Page 45 of My Ruthless Neighbor

He stayed with me. After I passed out, he could’ve left, but he didn’t. And I am grateful that he didn’t.

But he saw me puking my guts out.

I cover my face with my hands. Then frown. Pulling back, I take a glance down. I remember wearing a sparkly dress, a crimson wig, and goggles.

I even had it on when River left with her husband. I had no idea how I didn’t think of taking the stupid wig and glasses off while fighting with her husband. He must think I am batshit crazy.

Anyway, my main concern is… I am not in my sparkly dress.

I am wearing the pink flamingo-printed oversized tee I usually sleep in.

He changed my clothes.

My temple throbs, my embarrassment deepening. He shouldn’t have undressed me. What pisses me off more is that I don’t fucking remember any of it.

Agitated and furiously blushing at the thought of him seeing me naked, I jump out of the bed.

“Fuck,” Grabbing my head, I stagger back and fall back on the bed. What the hell did River mix in our cocktails?

My eyes fly open. River. I need to check up on her.

My head begins to pound when I don’t see my phone in the usual spot. At the nightstand. Why do I keep forgetting where I put my things?

My gaze flits across the room and I spot the phone resting on the dresser.

With a deep breath, I try to stand again. I manage to not stumble as I slowly walk toward the dresser.

The battery is dead. Of course! I place it back down and straighten, ready to drag myself to look for the charger. My eyes lift and I jump at my reflection.

Yesterday, River insisted on me wearing makeup. But now my face is bare. I expected mascara stains and smeared lipstick. Because I don’t remember taking it off.

“She can’t stay still even in her sleep.” I hear a deep voice grumble seconds before a warm wet cloth touches underneath my eyes.

I try to open my eyes but still when I feel a gust of air against my ear. “Go back to sleep.”

My brows furrow at the order and open my lips to say something. A finger presses against my mouth. It silences me. But I part my lips and take the digit in my mouth, gently biting it.

Having lost control over my senses, my tongue begins to swirl around the finger, moaning as heat travels through my body.

“Summer.” The male voice is low and much deeper than when he commanded me to go back to sleep.

“Mmm…” I answer, my eyes still shut.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, Summer.” He growls. The low sound hits straight between my thighs.

I want to argue with him. I know exactly what I am doing. I want to taste him. And I want him to shut up and let me do as I wish. It’s been so long since someone touched me, aroused me.

“You taste like candy.”

I hear a clearing of the throat before the finger is pulled away from my mouth.

I moan in frustration but the man begins to trace the wet cloth over my lips and cheeks. The soft caress helps me forget the surroundings and I drift back to sleep again.

“No,” I whisper in horror. “No, please no.” I twist away from my reflection and lean against the dresser. Please tell me this was a nightmare and not a memory. I did not just do that.

My fingertips trace my lips. I balk when my brain replays the memory.

Why would I do that?

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