Page 53 of His Turn

Chapter Fourteen - Nadia

My whole body aches when I wake. And not the usual kind, because I can’t even remember a time before my body was in a constant state of ache from dancing. It’s the… hangover kind. Uggggh. I groan, rolling over, to check my phone for the time. “Jesus,” I mumble, closing my eyes. Way too early.

“I gotta go,” a deep voice says. I open my eyes again, searching for the voice. Bric is here. “It’s New Year’s Eve and there’s a lot of shit to do before the party.”

He’s buttoning his shirt. Almost dressed. I just stare at him as he reaches for his tie. What in the ever-loving fuck is he doing here? There’s no way I was drunk enough to bring him home. Not like a… a date or a one-night stand. Or, God forbid, a relationship.

I do not bring men home with me after a party. Not even Bric.

He finishes with his tie and goes for the coat, shrugging it over his broad shoulders and adjusting his collar. It’s wrinkled as all hell. And he’s got dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He looks like I feel.

“Do you want me to pick you up? Or just come by?”

I have no answer for that. Because I don’t know what he’s talking about.

“Be there before nine then. We lock everyone in at nine.”

And then he walks over to me, leans down, and gives me a kiss.

A goodbye kiss, I realize.

“I hope you’re not planning on going back on our deal, Nadia. I gave you control last night. We did it your way, inside your world. It was fun.” He shrugs. “But now I get to have it my way. And we do it inside my world.”

“Yeah,” I croak out. My throat is dry and thick and that’s all I can manage.

“Good.”

He walks out. I hear the jingle of his keys, then the small squeak of the front door. The click as he closes it behind him.

“What the fuck did we do last night?” I say it as I attempt to sit up, but my head is fucking spinning.

Then I remember the brandy. A whole bottle of brandy. As if on cue, I see the empty bottle sitting on my nightstand. It’s bejeweled with sterling silver and crystal. A collector’s item decanter and not really a bottle, which is probably why we brought it home with us.

“Yuk,” I say, trying to get some moisture in my mouth as I get up, walk into my bathroom, stick my mouth under the tap, and gulp water.

I stop drinking when my stomach feels like a water balloon and drag the back of my hand across my face. Stare at myself in the mirror.

I’m naked. So yes, I brought him home and fucked him in my bed.

I glance at it, appalled.

My pussy is sore. My tits ache and there are bruises on them. Little fingerprint-shaped bruises. My hair is a tangled mess of darkness that mimics my eyes. I’m pale, and skinny, and not at all attractive.

I remember letting Chad, Matt, and Kevin play with me at the table. Bric’s attentive glare taking us in as I made them get me off. Then I remember Bric pushing them aside and bending me over and holding my face against the wood as he fucked me from behind.

The rest of the night… dancing? Drinking, obviously, and more fucking. Which I do not remember.

I crawl back into bed, pulling the soft fluffy blanket around my body, glad it’s cold in here because I feel hot. And then pass back out.

Sometime later my phone wakes me dinging a text.

Jordan.

Sending a package. Open the fucking door.

I realize someone is knocking at the door. Probably has been knocking at the fucking door for a while and I didn’t hear them, which is why Jordan needed to text.

I drag myself out of bed, pull a robe around me, and stumble out to the front room. I don’t look at myself in the hall mirror—I can only imagine it’s worse than the last time. I pull the door open.