TWELVE
Death would be preferable to moving. Leo lay very still, but his head throbbed as if some very bad drummer from an ’80s acid rock band lived inside his brain and decided at that moment to practice his skills.
He tried to open his eyes, but the room spun in a lazy circle, and he quickly closed them, not wanting to get sick. He could stay in bed and suffer silently, at least for the morning.
God, what the fuck happened last night to set him off the rails?
Carefully, he rolled to his side, hoping that would ease the pain in his skull. A foot hit his.
That wasn’t his foot. Leo stiffened.
Who was in the bed with him?
He cracked open his eyes to see a lump under the covers. The man’s head rested on the pillow, mouth open, hair tumbled in messy waves around his forehead. Leo’s heart banged hard.
What the hell?
The naked foot brushed against his again, and Morgan Cantrell shifted closer to him.
Shit.
What the hell did he do last night, and God help him if the answer was Morgan Cantrell. Leo wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he’d had sex with the man while he was so drunk.
He reached under the covers and breathed a sigh of relief when he found himself still fully dressed. If he and Morgan had fucked, he wouldn’t have his clothes on.
That didn’t answer the question—why in the ever-loving fresh hell was Morgan Cantrell in his bed?
Slightly more awake now, Leo lay flat on the pillow, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together the disaster of the previous evening. Remnants of conversations fluttered around the misty edges of his half-pickled brain. He recalled being angry with Peter…being outside in the backyard…sitting with Morgan…
Oh, crap.
He sneaked a peek at the sleeping Morgan.
He’d kissed him.
And not just a kiss.
A kiss so intense, so fucking glorious, it was like coming up out of the water after being unable to breathe. It all came roaring back to Leo then. The hungry, greedy desire to possess Morgan. How could he think he’d forget the delicious taste of Morgan, like honey and chocolate, or the touch of his raspy, hot skin, the memory of which even now made his dick ache. Leo could neither deny nor forget his desperate craving to seal his mouth to Morgan’s and feel those soft lips yielding to him. Taste the wet sweep of his tongue.
He’d exploded and kissed Morgan like a ferocious beast, wanting to drown in him, crawl inside the man and lock himself away. And Morgan, God help him, had responded at first, shocking Leo. That sweetness had been his for only a moment before Morgan pulled away from him.
So what was Morgan Cantrell doing in his bed?
First, he needed to take a piss and wash his face. Gingerly, he slid off the bed, and holding on to the wall, made his way into the bathroom, where he decided the smartest thing to do to try and clear the cobwebs from his brain was to take a shower.
Alternating hot and cold water woke him up, but unfortunately, it was to the fact that something had taken up residence and died inside his head. That, and Morgan was still asleep in his bed. Leo dried himself off and returned to the bedroom to get dressed.
“I’m surprised you’re awake and it’s not even noon.”
Holding a pair of boxers, Leo whirled around. Too late, he remembered he was stark naked, and he quickly donned the underwear, but he did catch Morgan sneaking a look at his crotch but quickly averting his eyes. Leo’s lips twitched, but he said nothing.
“I’m surprised you’re here in the first place.”
Face flaming, Morgan threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“You’re welcome for bringing you home in one piece. But don’t worry. I won’t be in your way for too long. I’m going to use your bathroom and then go home.”
Careful not to move his eyes too quickly, Leo sought out the digital clock at his bedside and winced. Ten o’clock?Shit.
