Page 93 of Dare To Live

“Oh no, no, no.”

I tap on it.

I’m lying on the bed, the phone propped up by something. A pillow? I’m naked, my hand between my spread legs as my fingers slip in and out of my pussy.

“Eli … ohhh fuck me. Fuck me like you hate me.”

I’m rocking from side to side, writhing as I touch myself.

“Eli … yessshh—” The words cut off as I roll off the side of the bed. There’s a yelp, followed by a thud. A second later, the video ends.

Oh my god, why did I send this to him?

Not sexy!

Cringing with embarrassment, I toss my cell onto the mattress and cover my face with my hands.

Fragmented memories stir.

We were in the back of the car. I kissed him.

I groan.

I begged him to fuck me. He said no.

I’m not sure if I should be happy about his rejection or disappointed. Maybe having me sprawled all over him, begging for his cock, put him off.

The fact he hasn’t replied to any of my drunk rambling makes it worse.

I throw off the covers and climb out of bed. My legs feel like Jello, and my head is pounding. My suitcase is on the floor, and I rummage around inside it until I find some painkillers. I swallow two with some water from the bathroom tap.

No matter how bad I feel, I need to get to the airport. Time is ticking.

I take a quick shower, then dress in comfortable jeans and a sweater. I twist my hair up into a bun and secure it with a band. There are no messages from Eli when I finally summon up the courage to check my cell.

What am I expecting? For him to tease me over what I sent him.

I cringe again, recalling now I told him I wanted to have sex to repay him for dinner. I’m such an idiot. God knows what he thinks of me now.

“Focus, Arabella,” I mutter, and drag on my jacket. “You need to get to the airport.”

With one final check of the room, I ensure I have everything, dig a pair of dark glasses out of my bag and slip them onto my nose. I loop the strap of my bag over my shoulder and then grab the handle of my suitcase.

I take a deep breath just before I reach the door, and brace myself for an uncomfortable journey. At least the painkillers have kicked in, and my head is no longer pounding. I just feel sick at the thought of what Eli must be thinking.

I stop at the reception desk to call an Uber, and I check my phone again. Still no response from Eli.

Is that a good thing? Or bad? Should I message him and apologize?

I climb into the Uber when it pulls up in front of me.

What if he’s decided one night is enough?

He didn’t make any mention of seeing me again after he found out I was going back to L.A.

I start to type out a text.

Me: I was drunk.

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