“Yeah. I figured I can take a cab home. Or,” I smile, looking back at the road. “I can drive this bad boy home and bring it back tomorrow.”

Reed groans, and I think I see him stroking the dashboard through my peripheral vision. “Cab it is.”

I TURN THE TRUCK OFF and hop out, meeting Reed at the front of the vehicle where he’s holding my purse.

“Here.” We exchange items, keys for clutch. “Do you need help getting inside?” I ask, half-teasing, half-serious.

Reed tilts his head, staring down at me without saying a word. I watch his eyes roam over my face. Slowly moving about my features as if he’s studying them. The scrutiny has me locking my knees and pinching my legs together. When Reed looks at me, I can’t help but feel it. My skin warms at the thought of what we did earlier.

What he said to me.

The sounds he made when he came.

A rushed breath pushes past my lips when his hand finds mine in the dark. He squeezes it, just like he did earlier tonight. Showing me what he needs.

“Reed.”

He pulls me against him, running his other hand through my hair. Then his lips are on mine and his hold on me tightens.

One hand on my neck, the other squeezing my ass.

I melt into him, moaning as the bitterness of the Jim Beam coats my mouth. It’s dizzying. The alcohol, or maybe just the kiss. I don’t realize he’s moved us until I hear the sound of a door being pushed open.

We separate, and Reed steps back into the house. He jerks his chin, motioning for me to follow. When I hesitate, not because I don’t want to, because I’m too busy running my fingers over my swollen lips, Reed grabs my hand again and urges me inside.

“Don’t call a cab.”

I drop my clutch in the foyer, seconds before I’m being pinned against the wall.

Reed

MY HEAD POUNDS ME AWAKE, throbbing with an intensity that has my eyes refusing to open. Timed with the rate of my pulse, the pain burns along my scalp in an unforgiving rhythm.

It feels like my brain is swelling and slowly cracking my skull.

Rolling to my side, I swing my legs out of bed and sit up, face in my hands. My head isn’t the only thing hurting. My back is stiff. The muscles in my shoulders ache as I hunch forward. I drop a hand to my cock. Goddamn. Even that feels like it’s been put through the ringer. Since when does your entire body suffer from a hangover? Not that I’ve had many. I’ll drink a few beers, some whiskey occasionally, but I don’t think I’ve felt this shitty since I turned twenty-one.

Fuck. How much did I drink?

I stand from the bed and walk into the bathroom directly across from me. My hands feel for the faucet blindly, or partially blind as I keep my eyes squinted. Cool water hits the back of my hand as last night materializes behind my eye lids. I remember . . . most of it. I think.

Beth. Fuck, I remember Beth.

Her greedy little hand on my cock. Her mouth, sweet and hungry for my tongue, giving me those filthy noises I wanted to drown in. How she soaked my fingers while I fucked her against the wall.

Bare. God, I love a bare pussy.

I was seconds from dropping to my knees and finishing her with my mouth. But I wanted her spread out when I did that. On a bed, my kitchen table, the hood of my truck. Then we were coming. Her first, drenching my hand as she clung to me. My name falling from her lips, her hand fisting my cock. I came so hard I forgot how to breathe.

Perfect.

She was so fucking perfect.

There was no awkward moment after. We fell right back into us, the us I’m becoming very comfortable with. Maybe a little too comfortable.

Then the bar, Jim Beam, and Beth talking about . . . blank. That’s where I lose it. I know we sat there for a while. I think she drove my truck?

Fuck! How did she get home? How did she . . .

A noise coming from outside the bathroom jerks me away from the sink. Not just any noise. A sleepy little moan a woman would make as she stretches against my sheets.

I shut the water off and turn my head to look out into the bedroom.

My eyes widen, my dick jumps against my hand. The headache I was battling is quickly forgotten as I take in the figure in my bed.

Dark hair lays messy against my pillow. Her back is to me, pale, flawless skin, revealed from the sheets bunched just below the soft curve of her hip.

Holy shit. Beth is in my bed. Naked. Why is she in my bed naked?

I bring my wet hands to my head, raking through my hair, pinching my eyes shut as I scramble for a memory.

Beth at the bar. Asshat pouring me another drink. Then . . . fuck! What the fuck happened after that?

She moans again and shifts on the bed, rolling to her back. Her nipples harden against the assault of the cool air. I look down at my dick, now fully hard, the head already dripping with precum.

What did you do?

I move quietly into the bedroom and open the drawer of my nightstand. My new purchase from a few days ago is still sealed. I know for a fact I didn’t have any stray condoms lying around in there. Maybe we didn’t have sex?

Beth stretches her arms above her, and it’s then I notice the faint marks on her wrists, a light dusting of pink against her pale skin.

Fuck. Fuck! I tied her up. I wouldn’t tie her up unless I was fucking her.

All at once, the other imperfections on her skin begin to glow, drawing my attention all over her body. Bite marks on her breasts. Red blotches decorating the line of her neck.

Holy shit. I’m all over her.

“Hey.”

My eyes dart up her body, locking onto hers. I swallow, then struggle through a nervous “heyyyy, you.”