“Two! Two pots of coffee,” I holler from the bathroom and then groan when my head starts to pound again. “And pancakes, hash browns, and scrambled eggs. Oh, and toast with butter! Butter, Bradley, none of that margarine crap!”
His eyebrow shoots up. “Anything else? I don’t think you said anything about sausages or bacon. Do you want them?” He smirks, repeating the order to the person on the other end. “Should be about thirty minutes. I’ll go grab you some water and some more Tylenol,” he says to me as I close the door and move to the sink.
Looking in the mirror, I gasp out loud at what I see. Loud enough apparently for Bradley to knock on the door and ask if everything is all right.
“Fine, just fine,” I tell him, assessing the disaster looking back at me. My hair looks like birds have started to build a nest in it. In fact, I think I even heard a tweet. My lashes are sticking together, and my makeup is smeared in what clearly was my best attempt at channeling my inner raccoon. Holy shit.
I wash my face, removing the remnants of last night’s makeup, and brush my teeth. By the time I walk out of the bathroom, I feel and look a bit more human. The plush, white hotel robe that I found on the back of the bathroom door feels like I’m wearing fluffy cotton balls.
He’s lying on the bed, watching television and wearing his own robe, which gapes open a bit, showing off his chest. “I put some water and Tylenol on the table.” He points to my side of the bed.
I crawl onto the bed and pop the Tylenol into my mouth and chase it down with the water.
Then I lie down in the fetal position, with my head on the pillow, to watch television. “What show is this?”
“I haven’t a clue, but I’m fascinated. It’s a show about swords. That guy makes custom swords.” He starts to tell me about the show when he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.
Not moving a muscle, he looks over at me and says, “I guess I’ll get it.”
I don’t look up at him. “That sounds like a plan,” I mutter, continuing to watch the show.
There is chattering at the door. “Yes, just put it right there. I’ll deal with it.” Glasses clink as he rolls the cart over to his side of the bed. “I’m assuming we’re eating in bed?”
“We can go sit at the table if you want.” I move to get up and wince from the pain in my head. “Yep, here would be just fancy,” I say, landing back on the pillow.
I hear him chuckle to himself while he places tray after tray on the bed. “You have to eat something and then you can nap,” he says, getting on the bed himself.
It’s hard to sit on the bed, your legs crossed under you, and look sexy, but Bradley does it. Damn him. I can’t help the thought of him sitting here, eating his breakfast naked, dribbles of syrup falling onto him. I’d have to lick it off him. You know, because it would be the right thing to do.
“No, I’ll sit up. I just need some coffee first.” I spot the silver pot of coffee.
He pours me a cup. “What do you take in it, love?”
“Just a splash of cream, please.” I sit up, folding one leg and leaving one stretched out. He hands me the cup, and I inhale deeply. “This smells like heaven.”
He laughs and reaches for the other silver carafe, pouring himself a cup.
“Is that tea?” I laugh at him while I continue sipping my coffee.
“Yes, ma’am. You can take the boy out of England, but you can’t take England out of the boy.” He sips his tea and then places the cup on the bedside table as he settles himself back into the bed.
He starts removing the silver lids from the covered plates, revealing everything I ordered. Stacks of pancakes, fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fresh fruit, croissants, my toast—with butter, no margarine in sight. But what really gets my interest is the plate of what looks like an omelet that is stuffed with greasy potatoes, bacon, and mushrooms. He passes me a plate.
“It’s like a picnic. A hangover picnic,” I say, grabbing some pancakes and the omelet concoction. “Nothing says ‘I drank like it was my job last night’ like a morning-after serving of greasy breakfast meats, eggs, and potatoes soaked in oil,” I tell him, bringing a forkful of food to my mouth and groaning as it hits my taste buds. It’s almost like I’ve died and gone to heaven. “This is so good.”
He picks up his own plate, which looks to be filled with some nasty, plastic-looking egg white omelet and some fresh fruit. We eat in silence, and my head slowly stops pounding.
