It was 5am when Kaya busted opened the door to her flat. She'd jumped out of her sleep and had no idea where she was. There was a cute boy rolled on his side, his bare back facing her. Kaya couldn't remember much but the soreness between her legs and the scratches on the guys back were enough to go by. She had decided to bolt quickly, not wanting to deal with the consequences of The Morning After.
She dropped her keys on the table. The sound triggered another head pounding and suddenly, she realised everything hurt: her head, her stomach, her feet, her arms, even her fucking eyes.
Her flatmate and best friend, Lacey (previously used to be known as Fat Lacey, but was now just Lacey) rounded the kitchen island. She was wrapped up in a velvet dressing gown and looked like she'd had an early night, not like she had partied the shit out of yesterday night.
"You bitch!" She seethed. Lacey's bubblegum voice was not the first thing you'd want to hear when you were trying to nurse a hangover.
"You ditched me last night. With freakin' Simon. If I had known he was going, I never would have gone. Like fuck you K, do you honestly think I'm that despo?"
Kaya closed her eyes slowly. "Yes."
Lacey shrugged. "Fairs. So, tell me how was cock? It musta been something by the way you limped in here."
Had she been limping? Shit, she hadn't even noticed.
Lacey leaned forward and placed a tentative hand on Kaya's head. "You look like shit. What did you take and how much did you drink?"
Kaya shook her head I don't know, then nodded her yes oh wait I do know then shrugged, unsure what her viable answer could even be. "Lace...did I...? What happened last night?" Her head was a grey mass of fog with only very small fractions of images breaking through to her. "I didn't bang Lance, did I?"
"You mean . . ." Lacey's brows rose nearly to her hairline. "You don't remember anything at all?"
Kaya shook her head no, but even as she did, things were slowly starting to break through. A flash of a smile. Low taper fade brown hair. Whispered words in her ear. Chills raking up and down her spine. A small pill placed on her tongue. Warm hands trailing up her thigh. A shot or three. Butterflies in her stomach. Lips, wet and urgent on hers. Her back against a bathroom door. Then a bedroom door. Then a bed. Her hands wound in thick hair. Hot breaths. Cool tongues. Digging fingers. Fullness. Pain. Pleasure.
"Oh, God!" Kaya covered her mouth.
"What?" Lacey screeched. "You can't say 'oh, God' and not elaborate! I'm not good at guessing games."
"The sex last night. No—not sex." She met Lacey's eyes. "Crazy hot slam-me-against-doors-barely-made-it-to-the-bed-leaving-me-unable-to-speak-or-even-remember-sex."
Lacey challenged her. "If the sex was that good, you'd remember."
"I don't know! I mean, I've never . . . Come up blank like this before. I'd had a couple drinks before I took the LSD. Then everyone in the rave started to look like Lance but I don't think he . . ." Kaya lowered her voice to a whisper when she realised even talking normally was just too painful . "Ah, shit, I don't know."
Lacey's eyes widened and she reached out and smacked Kaya dead around the face. "You whore! What's our number one rule? Never forget the cock we take, the cock we suck or the cock we fuck. That way us girls can secretly remember good ole' cock number four when we're busy doing cock number nine." She waggled her brows like it was common knowledge.
"What about the guys you plused?" Lacey then asked. "You know, you said they were part of our party so we could get the purple stamp. The one for free shots."
"I—" Kaya looked down at her hand, the faint purple smiley face of the stamp was still etched into her skin. She blinked and tried to focus on the fragments in her mind, but none of it became clear. "I—I don't know." She glanced up and saw Lacey's excitement falter. "I don't remember anything except for a few flashes."
"Well, who was it? I only saw the back of him before he practically whisked you away. Like in the movie Cinderelli."
Kaya was definitely hungover. Normally, she'd bitch slap Lacey round the face for getting Cinderella so wrong.
But Kaya's stomach was too busy filling up with butterflies (the horny and uneasy type) once more as she realized she had no face or name to one of her best fucks except the way his voice made her body hum when he whispered, "God, I want you," in her ear. She shivered with the barely there memory.
"I don't know." Her heart beat hard against her ribs, the action only exacerbating the flutters in her stomach. "I have no idea who it was. I don't even know if we used— Oh, God, Lacey! What if I got a fuckin STD . . ."
"It's okay," Lacey said, and placed her hand on Kaya's back. "We pop down to the sex investigators, they give you a little inspection, we can ask for Sally -I know her well- then boom no nasty sex shit to worry about."
Kaya had had sex and didn't know the guys name or his face or if he'd had enough sense to sheath himself before completely destroying her pussy. Oh God, even though a part of her brain couldn't remember much, another part was telling her that she'd had the best sex of her life— and she could barely remember. Shit, she didn't even bother to get his number. Tears nearly welled up her in eyes at the loss of such good cock.
