A quick massage of my leftover cum into her skin.
A gentle kiss to her tender little clit.
There. Time to take her and herrabbithome.
Chapter six
Mercy
Ugh.Thepoundinginmy head is killing me. So is the ache in my stomach. Hope I’m not getting sick. I roll over, bunching my pillow up as my arms slide underneath it. My lips smack together. Chapped, judging by the crustiness flaking off. A few quick licks with my tongue take care of it for now as my pillow receives an indentation, courtesy of my face.
Mhmm...there’s nothing more soothing than the scent of freshly laundered sheets. The way they feel ag—wait a hot second. My fabric softener is lavender and vanilla. This pillow smells like...like Amos Shay? I've got to be dreaming, but my nose swears it's real.
So thirsty.I moan and reach over to my nightstand for my bottle of water.Why is my arm sore?Instead of my familiar nightstand, my hand encounters a warm body.
What? A...warmbody?
This...this is no dream.
Alarm rushes through me, almost making me lightheaded as my eyes fly open and make contact with blue ones. At the familiar sight in an unfamiliar setting, the adrenaline fades away just as quickly, leaving confusion in its wake.
"Mr. Shay? What are you—why am I—?"
"Afternoon, sleepyhead. Call me Amos—not Mr. Shay." I swear I feel the bass of his deep voice in my rib cage.
Propped up on an elbow and looking down at me is my boss, Amos Shay. Ex-boss, rather. Sleep-tousled black hair flecked with silver. Eyes an icy blue colder than the Arctic Ocean. Massive tanned shoulders. Hairy chest.
Shirtless hairy chest.
There's so much to take in at once. He said it was the afternoon. How in the world did I sleep so late?
And...thisisn't my bed. Good Lord, this bed is at least three times the size of mine! Saliva pools in my mouth as dread fills my heart. "Mr. Shay, how—"Ooooh, hello, full bladder.
I frantically look around the—his?—room. "Bathroom. Where's the bathroom?"
"Right there." He points to a white door by a dark mahogany dresser.
"Umm...hold that thought." I throw back the covers, sighing in relief when I see my intact underwear—and a too big shirt that definitely isn't mine—and crawl for what feels like miles to get out of the bed. I hotfoot it to the bathroom, ignoring the heat of his gaze on my backside.
Accidentally slamming the door, I wince at the sound as I fumble for the lock.
There's no lock.
Why is there no lock?
Calm down, Mercy.
Whyis there no lock?
Leaning against the frame, I try to think things through.
One—Call me Amos?I’ve never called him by his first name! Except for in my head.
Two—I went to bed alone last night.
Three—I woke up half a day later in Mr. Shay's bed. I go from thinking I'll never see him again to beingin bed with himand not remembering a single second of getting there!
Four—I’m wearing clothes that may or may not be his.