“I’m seriously never drinking again. Jesus, why didn’t you stop me?” I look at him while I start gathering up some of the dishes and putting them back on the cart. I then refill my coffee and start sipping my fourth cup.
“There was no stopping the ‘dancing queen,’ love. Trust me, I tried.” He chuckles. “You crowned yourself that, by the way, and then informed me that we would have to shop for a crown today. I believe you said you’d need something that’s not quite as big as Miss Universe’s crown but definitely bigger than Miss USA’s.” He continues to sip his tea and watch me, his eyes crinkling while he hides his smile behind the cup.
Burying my face into my hands, I groan as I try to remember yesterday. “Okay, tell me how bad was it?” I say as a sudden image from last night pops into my head and I gasp. “Oh my God! Please tell me I didn’t bend over, touch my toes, and yell ‘how you like me now?’”
“That wasn’t the best part.” He places his own plate on the cart. “It was when you ‘dropped that ass to get low’ that I thought a bloody riot would break out.”
“Oh, God, I don’t remember that part.” There’s a knock at the door, and I turn my head toward it as I ask, “Who is that?”
Getting up off the bed, I follow Bradley to the door while he opens it. It’s a bellboy, and he hands Bradley what looks like about twenty bags, all from stores we went to yesterday. “Here you are, sir, these were just delivered to the front desk.”
Bradley takes the bags from him before walking over to his wallet that is on the table. He takes out a twenty-dollar bill and tips him. “Thanks, lad.” Then he turns and closes the door.
“What is that?” I point to all the bags in his hands.
“These are your birthday presents. Happy Birthday!” He raises up both hands that are now laden with equal numbers of bags in them.
I frown at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Please tell me you did not go back and buy everything that I put back.”
“No, I did not,” he says, looking at me sheepishly. “I mean, I didn’t go back, that is. I bought them while you were in the changing room.”
“Bradley! We are taking all that back,” I tell him, grabbing the bags and putting them at the front door.
“We can’t. They were final sales.” He tries to tell me while I look at him through the slits in my eyes. “Please just accept them. It’s important to me, and well, think of the economy.” He smirks at me and then winks, and my panties are instantly wet.
Another knock on the door has me raising my eyebrows. “I don’t even want to know who is at the door this time,” I tell him when he moves to open the door, smiling at two women holding what appears to be massage tables.
“Happy Birthday part two, love,” he says, moving out of the way so the women can come in.
“Where shall we set up for the massages?” one of them asks. “We can either set up in the bathroom, or we can do it here in the living room.”
“Where do you want it?” he asks me, excitement shining in his eyes, and I want to be mad at him, I want to be furious with him, but I can’t. He’s so excited about this, and besides, I could really use a massage.
“Stop calling me love. It messes with my brain.” I point at him while he nods. “Besides, I’m mad at you.” I put my hands on my hips. “The living room is fine.”
They go about setting up the massage tables and moving things around so they are positioned side by side. I head into the bedroom to pick up the breakfast dishes, placing them back on the room service cart and rolling it out
into the hall.
I hear a muffled ping from somewhere in the room. “Oh, shit, my cell phone,” I tell him, going in search of the ping that is going off every five seconds.
I locate my purse at the bottom of the pile of my clothes that’s at the foot of the bed, and I pull it out of the purse. There are seventy-five unread messages. “Holy shit, something must have happened,” I say out loud while Bradley looks at me from the other side of the room with worry etched on his face.
I see all of the messages are from Melanie, all frantic, all worrisome. I scroll to the top of the message and see some picture I sent from last night. There are about five selfies of me in different poses. Great, just fucking great. I looked like a hot mess. Well, maybe not quite that bad, and I’m sure in that moment I thought I was a supermodel, but I did look obviously intoxicated, which is what’s causing her worry. Ugh. I’m never drinking again. I continue scrolling through the pictures I sent, but it’s the last picture that gives me pause. It’s not the fact that I sent her a picture of us together that stops me in my tracks, it’s what we were doing in the picture that stuns me. It’s a side selfie of me and Bradley…as my tongue is sliding into his mouth. I move my hand to cover my gaping mouth as my eyes move to the texts I sent to her after the pictures.
