I study his face carefully. He truly is a handsome man. It’s too bad he talks…and dresses himself…and shaves himself.
My eyes move down his entire large body, which is completely uncovered right now. He’s lying on his back in all his naked glory. His body belongs in one of those firefighter calendars. He must live in the gym.
I gently trace his tattoos of the rose and the matching name with my fingertips. Who is she? I have a strange urge to know. I don’t know why I care and why I have a pang of jealousy for her. Who is the woman who was so important to him that he forever marked his body with her name?
As I consider the tattoo, memories begin to flash through my mind. It hits me that we were in a tattoo parlor last night. Panic sets in, and I quickly scan my body, not seeing anything. I jump out of bed to find a mirror. Ouch, I’m sore. My pussy took apounding. Cheez, walking hurts. I might need a soak in that giant tub of ours today.
I approach the mirror and immediately check my lower back. Phew. No tramp stamp. Nothing on my ass either.
As I lift my left hand and notice a bandage, it hits me hard, like I just stepped out in front of a moving bus. Oh. Fuck. I got a tattoo on my finger. What was it? I can’t remember.
Daylen starts to stir in the bed. Shit, I don’t want to be here when he wakes up. I don’t regret sleeping with him—the sex was incredible—but I won’t be able to handle it if he wakes up and I see regret in his eyes. By the time we reached his room and got into things, he was undoubtedly more trashed than I was.
I catch a fleeting glance of my face in the mirror. I guess this is the official raccoon look, complete with smeared makeup andI just got the shit fucked out of mehair.
Not having time to fix anything, I slip back into my undergarments and dress, grab my purse and shoes, and then quietly exit his room. As soon as I do, I see Sulley exiting Vance’s room with the samejust-fuckedlook as me.
We stare at each other in wide-eyed disbelief.
I quickly tell her how trashed I was and lie that I’m disgusted over the fact that I allowed Daylen to touch me. I’m not disgusted like I should have been. I loved every second of it.
She eyes me skeptically, but she’s just as embarrassed as me so we agree to never speak of this night again. Ever.
We make our way down the hallway with a slight case of the giggles, given how ridiculous we look. We walk into our suite, where the most shocking thing happens. Palmer is standing in the kitchen, downing a gallon of water, looking the same as us with messed-up hair, smudged makeup, and still in her dress from last night.
Sulley and I burst out laughing, but Palmer is mortified. We make a group pact to act like last night never happened.
I beg for the first shower, and they acquiesce. Turning on the water, I remove my dress and undergarments. I’m able to moreclosely examine my naked body in the mirror, and I see marks everywhere.Everywhere.
I have hickeys and bite marks all over my breasts and the surrounding areas. The same goes for my neck and shoulders. I also have a fully formed necklace of a bruise from all the choking. Tracing it with my fingers, I smile at the memory of how rough he was with me. Turning around, I can see my ass is marked, as are my inner thighs. Man, he worked me over good. I shiver at the memories flooding through my brain.
Exhaling a deep breath, I look up at the ceiling. Why? Why did the best sex of my life have to come from him? The man I love to hate.
My eyes find the bandaged fingers again. I start to remove the gauze. As soon as the final strip is gone, I suck in a breath. Holy shit. I got a tattoo of his fucking name on my ring finger. Why would I do that?
Like a light switch was just turned on, the walk from the club to the hotel starts to come into focus. Indian Elvis singing to us before and after wedding vows.
Wedding vows!
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
I frantically dump the contents of my purse on the vanity, with a few smaller, insignificant items falling into the sink with a clank. Ignoring the fact that all ten condoms I had packed are gone, the vanity is quickly littered with my makeup and a bunch of weird novelty-looking items. One is a mug with a photo of Daylen and me smiling at an altar. An actual altar. With shaking hands, I make my way through everything. There’s one of those old school keychains that you look through and there’s usually a picture at the end of it. I look, and it’s an image of Daylen holding me like a bride. We’re smiling while happily lifting up our ring-clad fingers at the camera. And that’s when I see them sitting at the bottom of the sink, too big to get swallowed up by the drain. Two fake gold wedding bands. I have a vague recollectionof taking them off to get the tattoos and then dropping them into my purse.
My heart rate must be two hundred beats a minute. I clutch it. I feel like I’m having a heart attack. Did we really get married? Did I marry Daylen Humblecut?Holy fuck.
I lean over, placing my hands on the vanity. I have to take several long, calming breaths in an attempt to rein myself in. I’m completely freaking out. This can’t be happening. There’s no way it was a legal marriage. We were trashed. They can’t let drunk people get married, can they? There’s no consent in that.
I need to talk to him. Maybe I’m misremembering. Yes, I must be confused from all the liquor. Like a nightmare you wake up thinking was true.
I’m going to shower and then go talk to Daylen. Maybe his memory will be better than mine.
I scrub my body clean and wash my hair as fast and efficiently as I can. Throwing on a T-shirt and shorts, I realize it doesn’t cover all my marks. I slip into a hoodie over my T-shirt and throw my wet hair into a messy bun, not remotely caring what I look like.
Walking back out into the living room, I put on a mask of calmness as I tell them I’m going to run to the lobby for some coffee. They’re both too mortified to question why I would do that when we have a coffee machine in the room.
Sprinting down the hallway toward Daylen’s room, I pound on the door. It doesn’t take long for him to open it in his cock boxer briefs with his hair sticking up all over the place. He looks as shocked as I feel.
He points toward Vance’s door and then brings his finger to his lips, indicating I should be quiet. I nod in agreement and follow him into his bedroom, where he closes the door behind me.
