Page 9 of Bad & Bossy

I’d lost the time. I’d hesitated as the realization of that settled in and stared down at every inch of her.

Holy fuck. Even remembering it now, I knew then that her breasts would be the death of me.

Wrapping my fingers around the little pockets of skin at her hips, I’d used them like handles to hold her steady as I slowly, achingly, sunk myself inside of her.

Warmth invaded my senses like wildfire. Her body had swallowed me whole, her little grunts and mewls only making me harder. She’d stretched for me perfectly, so slick, so desperate. “Oh, fuck,” I'd groaned, bottoming out inside of her as I brought my body over hers again. “You’re going to kill me, Dana.”

Her little giggle had made her insides shake. “Why?”

“Because I’ve never felt something so good in my goddamn life.”

I didn’t know why, didn’t know what had come over me, but the words I’d spoken were true. I’d searched for the same thing in countless women after her, searched for someone that fit to my body like a glove, in the exact way that she had, but none had come close.

She’d ruined me.

I’d lost count of how many times I spilled myself inside of her, on her, in her vicinity. I’d lost count of how many times she shrieked her release, her hands fisted in the pillows or her lips around my length. We’d fucked like animals, insatiable and constant, writhing and needy, far too late into the morning.

And I stored every fucking second that I could in my memory. I didn’t want another blip like I’d had at the start, no, I wanted to remember her in every position, in every vixen-like gasp and cry.

It was easily one of the best nights of my life.

But when I woke that morning with her lightly snoring frame wrapped in my arms, my head pounded. It screamed. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d been hungover in my life, but this one had been one of the worst. I hadn’t drank enough water throughout the night.

I’d slid my arm from under her and slinked out of the bed, careful not to wake her, then stumbled my way down the hall toward the kitchen as I clutched my head. The world had felt shaky, hazy, like I was stuck between reality and dreams. Everything seemed so far away, so without consequence.

I could have taken a Tylenol. I could have drank a glass of water, eaten something greasy, prayed to whatever god would listen to kill the hangover before it could get worse.

But I had taken the easy route.

Shaking fingers had wrapped themselves around a glass and a bottle as if they had a mind of their own. I’d watched from somewhere far back in my mind, barely understanding what I was doing but knowing it wasn’t abnormal for me. Couldn’t be hungover if you’re drunk. I guess that could have been my motto.

For what had felt like the first time in my life but was probably somewhere closer to the two-hundredth, I had slung back a glass of whiskey in one gulp, starting the morning routine.

The burn of it had eased the throbbing in my brain. I remembered looking out the window and noticing how the sun was just starting to crest over the mountains, its rays cutting through the sky like the way the throbbing headache had shot pain streaking across my head. It had to have been somewhere around seven in the morning.

One glass was enough. It should have been enough.

But then it was two.

Then three.

And by the third, I didn’t even hear Dana approaching. The room seemed to sway slightly, but in a pleasantly energized way, not the overwhelming dizziness of being too drunk, and I felt a warmth spreading through me. My hands were steady now, and I was definitely feeling the buzz.

How much had I poured into my glass? I remembered the whiskey almost reaching the rim, a sign of my growing enthusiasm.

“Cole?”

I swear, her voice had echoed. It was beautiful, like a song, and as I’d torn my gaze from my too-full glass and looked at her, she came into focus.

Shit. Even through the buzz, I could tell that she had clocked it, could tell that she saw and internalized the drink in my hand.

“Are you… still drinking?” she’d asked, her brows knitting as she studied me. “Did you not go to bed?”

I’d approached her, doing a little dance. “No. Went to sleep with you. It’s fine.”

“It's not fine.” Her face had contorted, her body retreating. “It’s like, eight in the morning, Cole. Why the fuck are you drinking?”

I'd plastered a smile on my face, mustering up the lie. “It's just one.”

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