The Hangover

by Lively, R. S.

"That explains the blurry vision."

  "What! Can't you see? How many fingers am I holding up?" I put up my index and middle finger, waiting for her say something.

  She slaps them away. "It only happens sometimes. Jeez."

  There she is.

  I gently turn her around but keep my arm around her. “I’m sorry about the other day. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way,” I say.

  She blushes and looks down. "I was mad at you. I was mad at me. I didn't like what you had to say. But you were right. I wasn’t ready. Now, you were a complete ass, but a right ass, nonetheless." Whitley sniffles, wiping her nose on my suit sleeve. Not again.

  "I was completely out of line with what I said. I felt like you were goading me. For the first time in my life, I didn't feel good enough for someone."

  She barks out a laugh, and when she does, she tosses her head back, wincing when her head hits the headrest. "Ouch."

  "If it hurts, don't do it."

  "Haha. I'll remember that next time I bang my head against a brick wall."

  "You do that," I joke, pouring us both a glass of scotch.

  We don't say anything for a few minutes, and as she sips her drink, she looks out the window. She seems full of answers for questions I'm dying to ask, but I don't know how to ask them.

  "I convinced myself that you were buying me to get in my pants. I didn't feel like a man of your—stature, would even be with a woman like me unless you wanted something. And the only thing I have to give you is my virginity. After that, you wouldn't have had any use for me. I would have been the one crying at night while you moved on to the next conquest after you check ‘taking someone's virginity’ off your list."

  She tries to slam the scotch back but she chokes instead, and the amber liquor pours from her mouth. Her eyes water, and it takes all I have not to laugh. She is serious, after all.

  I take out a handkerchief from my pocket and hand it to you. "You think that low of me?" I sigh, crossing my leg over my knee as I stroke her shoulder with my thumb. I've missed her skin. "I'm not a man of smooth words. I'd love to have sex with you, yes. But with you, from the moment I heard your voice, I knew I'd be afraid of wanting more than that, and I was right."

  "You were?"

  "I have no idea what I'm doing here, Cherry. But perhaps, both of us can have a learning curve? I won't be perfect. I'll say the wrong thing sometimes. I don’t know how to deal with emotion. I’ve locked myself down for so long. I’ve never been in a relationship where I feel truly able to express my feelings. I don't know how to be in one of those."

  She snorts and points at herself. "Me either. Virgin, remember?"

  I cup my hand over my mouth to hide my smile, but it's impossible. "Right."

  The car dips and creaks over a few potholes, and we sit in silence as we pull up to the estate. The large iron gate opens, and Frankford drives forward until we are at the front of my house.

  "This isn't my apartment. If it is, it suddenly got really big."

  I take her hand and help her out of the car. "There's no way I'm taking you back to your place right now."

  "Charlie might need me though! She was sick, Logan."

  I see the worry in her eyes and the fear. I wish I could say I was as close with someone as she is with Charlie, but I’ve never had the luxury. "Frankford?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Can you please bring her roommate here and set her up in the wing next to mine? Make sure she has plenty of medicine, ginger ale, soup, and crackers."

  "Right away, sir." Frankford lowers himself back in the Land Rover and reverses back out into the night.

  "You're going to bring her here?"

  "If it makes you happy and worry less? Of course. I'm not the monster you make me out to be."

  "I've never thought that of you, Logan."

  I wrap my arms around her and press my lips against her forehead. "You are absolutely beautiful, Cherry."

  "You're just saying that to get in my pants," she giggles, slugging my shoulder with her fist playfully.

  I lead her into the house, thanking the stars that my mother isn't wandering around, and head toward my wing. It's shorter to go this way than the way I took her last time.

  "I'm hoping it at least helps me to get in your pants," I say with a wink.

  She takes in the expanse of my home. From the high ceilings to the gold railings on the staircase, I know it's a lot to take in. Once we climb the steps and turn right, I place my finger on the scanner and the door opens, leading me to the wide doors of my bedroom down the hall.

  "Jeez, how many doors are there to your room?"

