Opening my eyes is harder than it should be. Number one, it hurts. Number two, my eyes feel like they’re full of sand and grit. I blink a few times at the unfamiliar ceiling. The weight pressing against my stomach shifts, and every cell in my body freezes.
No wonder I’m hot. I’m not alone in this bed.
Don’t panic, I tell myself. Except, now that my brain is coming online, I’m pretty sure I’m naked, and that isdefinitelya semi-hard dick pressed against my hip.
Oh god.Oh god. I have no memory of meeting a guy last night, which means I could look over and find myself sleeping next to some man who looks like the Crypt Keeper or believes theearth is flat. I don’t get drunk often, because drunk Mira makes bad choices. Drunk Mira is not to be trusted.
A soft groan has my heart rate spiking, and even though Ireallydon’t want to look at the naked man snuggling against my equally naked body in his sleep, there’s no way to avoid it.
“Don’t be eighty years old,” I whisper. Then I turn my head—and my heart stops beating.
Oh no.Oh, fucking shitballs. Curse you, drunk Mira. This is bad.
The naked body and the semi-hard dick pressing against me don’t belong to a decrepit old man. They don’t belong to some idiot who believes the earth is flat—at least, he better not. No, the golden skin, muscular thighs, washboard abs, and broad shoulders of the man beside me belong to someone I know very well.
Someone whose dick I should never feel pressed against my right thigh.
Someone whose dick will be ripped off by a very angry older brother if said older brother ever finds out about this.
Griffin’s golden hair is an adorable mess. He looks peaceful and young with his features relaxed in sleep. And his dick. His dick feels huge.
Oh god. Nope. I cannot think about Griffin Wright’s penis or how it feels pressed against me. And I definitely can’t acknowledge the way heat is pooling low in my belly.
I need to get out of here. To extricate myself from his arms, find my clothes, and go back to my room before anyone realizes I’m missing. Except, it’s not just Griffin’s arm that’s wrapped around my waist; he’s also got one leg hooked around mine.
So stupid, Mira.
I slap my forehead and wince when something hard connects with my skin. What now? Bringing my left hand in front of myface, the world seems to slow as it tilts on its axis. My brain stutters, threatening to go offline.
This must be a dream. A really weird, alcohol-induced dream. I’ll wake up any second now. And to help that along, I grab my cheek and pinch.
Motherfucker, that hurt.So, not a dream. Oh shit.
Oh. Shit.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. Because there’s no way the plain gold band on my ring finger means what I think it means. Right?
My breathing picks up, and it becomes harder and harder to suck in a lungful of air. Panic is a maelstrom inside of me, swirling, tumultuous, and wild. I’m naked, in bed,wearing an ugly wedding band, with Griffin Wright. When his left hand twitches against my stomach, it takes every ounce of my resolve to lower my eyes to said hand. Maybe if he’s not wearing a matching band, I just did some drunken jewelry shopping? Totally plausible. I’m sure that’s it.
Except, when I look down at Griffin’s long fingers splayed across my belly, that idea becomes much less likely. He’s wearing a matching gold band. It’s thicker than mine, but just as plain and ugly. So, either we both did some drunken jewelry shopping and both have absolutely garbage taste, or we…
Slamming my eyes shut, I try to deepen my breathing. I’m getting lightheaded, and the nausea churning in my gut is no longer simply alcohol related.
What happened last night?
I try to recall anything, but all I get are little flashes of moments. Griffin and I walking hand-in-hand down the Strip. Going to the fountain. Dolly Parton?
Griffin shifts beside me, a soft, nonsensical murmur puffing out from between his full lips. Lips which, as he curls farther into me, end up pressed against my neck. Heat flares low in my belly,and when his hand slips down my stomach, the heat turns into a flame. As his fingers glide against my lower belly, which hollows out, I can’t hold back a gasp.
“Mmm.” Griffin’s dick hardens against my hip and his face nuzzles my neck. It’s like his body is waking up before his head. Well, his big head. The little one is wide awake and more than ready to start the day. His lips brush against my neck and his fingers flex, getting dangerously close to my pussy. If they slide a little farther down, he’ll feel how wet I am right now.
Bad Mira. Now is not the time to be turned on. This is not a sexy situation. This is a disaster of epic proportions.
Kinda like Griffin’s dick. The epic proportions, I mean. Because holy crap, that thing just keeps growing.
And then his long fingers do start to slip lower, and I let out a strangled squeak.
Griffin’s body goes still. His muscles tense against me and his wandering hand halts its journey. When he pulls his face away from my neck, I feel an idiotic stab of loss.
