, and I would want him to know it was me.
Turns out, he already knows that. “Are you going to come in all the way, or are you going to stand there and watch me like a stalker?”
The smug prick. How dare he even have the nerve to speak to me? I fling the door open and storm across the room, folding my arms when coming to a stop beside his chair. “How could you?”
He swings around in his chair, and I see he’s wearing an easy smile. “How could I what?”
“How could you fucking rape me last night? Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
His eyes widen in a mockery of surprise. “Rape you? Is that what I did?” He even touches a hand to his chest like he’s shocked.
“Well, I wasn’t in any position to say no. I didn’t even know what the hell was going on. I thought I was dreaming!”
“It must’ve been a pretty nice dream. You sure seemed to enjoy it when you creamed all over my cock.”