  "There are four more, but they come with a price if you want to know." I scan my finger again and the doors open to reveal my room. The shoes and purse I had bought for her are laid out in the corner. They were gifts, but if she decides she never wants them, I will give them away. Simply having them in my room, filling the space with her cucumber scent, drives me wild.

  "And what price would that be?"

  I start unbuttoning my shirt and taking off my pants. "Take a bath with me?" I hold out my hand, waiting for her to take it.

  She lets go of the hold she has on my jacket and it falls to the floor, melting into the black hardwood. Whitley reaches for me, never taking her eyes off mine, and I don’t have it in me to turn around and break the connection, so I walk backward until we were next to the tub. I twist the gold knobs, filling the basin with hot water. I squirt a bit of sandalwood bubble bath in there and light a few candles. Next, I turn down the lights to set the mood. The dim yellow graces her skin, making her look ethereal.

  "Sorry the bubbles don't smell more girly."

  "I didn't know men like you liked to take baths."

  "Well, there’s a lot that you don't know about me, Cherry."

  "I think I'm starting to realize that, Logan."

  The tremors laced in her voice send lust through my veins. I know that now isn't the time to want her, but I don't think there would ever be a time that I don’t. My cock flexes in my briefs, excited to see her naked again. I run the pads of my fingers up her arm and raise them above her head. I roll the hem of her shirt up her torso, revealing miles of creamy flesh, then above her blue bra, then over her head. Her long red tendrils swish out, settling over her shoulders and cascading down her chest. She doesn't move as I finish taking off the rest of her clothes.

  I'm breathing hard by the time I'm done undressing her. My cock is rock hard, pushing against the front of my briefs at an alarming rate.

  "You know, I think it's rude manners to be overdressed."

  I glance down, and when I do, not only do I see my thick cock stretching the material but her pussy. A shiver of anticipation runs through me. I remember devouring that, and I want to do that again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Her delicate fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear, while her other hand cups my package, making me moan. "You know what my favorite part about a man is?" she asks.

  I tilt my head back, staring at the vaulted ceiling as she outlines my growing member. "What's that?" I growl, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. Every touch of her fingers sends pleasure shooting through me, but I have to force myself to stay calm. She isn't in the right mindset for me to throw her on the bed. No, she needs a nice bath, a shoulder massage, and then we’ll go to sleep. She deserves that.

  Even if that means my cock hating me.

  "This. The bulge. I've always looked at men who wear sweatpants and stare at their cocks. It makes me wonder what they’re packing. Some bulges look big. Some look small. Some I can see the outline of the ridge through the pants, and I can see how long they are as it lays against their thighs. Bulges are sexy." She squeezes my sack to confirm her meaning.

  "I'll buy all the sweatpants in the world."

  "I'd like that," she whispers, pecking a small kiss over my heart before pulling my briefs down.

  I step out of them an
d step into the tub first. I need heat. That might calm me down. I help her in and then sit down with my back against the tub. She lowers herself, sighing when she sits all the way down and leans against my chest. She backs herself into me, and I wrap my arms around her. My chin sits on her shoulder, and her hair floats on top of the bubbles. The candle flames flicker and the shadows dance against the wall.

  She hisses when my hand brushes against her arm, and I crinkle my brows when I see a bruise forming where Dylan had grabbed her. She must feel me tense up because she strokes my thighs, making soothing sounds to calm me. "It's okay. I'm here with you now in a big, fancy house. With big, fancy bubbles. In a big, fancy bath. You got me here."

  "He marked you."

  "He didn't mean to."

  "I wouldn't be too sure of that."

  I place her arm back in the water and start kneading her shoulders. My thumbs roll over a few tangled muscles in her back, and she moans. Her head falls forward, and she relaxes. Her shoulders sag, and the crooks of her spine roll down her back as she slouches. I lay a kiss between her shoulder blades and move down her back. I dig deep because being gentle doesn't get the knots out. That isn't the point of a massage, in my opinion.