I just tongue fucked Bradley!
Mellie bellie, his cock is huge!
I’m so going to bounce on it tonight!
Like a fucking boss.
I’m finally going to get to see his cock. Eeek!
Dude, it’s so big!
Why aren’t you answering me????
Do you not care that I’m going to fuck him??
I’m the Queen of the world!!!!
I close my eyes after that last message and slowly slide into the closest chair next to me. Looking up at Bradley, I whisper the question that would change this vacation.
“We made out? Did we have sex?”
Chapter Six
Bradley
I don’t know who is texting her, but I watch her face shift from rosy with humor to white as a sheet. I want to go over and pull her in my arms, but she slides down in a chair before I can even move. My patience is about to snap when she looks up at me.
“We made out? Did we have sex?”
Oh. Fuck. Me. I look over at the two women who are setting up for the massages and doing a poor job of pretending not to listen.
“Can we have a couple of moments alone, please?”
They both nod their heads and walk out into the hall. I walk over to her and squat down in front of her. Her shoulders are slumped over while she stares at the picture of us on her phone.
I take it from her hand, smiling as I look at the picture. She is smiling, and I have to give it to her because even with as drunk as she was, not only did she hit the mark by getting her tongue into my mouth, but she also managed to capture the moment with a pretty decent selfie. I’ll be honest, though, it wasn’t too difficult for her to get her tongue in my mouth. I mean, it’s not like I made her work for it—we had been making out for hours by that point.
“We didn’t have sex,” I tell her as her eyes dart to mine with a look I can’t quite decipher.
“Oh. My. God! You didn’t want to have sex with me?” She looks almost more devastated at that thought than she did when she first saw the pictures. She grabs the top of her robe, clutching it in her fist to hold it closed just below her neck.
“Are you daft?” I blurt out before I can think the better of it. “Last night the farthest limits of my restraint were tested. It took everything I had in me not to take you up on what you were offering. Especially after you tried to do the Karate Kid kick.” I laugh as I recall it was at that moment I knew she was too far gone for anything to happen.
Her hands go straight to her face. “Okay, we can stop talking about this.” Her voice comes muffled through her hands. I take her hands from her face.
“It wasn’t that bad.” I try to tell her. “I was really impressed with how high you managed to kick.” I try to make light of it. “What really scared me was when you tried to do ninja moves in the elevator. Thank God, there wasn’t enough room for you to get a good running start. You were convinced you could run up the wall and do one of those flips.” I shake my head and chuckle at the memory of her running face first into the wall. I think it’s best if I leave that little detail out, though.
She mumbles under her breath as she groans and tosses her head back. “Why isn’t the ground opening and swallowing me up? Why am I not dead from acute humiliation?”
“It wasn’t as bad as you think.” I smirk at her.
“Are you insane?” She looks pointedly at me. “I did karate kicks and ninja moves, and then I tried to throw myself at you! It can’t get much worse than that, can it?”
“Well”—I smile with my lips closed—“it’s funny you say that...”
“Oh, just spit it out, Bradley.” She hisses.
“Well, you insisted upon stripping for me,” I start as she groans through the hand that is now covering her mouth. “And when you tried to kick off your shorts, they got a bit tangled up in your feet and you fell over, but you bounced right back up.” I try to hold back the laugh at the image of her in her thong and bra, yelling ‘Superstar!’ complete with the Mary Katherine Gallagher from Saturday Night Live skit pose. “Then you pushed me back into the bed and told me to ‘pull out that big British cock’ so you could take it for a ride, right before you crawled up over me, collapsed on top of me, and promptly passed out.”
