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Mason
I’d moved into the room at the end of the hallway.
Rachel had stolen my room from me. Stolen it just like she’d stolen everything else. My happiness. My love. My security. My freedom. Her ghost stood in the doorway of my bedroom and there was nothing I could do to get her to leave. She just stood there. Arms crossed over her naked chest. Laughing. Fucking laughing.
I raked my fingers through my hair as Miss Last Night hopped up from the rumpled bedsheets with a giggle.
“How about now?” she asked, bouncing on her knees beside me.
She walked her fingers up my thigh toward my boxers, but I grabbed her hand. Her touch felt like ants under my skin.
“I need a minute or two,” I said.
“That’s what you said a minute or two ago,” she whined. She placed her pouting chin on my chest and with puppy dog eyes said, “Maybe a coffee will help? Or a shower? A shower together? A nice hot shower cures whiskey dick.”
“Your nan’s cure?” I grunted.
She just laughed and slapped my chest.
“You’re so funny.”
“I’m really not,” I grumbled.
I should have just explained that I was ruined. Completely ruined. That no amount of coffee or showers would cure my limp dick. That the problem was that I felt no attraction whatsoever to her. I hadn’t even had all that much to drink. There was a ghost down the hall and she wouldn’t leave and she was the reason I would forever need “a minute or two”.
“I have an idea,” Miss Last Night chirped, leaping off the bed with an annoying amount of energy. “Ice cream!”
“You want ice cream?” I asked.
She wiggled her ass in my direction.
“I want ice cream and you want ice cream,” she said. “Ice cream with two little cherries on top.”
Miss Last Night pinched her nipples and gave a high-pitched giggle.
“My business partners are downstairs,” I told her before she wrenched open the door wearing nothing but the tattoo tiger between her shoulder blades.
“Oh,” she chirped, completely unperturbed. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing they all haven’t seen before.”
She wiggled her little tits at me. Both nipples were pierced. She told me when I fucked her that her long, sleek black hair would get snagged in the little silver rings. She told me it was fine. She told me it saved money on nipple clamps. She told me if I wanted, I could thread her hair through them both. Tug it with my teeth, if I wanted.
Well, I didn’t. And I hated it. Because I wanted to want.
I just…couldn’t.
“Can you at least throw on a shirt?” I asked.
She giggled and I wanted to scratch my ears out. “You tore mine, remember?”
I repressed a sigh. “Grab one from the closet.”
Miss Last Night shrugged, but she walked over to the closet as I tugged my pants back up and over my boxers.
I’d already received enough dirty looks from Conor and Aurnia and even Rian when I came in with Miss Last Night. For one thing it was hardly past noon. When it became frowned upon to get wasted in the morning, I had no fucking clue. Especially amongst my group of friends.
True, we hadn’t exactly been quiet. Or respectful. Or anything other than loud and horny and nasty. Miss Last Night stumbled against the stairs as the front door I’d been grinding up on her against finally fell open and slammed against the faded wallpaper. She laughed and I pounced on her. It was only when I was fumbling with the button of my jeans that I realised they were all there. With clients. Miss Last Night greeted them with a cheerful “Oh, hello there” and didn’t bother tugging the top of her dress back over her exposed tit.
I gave a half-sheepish wave and said, most likely slurring my words, “Um, we’ll continue this upstairs.”