The sound of a flushing toilet, made Kaya turn to her best friend. But Lacey wouldn't look at her. Not even as Simon greeted her with a wave and wrapped his arms around Lacey's middle.
"I think we're all surprised that I managed to tap this again." Simon said honestly, his eyes resting on Lacey's chest (the only thing to have not disappeared since her weight loss).
Lacey rolled her eyes when she caught Kaya's look of genuine shock. "I know, I know. Simon was readily available and I'm a cock-a-holic. Do the maths, babe. I hate numbers."
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From the pounding in his head, Richard figured opening his eyes would be a very, very bad thing. At the moment, his stomach felt fine, but there was no telling how it would feel once he let himself come to full consciousness. Shit. Why the hell did he let Ethan talk him into doing those shots before heading out to the rave? Drinking was one of his top ten favorite things to do -actually, it wasn't the buzz he favoured, it was the effects of the buzz that had him picking up a bottle at any opportunity.
Well, at least today was Sunday, no work appointments. No submissions due in. His day off to just...piss about.
Speaking of piss, his bladder was about to burst. With a groan, he shifted in bed, his arm brushing along the side of something very warm.
What the hell?
Opening one eye, he squinted into the bright room, his gaze falling on a sleeping figure on the opposite side of the bed. Her black hair draped across the pillow and tickling his nose. He swatted it out of the way and sat up, wondering who in the hell he'd taken to bed, since he couldn't see her face and therefore had no idea.
As he looked around the room, he recognised the room immediately. Yellow curtains covered the window and an abundance of makeup and hair stuff covered a small table near the door. Yep, this was definitely Becca's room. Shit. He was at Alice's house.
The room spun a little, but not bad enough to nauseate him. Richard glanced down at himself. Fully clothed. Huh. That was interesting. He hadn't expected that. Perhaps he hadn't done anything with the chick beside him. He hoped not.
On the bright side, he at least remembered staring up at the red lace thong of an unidentifiable blonde who had guided them up the stairs into the containment club. She had saved him and Ethan from queuing up for the containment club by saying they were plus 1s. She'd done the lads a favour but she hadn't dwelled on it. She pretty much left them to it and ditched them to find the bar. He'd even awarded her his best smile, asking her to stay and he'd felt the heat in her stare as she smiled and told him she needed to get at least eight drinks down her before she'd ever consider him. Yeah, she talked tough. But the desire was clear. She had wanted him.
With a groan, he took in a deep breath, trying to slow the spinning in his head. The girl beside him rustled and let out a yawn.
"Thank God," she grumbled. "You took up the entire bed you fat bastard."
Richard glanced back and focused on the girl's face. Becca. Becca Colby. His ex-girlfriends sister.
"Oh good lord," he said aloud. This couldn't get more gross. "Tell me we didn't."
Becca looked up, the look in her eyes telling him she knew exactly what had him cursing, and scowled before snuggling back into her covers. "In your dreams, Rich."
Relief washed over him. Perhaps he hadn't completely screwed up his morality by boning his ex's sister. "So we definitely didn't—"
Her eyes flew open. "Fuck you, Rich. I wasn't going to let you fuck AND sleep in my room then allow you to hog my bed and make me sleep on the frickin couch."
Richard grinned and rose from the bed. "I'll buy you some new sheets, shall I?"
Becca snorted and flipped him off. "Next time, use Alice's bed. It would drive her through the roof. Plus, unlike her, I'm not interested in sharing my bed with any guy. Although the girl that snuck out of here...yeah, I'd do her."
He must have come here in his completely obliterated state, picked up the spare key from under the mat, found no one was in anyway and accidentally led himself into Becca's room rather than Alice's.
Richard stole out of the room in search of the bathroom. He found it a few doors down and shut himself inside. As he walked over to the toilet, he caught his reflection in the mirror. His hair was a complete mess, and not the type of mess he got from sleeping. It was the kind of mess that looked like someone had had their hands in it, and they weren't just admiring its softness. Richard frowned and reached up to fix his hair, noticing a painful pull. Wincing, he touched his shoulder and felt something raised underneath. He pulled his shirt over his head and turned. On the back of his shoulder were red welts down his back.
Richard leaned forward and squinted into his reflection. Damn it. There was no mistaking what those were caused from. Scratches. Caused by Fingernails.
He'd have to question Becca before he left about the girl who had snuck out. He had to hand it to her. It was usually the other way around for him.
Richard moved away from the mirror and stepped up to the toilet. With a yawn, he undid the snap and lowered his zipper, pulling his boxer briefs down in the front to relieve himself.
It didn't take more than a few seconds for him to notice something. When he pulled his fingers away, they were rather sticky. The type of sticky from something that might be expelled after a very nice dream. The evidence was clear. He had came. A lot.
