Page 46 of Big Daddy

I usually toss and turn all night when I’ve been drinking, but on this particular night, I don’t wake up even once.

chapter sixteen

winnie

By the timeI remember why I hate getting drunk, it’s too late. Waking up with a pressure cooker for a skull, my body is so dehydrated I feel like the fucking Crypt Keeper, my back aching and my thighs itchy—fuuuck this.

“No more getting drunk,” I grumble aloud as I twist around in my bed, reaching for my phone on my nightstand. Except there’s no nightstand. Just bed. More bed. Lots and lots of bed.

I crack an eyeball open.

The room is so white, it feels like staring into the morning sun.

Is this heaven?

I blink, this time opening both eyes, willing the fuzziness and sleepiness to fade. But things are still blurry and god, so white. White everywhere.

Oh my god. I’m dead and this is heaven. I got alcohol poisoning. I got alcohol poisoning while trying to drink away my shame for being a horrible friend and now I’m dead.

Heaven’s gates open, and someone appears. I blink again but can’t seem to shake the fuzziness from my vision. The blurred figure moves toward me.

“God?” I breathe, my heart racing. Does God wake you up when you fall asleep in heaven?

The bed dips and a large hand comes to rest on my hip, squeezing it. I glance down to see the covers have shifted, and his hand rests directly on my body, halfway on my bare skin, halfway on my panties.

Suddenly my vision clears as the holy hand sweeps away the fog. “Good morning,” Quincey greets. I jolt up in bed and look around.

“Oh my god,” I breathe. “Am I alive? Oh my god, I’m alive. I’m either alive or you’re God.”

A smirk. The first I’ve truly seen. Or maybe I’m dreaming it?

“I’m not God, and yes, you’re alive.” He strokes a hand down my thigh, setting off a buzzing in my core. “This isn’t heaven, it’s a guest room.”

After some ungraceful floundering, I sit up and manage to get my bearings. “I could hardly see. The whole room was white.” I rub sleep from my eye with a closed fist as Big Daddy watches me. “I thought I was dead and in heaven.”

He glares.

I love his glare.

I don’t think you're supposed to love a glare, but I do.

“I guess that’s dumb though because four—well, three because I barfed at least one up—Long Island iced teas won’t give you fatal alcohol poisoning,” I explain, smoothing my hands through my hair, the curls tangled and frizzy. I must look like utter crap. Still his angry eyes rake over me. He’s already dressed in a suit and tie, his dark hair the usual shiny coif of handsome heaven that it always is. “But then again, I should’ve known it wasn’t heaven because—” I lean toward him, lowering my voice.“I’m not going there.” I point to the mattress. “Downthereis where the girls who give head in the backseat of a Camero to the hot teacher during her prom go.” I dance my eyebrows. “You know?”

With a growl, he storms the bed, pinning me to my back on the mattress. Through his slacks, he’s hard, pressing against my thigh as his minty breath dusts my lips. “Do you think I want to hear about all the slutty things you’ve done?”

I reach between us and grip his cock. My mouth waters. “As much as I wanted to know how many years of experience you have, I bet.”

Our angry eyes idle, and I can’t help but envision cartoon sparks sputtering off between us. “Is this how you’d wake me up if I lived here? Hmm? Are you a morning grind roomie?”

He grinds against me, a heated and angry growl rolling around his chest. “You canceled on Brielle for him,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “And he’s just a friend.”

With his cock in my hand, I whisper against his lips, “Wingman, remember?”

“You’re a woman, not a wingman,” he says, gripping my chin, angling my mouth to his. He kisses me as he bats my hand from his cock, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of my panties.

“Are you saying I can’t go out with my friends?” I ask, trying as hard as I can to pretend I’m unaffected by the way the pads of his fingers circle my engorged clit.

“You can go out with any female friends you please,” he says, nipping at my lips as he slides his middle finger inside me. My legs nearly tremble, his touch feels so good. “But no men. Not that he was a man. Men don’t leave women alone, drunk, with no money.”

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