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Mason
I had hoped for lashing rain.
Not that I wanted the weather to match my shite mood or any nonsense like that. My mood was going to be shite regardless. What did I care if everyone else in Dublin enjoyed a bit of sunshine? I wasn’t going to sit against the big window downstairs and watch the drops streak the window all day. I wasn’t going to run outside and throw my head up to the sky and scream as the rain splattered against my cheeks. I wasn’t even going to go outside even. I hadn’t even decided whether I would get out of bed really. It was entirely possible that the blinds would stay closed all bleedin’ day long, so what the fuck did I care if it rained or not outside?
No, the only reason I hoped for rain was so that I could have a few more hours of blissful unconsciousness before the day began. A few more hours for it not to be today. A few more hours for it to be last night. Tearing off clothes. Slamming each other against the walls. Falling off the bed and not even bothering to climb back up. A few more hours for it to be that night. All those years ago. Glitter on my chest from her cheek. Neon light cascading down her spine, pooling in the small of her back like water. Long honey hair over my shoulder, over my throat…
Anyway, I didn’t get rain. I got a fucking bright-ass ray of morning sunshine straight to the eye through the blinds that couldn’t have been closed more tightly. Go figure.
With a groan I raised an arm to block the light. My other arm was stuck beneath Miss Last Night.
Come ’ere, it wasn’t me who started calling my lady friends this. Go give out to Conor. Or maybe it was Rian. It wasn’t me. If I was to call them anything I would call them “Miss Wants to Have a Good Time and Understands Fully Because It’s Been Agreed to Beforehand That It Will Just be a Good Time for One Night and One Night Only.” Bit of a mouthful though. I can admit Miss Last Night is snappier.
As I pulled my arm from beneath her, Miss Last Night stirred a little before sighing and nestling in closer to me. Not a great sign. Any other morning and I would have kissed her on the forehead, crawled out of bed, and gone to the shower (locking the door behind me, a lesson I’d learned the hard—very, very hard—way). But it wasn’t any other morning and I had more pressing needs.
Closing my eyes against the intrusive light, I patted around the bed. My head was pounding. A killer hangover was surely on its way. I wasn’t too worried. Not with what I had planned for this day. This shite, shite, always shite day.
I slapped at the sheets and found a couple of torn condom packages, a thong, a second thong (which confused me until I vaguely remembered ripping the thing in two the night before), a little velvety purse, and none of that was what I was looking for. I squinted one eye open against the sun and scanned the crumpled sheets. I glanced over my shoulder at Miss Last Night.
Shite. I started with her hair. There couldn’t be anything misconstrued about checking around under someone’s hair. There wasn’t anything sexy about lifting some dark, kinky curls from the pillow. I stretched over Miss Last Night to check the other side. Curls lifted. Nose peeked under. Nothing.
“You want your fingers all up in there again?” came a thick voice, muffled slightly by the pillow.
I dropped the curl and retreated.
“It was just itching my nose,” I said, drumming my fingers impatiently on either side of me.
“You can pull on it again,” Miss Last Night mumbled sleepily. “You know I like it rough.”
“Listen, Miss—um…” Well, damn, I couldn’t call her Miss Last Night to her face, now could I? “Listen, love, like I said last night—”
“Right, right,” Miss Last Night said even as her fingers walked across the sheets toward me. “One-time thing.”
I grabbed her hand before her fingers could slip beneath the sheet toward my groin and quickly hoisted it up to check beneath her arm. Nope. Nothing.
Miss Last Night grinned against the pillow and said, “Oh, you want me to turn over, do you?”
“Well, actually, I wouldn’t mind seeing if—”
“Didn’t get enough of these last night, huh?”
Miss Last Night shifted onto her side and cupped her tit. My attention, however, was not on her (admittedly) lovely nipples, but rather on the exposed bit of sheet she’d been sleeping on.
Dammit. There was still nothing there. I scanned around the room. The floor. The top of my armoire. Even the pile of laundry that hadn’t quite made it to the hamper. The hamper. No. Nothing there. Nothing anywhere.
With an irritated grumble, I kicked back the sheets to check at our feet. Not only was there nothing down there either, but this elicited a low growl from Miss Last Night.
“You going downtown, baby?” she purred.
She pressed my head down. Before I was forced to her hips, waggling at me like an eager pup, I gathered her wrists together in my hand and pressed a kiss to her palms.
“Downtown was last night, love,” I told her. “This morning is—”
“I see,” Miss Last Night said, nodding seriously. “I got you, baby. I got you.”
Miss Last Night sat up and I greedily ran my hands over the warm sheets. I cursed when I found nothing. I cursed when I realised Miss Last Night had only sat up so that she could scoot down to my hips.
“Woah, woah, woah,” I said, pulling my cock away just before she wrapped her lips around it. “That’s not what I meant.”
