Calla nods her consent wordlessly, kicking her ankleswide and watching as I gently work the damp washcloth up one inner thigh, across her pink, swollen core and down the other thigh.
“I should go pee,” she mutters, eyes blinking slowly, without making an attempt to move.
“Later,” I hear myself say, banding my arm around her waist, scooping her arse to sit in the cradle of my naked thighs. I inhale shakily, the scent of Calla’s coconut-y shampoo wafting across my nostrils. “Just stay right here for another minute.”
Chapter 7
Blake
So hot. Too hot. Why am I—
There’s someone in my bed.
Holy shit.
Cracking open my eyes, I peer over at the lump beside me, wrapped up in my blanket, taking the majority of it, except for a small corner, for herself.
In fact, I realise as I stretch out a long limb, connecting with a much smoother leg than my own, she’s hogging ninety percent of the bed too – her arms and legs spread out like a starfish. The only part of her I can make out is her long blonde hair; locks mussed up against my spare pillow.
I try to swallow but my mouth is as dry as the desert. Not to mention disgusting tasting stale breath mixed with an unidentifiable aftertaste of alcohol.
What the hell was I drinking last night?
Beer—definitely beer—and…
I wince to myself as I recall the burn of tequila searing my throat, my lips twitching at the phantom memory of the tart wedge of lime coating my tastebuds—
My memory kicks into fifth gear, images of last night beginning to sprint through my consciousness.
The bar.
The hen party.
Dancing.
Salt. Tequila shots. Lime.
Somebody’s lips on mine.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes.
Calla.
Calla.
Parts of our journey home are a little hazy, mainly the taxi ride, but I recall perfectly clear what we got up to as soon as we fell through my apartment door.
The filthy things I said, and the way Calla’s body responded.
Her plush lips wrapped oh-so-sweetly around my cock, the tight squeeze of her around my fingers, around my length, the drip of her slick coating my heavy balls…
Ignoring the kick of my cock swelling against my inner thigh, I tense my abdomen, carding my hands through my hair as I sit upright.
God, last night…
My cock bobs against my lower stomach reminding me just how much my body would like a repeat. I’m not even going to try and deny it. Why should I?
Scrubbing at the crust of sleep coating my eyes with the heels of my hands, I glide my fingers upwards into my hair, fisting the short strands as I contemplate what to do next.
