SHANE (The Battles: Elite Ops Book 1) by Kristina Weaver

Author:Kristina Weaver [Weaver, Kristina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-06-12T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 4

There were some mornings when wakefulness was a long time in coming, and this was one of them. I was encased deliciously in fluffy pillows and a warm duvet, keeping me comfortable in the chill of a whirring air conditioner, and sunlight spilled over my face, making my retreat from reality even more complete. My eyelids felt thick, as if I were submerged in a sticky syrup, unable and unwilling to surface completely. I was so comfortable, and the growing ache in my head told me that a hangover was upon me, and that I should enjoy this comfort for as long as possible.

But that puzzled me. A headache? A hangover? What had I done last night? It had been the middle of the week, and I wasn’t prone to going out during the weekends, either. It was a stupid thing to waste my hard-earned money on, especially when I could buy a cheap bottle of spirits, send it through a water filter a couple of times to purify it, and make perfectly good discount cocktails at home.

Though I would probably be hard pressed to come up with a decent recipe for blood orange martinis. That was just way too fancy.

I gasped and sat straight up in bed, practically having to peel my eyes open with my fingers to assess my surroundings.

I wasn’t in my bed. That was my first discovery. I didn’t have the wherewithal for a down duvet, for one, and it would have been silly to splurge on that to complement my rickety futon that protested so mightily when trying to fold it up into a couch position that I’d given up and let it remain in the bed position for months. Who needed a couch, anyway? I never had people over to my tiny place.

But where was I this morning? What had I done last night?

My tired, puffy eyes fell upon my panties, on the floor right by the bed, then proceeded to my bra, a few paces away, then my black skirt, another few paces away, and my button-down shirt, almost all the way by the door, crumpled over what had to be my flats. It was a trail of clothes leading to the bed, and with a sudden shock bolstered by the emergency exit information emblazoned on the door, I realized that I was in a very nice hotel.

The reason I was in that very nice hotel was because I’d had blistering hot birthday sex with a man I’d only met the night before.

It came back to me the instant I realized I had a sweeter, more welcome ache between my legs to distract me from the one building in my brain. I touched myself, felt the wetness, smelled the musk, and knew that my foggy memories were much truer than a vivid sex dream.

If I tried hard enough, I could still feel Peter’s hands coursing down my sides, making me moan in places that should’ve tickled, forcing me to make a litany of sounds I didn’t know I was capable of.

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