Page 146 of Cozen

“It’s okay,” she kept telling him, “it’ll be okay.”

“Why?”

“You got too close. You know you got too close.”

Sargon’s eyes finally peeled all the way open, and he stared at that stream of light filtering into the unfamiliar bedroom as those memories came in hard again. They were fragmented—only bits and pieces; shards of memories for him to put together what had happened, and why he couldn’t remember all of it.

Sitting up in the unfamiliar bed only made his head begin to pound. A deep, throbbing bass in his temples and at the very base of his skull. If he didn’t know any better, he might think his brain was bleeding—no hangover he knew felt like this.

Being straight up also didn’t help with the sudden swell of vertigo he experienced. Like the fucking bed was tilting sideways, and the floor was swimming underneath him. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut just to make it stop, but it really didn’t help.

What was happening?

“Jesus Christ,” Sargon muttered.

He put his hands against his temples, and pressed hard. The pressure did little to relieve the headache, but it allowed him to at least open his eyes and stare at a fairly normal room. Not one that was swimming and moving in front of his gaze.

Deep breaths.

Take deep breaths.

He glanced down to find his silk shirt was wrinkled like he had been sleeping in it—clearly he had—and his slacks were undone. The button left open, and the fly down. He reached down to fix his pants, but a memory swelled in his mind instead.

He blinked.

He’d fucked her on that desk.

In that office.

Tasted her mouth, and her throat.

He got all of her sounds, and heard her whispers in his ear. She was hot satin—tight and silky smooth. Wet as a fucking lake, and never looking better than she did spread out on her back while he pounded into her pretty pussy.

Sargon blinked again.

Another fragment.

Another answer.

More questions.

“Why—where?”

“Shhh,” Cozen told him, looking back over her shoulder.

His hand was firmly in hers. She wouldn’t let him go as she navigated the upstairs hallways of the Griffin mansion. Her hold on him was the only thing propelling him to keep moving on unsteady feet, and follow her. He didn’t know where she was taking him, or why his head felt like he was living in the fucking clouds.

“You have to be quiet, Sargon. Soon, you’ll be able to sleep. Okay? They can’t find you in Jett’s office tomorrow morning.”

Sargon came out of that memory with a wheeze leaving his chest. He moved forward just a little too much on the bed, and toppled right fucking off it. His entire head was spinning, now. His balance was all but gone.

He wasn’t quite sure how long he stayed on the floor like that—trying to make sense of the fragments of memories, and the shitty way he felt, but nothing really came.

Eventually, he forced himself up from the floor and onto unsteady feet. He still wasn’t quite sure where exactly he was as he stared at a thick oak door leading out of the bedroom, but he assumed somewhere in the Griffin mansion.

Sargon stayed like that for a long while, too. Unsteady, and half leaning on the bed with two hands to keep him from toppling over again.

A few more deep breaths.