"Shit," he said, and raised a hand to his hair, staring at himself in disbelief. "Who was she?" he asked his offending appendage, as if it could answer. Of course it didn't, so Richard tried to remember what happened.
There was nothing.
His mind was a complete blank. He thought maybe he remembered a laugh, soft and addicting. A flash of blonde. Hell, he couldn't be sure though. His head was full of fog. But the evidence spoke for itself. He'd had a lot of fun last night.
Shaking the thought from his head, he finished up in the bathroom, cleaned himself off with a few wet wipes he managed to find in the cabinet above the toilet, and went to wash his hands. When he finished, he shut the bathroom door closed behind him. The moment he did, an image overtook him.
The flash of blonde from earlier became clearer, and there was a lot of it, flowing straight but with volume. All from a head that was thrown back against the door. A sun kissed throat. Legs clad in dark jeans wrapped around his waist. Squeezing him, enveloping him. His hands digging into warm flesh. Nails in his shoulder. Pain. Pleasure. So soft. So warm. So, so good. The best.
Shit, he thought again as the realisation crashed over him. Richard stumbled back until his back hit the opposite wall. He stared wide-eyed at the door, the very door in which he'd had some girl pinned the night before, his heart crashing in his chest. So not only had he had some of the best sex of his life, he was pretty uncertain as to whether he'd ever see the blonde ever again.
When he eventually made his way back to his own home, he found his roommate (who also happened to be his only friend) Ethan sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, a protein shake sitting in front of him and his face buried in a newspaper.
"Well, good morning, Sunshine. Earth says hello."
Richard ignored him and sat opposite him on the island, glaring at him impatiently.
"Touchy, touchy." Ethan got up and pulled a plate out the oven and sat it in front of Ethan. It was a Full English breakfast. He must have been keeping it warm for him.
Richard groaned and lowered his head to rest on his crossed arms. The pounding felt like someone was using his skull for drum practice. "I feel like shit. Why'd we have all those pre-drinks?"
"The pre-drinks weren't the problem...and you know it." Ethan contended as he pushed a bottle of water and some Ibuprofen across the counter. "Kind of rude of you to be popping pills in front of someone who used to be addicted to Xanax, don'tcha' think, Rich?"
"Well you're over it now, aren't you?" Rich grumbled, fussing with the packet of pain relievers, pushing out the tablets through the foil film. He dumped two into his palm and downed them both with water. The liquid hit his stomach and immediately made it start to churn. He grimaced and laid his head back down.
"Not exactly. Im just glad you had fun. Especially during the latter portion of the night."
Richard peered over at Ethan, still keeping his head down. "What do you mean?"
"You know." He picked up a knife and fork, placing them in Rich's hands, guiding them to the full plate of food. "With a sexy blonde. Dude, I didn't think you'd ever come up for air." Ethan got up and walked across the kitchen to deposit his half drank protein shake in the sink. "I've never seen you so all over a girl, Rich."
Rich felt the heat drain from his face. Most of the time he'd maintained a cold facade around Ethan. Making it seem as though girls constantly threw themselves at him rather than the other way around. This blonde had shot the facade to hell, clearly.
"Hey, man," Ethan said, and moved closer.
"You good?"
Richard drew in a breath and forced his rising panic to stop. "Fine. I'm just . . . I don't remember much." And what he did remember he couldn't stop thinking about.
"Damn," Ethan said. "How the hell much did you drink?"
"I have no idea." Richard rubbed his hands over his face. "Tell me, though, what do you mean I was all over this chick?" He had a pretty good idea what happened upstairs at his ex girlfriends house, but wondered what he'd done at the containment club
"You really don't remember?"
"I thought I'd already made that clear," Richard grumbled, his annoyance finally breaking through. "Sorry...it's just. I think I had the best sex of my life and I don't even remember it."
"I hear that," Ethan said. "Well, I meant what I said. I've never seen you lipse a girl so hard. You were like practically dry humping her in the middle of the club."
"Yeah." Richard wasn't surprised as he finally started to tuck into the breakfast. "From what I'm gathering, we barely made it to a bed."
"Mhm." Ethan said distracted as he pulled out his phone and played a video from his camera roll. The bacon dropped from Richard's mouth as he watched a shaky video of himself with his arm wrapped securely around the shoulders of a dirty blonde as they left the containment club in a messy rush. He also didn't miss as she casually grabbed a bottle of Hennessy off a random table before they hurried out the club. The group on the subsequent table looking around cluelessly when they realised their main drink was gone.
"Damn," Ethan remarked. "She's basically you in a female form."
"Air drop that to me." Richard demanded, rising to his feet. "I need to take a cold shower."