  "I'm sorry," she says out of nowhere, taking me by complete surprise.

  I pause my hands for a minute, wondering why she is apologizing. "For what?"

  "For being a brat," she chuckles.

  "Oh, that. I thought that was just part of the hot redhead package."

  She suddenly spins in my arms, splashing me right in the face with a tsunami of water and bubbles. I spit some water out, along with some bubbles. That stuff does not taste good. I wipe my hand down my face, blinking to make sure I didn't have any soap in my eyes.

  "That confirms it. You are a brat."

  She splashes me again. "Am not!"

  I grip her wrists with care. I want to make sure I don't hurt her. "You're making a mess. There’s water all over the floor now. I guess," I sigh, lifting a shoulder. "I guess I'll have to have you mop it up, naked."

  "Naked, huh?"

  "Yep." I pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her slim waist. She straddles my lap, and my cock settles in the crease of her ass. She doesn't move. She just lays her head on my chest and rubs lazy circles over my left peck. All I can think about is sinking into her virginity. How could I not? My cock is right there.

  But her being here in my arms feels right. It's new. And for the first time in a long time, I'm happy.

  "Thank you. For giving Tops a chance, and for taking me out on that amazing date. Thank you for being there for me tonight when you didn't have to. I don't know how or why you were there, but I'm thankful. And I'm sorry for trespassing on your property, tossing those beautiful shoes and a purse in the dirt, and mailing a one-of-a-kind dress to you. I'm sorry for ignoring your calls. But thank you for giving me space for me to work things out in my head."

  I let her say what she needs to say without interrupting her. She feels obligated to say something when she never had to say anything at all. "I didn't give you space. Thank yourself for that one. I called you five times a day."

  Whitley's laugh carries in the bathroom, making me chuckle right along with her. I trail my hands up and down her back, enjoying the closeness of her body against mine.

  "That's true. I guess I take that back."

  “Also, wait—you mailed the dress back?”

  She laughs again. “Yeah,” she admits. “This morning. I was still mad.”

  I chuckle in response "It’s okay, Cherry. I deserved it a little. A man would have to be a fool not to do what he can to make things right with you."

  "Is that why you swooped in and saved me tonight?"

  "I didn’t mean to. I had been going to your place to try to apologize. But I saw that you were in a bad situation. Any decent man would have stopped. But I can promise you, and I don't want to be a fool with you—I want to make things right.”

  A fool's promise only goes so far, and I want to go further than that with Whitley. I want to make her all the promises in the world. And I want to keep those promises.

  Whitley

  I'm surprised I'm not more shaken up by what happened with Dylan. Maybe it isn't as big of a deal because I'm lying in Logan’s arms, surrounded by the fluid glow of flickering candlelight. His chest is hard and damp from the steam and bubbles caressing his skin. His heart beats strong against his sternum. Badum, badum, badum.

  I tap my fingers against his ribcage, synchronizing to the steady rhythm. It's soothing, and the steady timbre makes me feel safe as it encompasses me in its strength. I sigh, placing a kiss over his heart before laying my head back on its side to hear it again.

  Badum, badum, badum.

  My eyes start to close, and the music from his chest sings me to sleep.

  "Cherry?"

  "Mhmm?" I nestle further in his sculpted chest.

  "Let's get out of the tub. We look like raisins."

  "I like raisins."

  He chuckles, picking me up by my arms and swinging me up and out of the water. His forearm rests under my thighs and his other wraps around my shoulder. The water falls, but some bubbles still linger on us, gravity slowly making the suds travel down our skin as we stand there. I shiver when the cold air hits me, and the pebbles that peak my skin are like sharp needles poking me in every pore.

  Water sloshes as Logan steps out of the tub, soaking the floor mat in front of the tub. Between both of us, it's like a monsoon falling. We stand in silence, waiting a moment until the air dries us. Wordlessly, he exits the bathroom and takes us to bed. My body is still a little damp as he sets me on the black silk sheets.

  "Your skin is flawless. I love the color."

  I snort. "Pale?"