She stares at me, her mouth hanging open in shock before she gets up and starts pacing. “I can’t even. I’m trying to remember, but nothing—nothing—is coming back to me.” She looks at me, mortification clear on her face. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Bradley. I can’t even imagine what you must be—”
“I kissed you,” I interrupt her. “So actually, it was me who started it.” I shrug as I continue. “I couldn’t take it, couldn’t go one more minute without having a taste of you.”
“You,” she stutters, “you wanted to kiss me?” she asks, confusion etched on her pretty face.
I walk over to her, cupping her face in my hands, and whisper, “I wanted to do a lot more than kiss you. I would have given my last breath to taste you just once.” I smile while my thumbs move on her cheeks. “Granted, I had no blood left in my brain to aid in the decision-making process since it was all in my cock.” I laugh. “But I walked around that club for four hours, harder than stone and ready to go. I almost went to the bathroom for a quick wank more than once.”
She puts her arms around my waist, bringing me closer. “I really wanted to see your naughty bits.”
Right as I’m about to take her mouth again, there is another knock on the door. “Bollocks,” I say, realizing the masseuses are still out in the hall.
I walk to the door, opening it up for the two masseuses.
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have another customer in ninety minutes. Since you ordered a ninety-minute couples massage, we have to start now.”
“Yes, of course. Come in.” I stand by the door as they walk back in. One of them goes to the curtains, drawing them closed so it’s nearly pitch-black in the room, while the other turns on some of the lights around the room, dimming them, and puts on some sort of new-age, spa-type music.
“Please remove your robes and get onto the table, lying on your stomach under the covers,” the blond woman says.
Walking over to the closest table, I drop my robe and slide under the covers, placing my face in the round headrest. I’m looking at the floor while I hear a soft thud, knowing she just dropped her robe. My cock instantly hardens as I close my eyes and picture her standing there in only her thong. I think back to last night and realize I also didn’t tell her I was the one who stripped her top off. Nor did I mention that she almost had an orgasm while I sucked on her rosy pink nipples. Or that she busted the buttons off my shirt while ripping it open to get to me all while she
ran her lips along my jaw and my neck and kissed and nipped at my lips.
She was so bold, so aggressive, and I loved it, even if I wasn’t going to act on it. But what I wouldn’t have given to slide into her. So when she crawled over me and then she fell asleep, her soft snores filling the room, I was relieved. I honestly didn’t know how much more I could take. So I carefully picked her up to reposition her in the bed and just watched her while she slept.
I thought it was some sort of sign that we didn’t actually go through with it. It was probably a mistake anyway. I mean, I couldn’t really sleep with my best friend’s little sister, could I? I mean, I could, but could I live with the fallout?
The calming music fills the room while the woman starts massaging my back. I let my mind drift, but my body doesn’t completely relax. There is nothing that could fully relax me at this moment. Well, there is one thing, but I don’t think getting a jobby is in the cards. I hear Lexi moaning.
“Could you please refrain from doing that?” I say and hear her giggle.
“Is your todger up and at ’em?” she says with a snicker.
“You’re driving me barmy. Completely barmy,” I huff out. One of the masseuses clears her throat, making us both quiet down.
The rest of the massage goes off without a hitch. When the woman taps my back to let me know she’s done, I take my time getting up, and I open my eyes and look over at Lexi. She is up on two arms, moving her body off the table and giving me a full, unhindered view of her tits. I look away and groan inwardly.
I pull my robe back on and tell her I’m going to the washroom. At this point, I don’t even care if she knows I’m going to pull my wank. I’ve been pushed to the brink, and I’m afraid my balls are in danger of becoming permanently blue.
Walking into the bathroom, I head straight over to the shower, turning on the water to make sure it’s warm enough. The minute I step under the rain shower, I take my cock in my hand and begin to stroke. It doesn’t take long, and I cum to the image of fucking Lexi’s perfect tits.
Imperfect Love: Cheeky (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 5
