Page 23 of Doctored Vows

That gets a smile out of her. “I love you, Kita.”

“I love you too… enough I’m willing to share a bed with you.”

She wiggles out of my hold when I drag her toward the untouched bedroom on our right. “The last time we shared a bed, you humped my leg.”

“That was you!”

She pffts me. “Whoever it was, girl-on-girl action isn’t on the agenda this weekend.” She moseys to her bag and removes a small package. “And to make sure it stays off, I bought this for you.”

When she tosses me the box, I catch it. “What is it?”

Not looking at me, she replies, “Sleeping pills.”

I cock a brow before rattling the box. “It doesn’t sound like sleeping pills.”

When she gestures for me to open my unexpected gift, I rip it open like I’ve never received a present. My cheeks turn the color of beets when my sluggish head clues in to what the small silicone device is.

“You bought me a sex toy?” I don’t give her the chance to reply. “How the hell is this supposed to help me sleep?”

Zoya stares at me like I have a second head. “You use it to orgasm yourself into the sexual coma the limp dick on the plane should have placed you in.” With shock keeping me quiet, she moseys my way, her hips swinging, her smile bright. “When was the last time you got a solid eight hours?”

I attempt to lie.

I don’t know why. Zoya sees it from a mile out and squashes it like a bug.

“In that little cabin at Kolomna. Demyan had a peanut for a cock, but made up for what it lacked with a magic tongue and gifted fingers.” She secures the trickle of desire the memory caused by adding, “I heard your screams from the lake, but I had to wait to tease you about it since you were passed out for eight… whole… hours.” She says her final three words as dramatically as you’re imagining.

“I was zonked from the alcohol we drank.”

She gives me her best don’t-fuck-with-me look. “You never drank when we went out. You didn’t want to face the repercussions of underage drinking with your father, and none of the boys we hung out with were stupid enough to give you alcohol. Not if they wanted to live.” She freezes before she cusses under her breath. “I’m an asshole who doesn’t dese?—”

I don’t want to fight, especially since everything she said is gospel, so I interrupt her. “You’re right. I did wonder what his response would have been, which is exactly why I didn’t drink.” I jingle the package in my hand. “But I still don’t see this helping.”

Zoya shrugs. “You won’t know unless you try.” She pulls her ‘luggage’ off the sofa she dumped it on before pulling out the made-up bed beneath. “Look at that, a fancy-schmancy bed solely for me.”

“Remember those words when you’re whining about a sore back in the morning.”

She shoos off my warning with a wave of her hand like a bad back isn’t a regular grumble of hers. Zoya is only twenty-eight, but she has the joints of an eighty-year-old.

“Are you sure you don’t want to share a bed with me?” I raise the package in my hand. “I could test this out in the bathroom. It seems to be my venue of choice of late.”

Zoya looks tempted to nibble on the bait I just threw out but thinks better of it when she spots the dark circles plaguing my eyes. “I’m sure. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Since she seems just as eager for some alone time, I tell her I love her before entering the main bedroom of our suite.

It is as opulent as the rest of the hotel. The king-size bed looks tiny in front of a wall that hides his-and-her walk-in closets. The bathroom is bigger than my entire apartment, and there is a jetted tub next to a double-headed shower.

“You should see the size of the bathroom, Z. It is massive.” I assume I miss Zoya’s reply because my voice is echoing in the bathroom, but I am proven wrong when my return to the living room unearths an empty space. The sheets on the foldout bed aren’t even ruffled. It appears Zoya left the instant I was out of eyesight.

“Maybe she wanted to give you some privacy,” I murmur to myself.

I love Zoya, but I’d rather dig a pen in my ear than hear her in ecstasy.

Perhaps she feels the same.

After showering and setting my alarm clock, I climb into a bed that is as soft as a cloud. It should take me no time to fall asleep. It is almost dawn, I’m mentally exhausted, and my body is acting like I underwent eight grueling rounds with World Champion Jacob Walters. Still, no amount of pleading sees me falling asleep.

I do the trick my sleep therapist suggested when my mother took me to her for advice during my senior year of high school. I pretend each limb in my body is weighed down and heavy from my toes to my neck, but the instant I reach my face, a thought pops into my head, and my muscles loosen up.

---