𝘿𝙀𝘾𝙀𝙋𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 • 𝙇𝙍𝙃

19. jump on his dick

JUMP ON HIS DICK

The last thing Lila expected when she woke up was to be in Luke's bed, in a shirt she doesn't own, with barely any memory of the night before.

If this is what a hangover felt like, Lila was content never drinking again. However, seeing as her hangover brought her to a certain someone's bed, maybe she isn't entirely opposed to the idea of letting loose every now and then.

The piercing ache in her head only worsened at the questions she had about last night.

Her silent pleas for help didn't go unnoticed, for the answer walked straight through the bathroom door, shirtless with sweatpants hanging low on his waist, damp curls slicked back and skin glistening with the remnants of his shower.

Okay Lila, you're either dreaming or in heaven.

"Thank fuck you're awake. I thought you were dead and I didn't particularly fancy the idea of having a corpse on my freshly washed sheets."

The blond waited for Lila to literally say anything, but she remained sat up in his bed with the look of a person suffering from amnesia on her face.

"If you're expecting a 'good morning' and a forehead kiss, you're shit outta luck. Advil's downstairs in the cabinet."

"I got drunk." She gapes up at the boy. "Someone had to have taken care of me last night, was it you?"

Lila would've assumed it was Calum, though she recalls him being more drunk than she was. Plus, why would he have put her in Luke's bed?

Her entire body was on edge. Partially from the pounding headache and partially from the missing chunks of memory. Lila didn't like this feeling at all, and her mind dared go to the absolute gutters about what could have happened last night.

"You assume I gave up my night to play house with you?" The boy snickers. "You were wasted on Calum's floor when we got back and wouldn't stop complaining about how uncomfortable and cold you were so I brought you here to get you to shut up."

Lila looked down in embarrassment, her cheeks flushing at the thought of her being a needy drunk that Luke of all people had to witness.

Lord knows what else happened, and she was dreading hearing the recall from Calum. Before she could look up again, she noticed the profuse amount of black material clothing her body. The shirt was manly, oversized and most definitely not hers.

"Is this your shirt?"

"Would that be a bad thing?" The blond asks, getting a rose out of Lila's inability to piece last night together.

A startling realization rams into her like a train. "I'm in your bed, in your clothes and you're not wearing a shirt. Did we..."

Luke didn't even attempt to hold back a throaty laugh. "Are you sore?"

Confused Lila moves her limbs a little. "No."

"Then there's your answer. We didn't fuck." The smirk on Luke's face grew wider as he watched Lila practically fall apart from words. Breathing out a chuckle, he turned to his closet to locate a shirt.

She climbs out of Luke's bed, clenching at the end of the shirt between her fingers. "So this is your shirt? You promise we didn't do anything?"

Luke's eyes track the movement of her hands, staring intently at them. A reminder of her soft touch squeezes its way into his brain.

She had delicate hands with graceful fingers, clearly those of an artist. Luke's rough, calloused hands were dull in comparison, for they were the hands of a killer. Nothing gentle or sweet about them.