  He shakes his head, running his hands down my sides. "Moon. You remind me of the moon."

  My breath catches as he skims his hands over every inch of pale, alabaster canvas he can find, even rubbing over the sensitive tips of my nipples. "Logan."

  He doesn't say anything in return. Instead, his entire focus is on my body. I don't think it's anything special, but he acts like it's the most spectacular thing he has ever seen. He looks at me like I'm the only woman in the world that has ever captured his attention. While I know that isn't true, I like to think it is.

  "Kiss me, Logan," I whisper, placing my palms against his warm chest.

  Again, he doesn't speak a word. He curls his body over me, lingering his lips an inch away from mine. His hands cup my armpits and adjust my position, allowing the silk to carry me further up the bed. He buries his hands in my hair, gently massaging my scalp as he buries his face in the nook of my shoulder.

  "Logan," I plead, arching my body against his so my nipples press against his.

  He presses a finger against my lips, telling me to hush. I stare up at the ceiling, gasping for air as he moves his lips across my chest, softly kissing my breasts. My fingers grip at his taut, muscular body, as he travels lower and lower, kissing just above my pubic bone, singeing my body with his mouth. I'm the letter, he is the ink, and he is slowly marking me as his own, whether he knows it or not.

  Logan spreads my legs wide, burying his face in my crotch, and inhales. I watch as his eyes roll to the back of his head, like the scent of me is a drug. He growls, and it's my favorite sound he makes. It comes deep within his chest, sending the vibrations resonating through my whole being.

  I toss my head back, and the cool silk plays with my hair, tangling it in a static mess, but I don't care. My hands have a mind of their own and sift through his hair as he runs his lips against the wet folds that hide the gem that sends me to the stars. He hasn't even done anything yet, but my hips thrust into his mouth, begging for a lick, a nibble, something—anything—that sends my body into flames.

  He grips my hips, pressing them down into the bed to stop my movements. The silk sheets stick against my still-wet backside.

  “I'm taking my time,” he whispers.
/>   "I don't want you to. I need you. I need to feel," I whine, squirming against his hold.

  "That's just too damn bad, Cherry. You aren't calling the shots."

  "Logan!" I cry, slamming my fist against the bed. I need him more than anything.

  "The more you fight me, the more I tease you. Like this." He feathers his fingers against my slit, making my clit quiver. "You're so soft, but you know what gets me going? This." He rubs down my slit. "You like that, Cherry?"

  “Yes," I sigh, gripping his own hair in my hands.

  Logan smirks, showing the dimple on the right side of his face before he runs his thumb through my folds. My pussy sucks him in effortlessly, making the wet sound of suction as his thumb skates across my needy lips.

  "Look at you. So wet, Cherry." He spreads one fold, then the other, examining them. "You're so thick. I just want to —" he licks each lip before sucking each one into his mouth, one by one, alternating between each side.

  He nuzzles my folds open more and flattens his tongue, lapping it over my skin. It slides over my clit, and I intake a sharp breath, waiting for him to do it again, but he doesn't. He makes me wait. Instead, he follows the trail of my labia, sucking the hood into his mouth, nibbling the delicate pink, before laying it back down. He keeps descending until he is at my hole. His hands spread my lips a bit wider, so he can get a better look at my dark abyss. Two fingers from each hand spread my lips, opening my hole as far as he can. My body jerks and fire runs through me when he shoves his tongue inside for a second and pulls it back out. He repeats the same gesture a few times, keeping me spread with his fingers as he fucks me with his tongue.

  A tidal wave of sensation floods through every part of me. My legs try to snap closed on instinct when everything becomes too much. Everything is so sensitive, and I love it, but I hate it. It's so much that my body doesn't know what to do. I want to push him away, but at the same time, I want to pull him closer. Logan is the enemy, but he rescued me. He is an ass, but he treats me so well. And he makes me feel so good. He's driving me out of my mind.

  Heat creeps over my skin like a fever. My heart races, pounding against my ribcage to be let out. It feels like it's about to explode.