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Consciousness begins to wane.
Reasoning still gone with my climax, I act on pure instinct and pull her against me as everything goes dark.
10
ALICE
If shots are the devil and Las Vegas is hell, then I need to get my act together and start behaving if I want any chance of surviving the afterlife.
Every time my brain pounds against my skull, my eyes threaten to pop from their sockets.
Which is every other second.
On a happy note, this has to be the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. One point for Las Vegas.
I nearly choke on my tongue when I swallow, cotton mouth having left me no moisture. One point hangover.
I try and go back to sleep, focusing on the cool sheets and soft pillows surrounding me. I’m not 100 percent certain, but I have the feeling I was enjoying a nice dream. Traces of a bright pink light, laughter and euphoria resound upon my pounding brain, like flashes of an impressionist painting. A really, really beautiful impressionist painting. One that also kind of makes you horny.
Yes. I cuddle deeper into the mattress and pillows, accepting my weird, perverted subconscious analogies like a large dose of ibuprofen. If I can just go back to sleep, everything will feel better.
But the moment the pain eases and my consciousness drifts, one of my pillows move.
Because it’s not a pillow.
An ear-piercing internal scream erupts in my head, while my physical body stiffens like a possum playing dead. I’m fully awake, survival instinct has my blood, a second ago sluggish from sleep, racing through my veins. As do images, more concrete ones this time, through my brain.
Penises. Shots. Strippers. Fire Alarm. The girls. More drinks. Thomas.
Oh dear God –Thomas.
My eyes flash open, the harsh morning light coming through the bedroom window.
Instant blindness.
Squeezing them shut, I flare my nostrils and inhale slow and deep, forcing the nausea down while trying to make sense of the new, and more coherent flashes of my dream. Or really, my memories.
After walking Bell back to her hotel room, I found Thomas in mine. And then… oh God – I crawled to him. Then I climbed on him. Heat from both embarrassment and something else, something far more pervy, has me pressing my face further into the cool satin cotton pillowcase.
I straddled him. I kissed him. I did those things. Me. The girl who may read about adventurous, panty-melting sex but who only follows the leads of others fully focused on making sure they enjoy themselves. Always being left… unfulfilled.
The sound of seams ripping echoes inside my pounding head, forcing my memory recall back to last night. Where I literally tore Thomas’s clothes off. The deep grunt he made as he thrust inside of me.
I was definitely filled last night.
The non-pillow stirs again.
I angle my face away from the light blazing in the window and toward the non-pillow next to me where I infinitesimally lift my lashes.
A wall of skin and muscle meet my eyes, nearly as blinding as the sun had been. A smattering of freckles crosses his back like a Pollock painting, making me wonder how often he had to be outside with his shirt off to develop them. I remember marveling at those freckles as I whipped his shirt off while straddling him.
More memories float to the top of my subconscious and any embarrassment ebbs as something else takes over, pulling me under its current until my breath is labored and my thighs press together.
Thomas shifts on the bed, his arm sliding across my midriff. I play possum again as the large, masculine hand skims up my abdomen and rests below my right breast, its thumb tickling the underside – igniting sensations in my panties that are not at all helpful to my mental cognition.
I MacGyver my left arm out from under the covers, using the back of it to wipe dried drool off my cheek. At the cool touch of metal on my chin, I pause, lifting my hand above me.
A band of gold with gaming dice engraved around it rests on my left ring finger.
