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I toss back my head as he thrusts harder and faster into me. My eyes roll to the back of my head and all I can do is just feel the sensations rising inside me. I scream my orgasm, my hands tightening on his shoulders, my nails digging into his flesh.
“Fuck!” Seth shouts and I feel him coming inside me. His head presses against my chest, his mouth on my breast as I gasp, the aftershock of my orgasm leaving me both limp and satiated.
Seth pushes me onto the bed and I let him, unable to do anything else. His arms wrap around me. His head nuzzles my shoulder. My eyes are still closed. Darkness is around me, but all I feel is warmth and love as I feel sleep claim me.
Chapter 17
HUNTER
“Mr.Smith.”
I groan and roll over, swatting away the fly buzzing around my head. Fucking hate flies. Shouldn’t they be dead or hibernating now since it’s November? It’s just my luck that one would find me here and enjoy pestering me when I should be sleeping.
“Mr. Smith!”
“No,” I groan, grabbing the blanket and throwing it over my head while I keep my eyes shut. “Go away.”
Fuck, my head hurts and my belly aches. I feel like vomiting. There’s still time for that. It wouldn’t be my first time puking after drinking all night. Things got way too crazy with Brody the other night. I know I should have called it quits. Hell, after that strip club incident, I should have stopped hanging out with him completely. However, for a guy like me, it’s very hard to say no when someone offers you a night out on the town. And even though Brody is the worst piece of scum I have ever come across, he doesn’t judge me for drinking too much or for making an ass out of myself.
“Mr. Smith!”
God, I really think I will puke and this fly won’t stop yelling at me.
Wait.I open one eye.Flies don’t yell at people. They don’t even talk.I pull the blanket away from my face, finding a very angry dark-haired woman scowling down at me with her hands on her hips. I lurch out of the bed.Terrible mistake.With that one violent movement, all the little liquor bottles spill off me, clinging and clanging against each other as they roll off the blanket. It didn’t matter last night that I came home barely being able to see, or that I kept tripping over my two feet. I still got into the minibar and drank whatever they had until I passed out.I’m such a fucking idiot.
My eyes blur as my head pounds. My stomach twists and I really do feel like I’m going to vomit any minute now. I swallow the bile already rising as I try to smile politely at the woman standing next to my bed.
“Goo-good morning,” I say while pushing my bangs away from my face. “Is there a problem?”
The woman inhales deeply while I take in her white outfit and her matching white apron. There’s a cart behind her filled with trash bags and other cleaning supplies I can’t quite name at the moment. Why is the cleaning lady here so early?
“Yes, there’s a problem,” the woman says bluntly. “You were supposed to check out an hour ago.”
I make a face while reaching for my phone, my eyes widening when I see it’s one in the afternoon. How is that possible? I know I set my alarm clock so…
I inwardly groan as I realize there was a faint beeping in the morning, but I had drunkenly thought it was a bird and turned off my cell phone. “Fuck,” I mutter while throwing off my blanket, this time flinging the mini liquor bottles onto the floor.
“You have got to be kidding me,” the cleaning lady grumbles while I run to my closet, flinging open the door and frowning at my suit, discarded on the floor with the rest of my stuff.
What am I, a college student? Coach is going to yell at me until his face is red for looking like absolute shit.No, I think, while picking up my wrinkled button-down shirt, my hands shaking, my body hurting with each and every step I take.He’s going to straight up kill me for being over an hour late.I should really be lying down after last night. I’m quite surprised I haven’t projectile vomited everywhere yet. Perhaps the thought of death has spurred me into action.
I throw on my shirt, buttoning it quickly and completely wrong. I frown at the missed button at the bottom, but I have no time to fix that now. I’m sure a suit jacket will fix that easily. The hotel phone rings, making me jump and whirl around. I frown at the cleaning lady, watching her answer it as if this room belongs to her.
“Hello,” she says into the phone. “Yeah, yeah, he’s awake now and getting dressed. Should be down any minute.”
Oh, God. Is that my coach on the phone? Am I that royally fucked?
The cleaning lady turns to me, a bitter and cruel smile pulling at her lips. “Of course. I will let him now.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, knowing whatever she has to tell me, I’m not going to like it. She places the phone back down and tilts her head as she regards me. “That was your coach,” she says. “He wants me to tell you that they will be waiting in the shuttle for you.”
I wince. Sure, there’s no scolding, no yelling, no threat of pain or dismemberment. However, I feel like his words are pretty much telling me:I’m very disappointed in you.Which is worse than any scolding or threat he could give me. I don’t know why I am doing this to myself. My drinking doesn’t just affect me. It affects everyone around me, including my team. I need to stop, but how? I don’t think I can. I have fallen so into the deep end, all there is for me to do is drown in my own darkness. There is no hope for me.
I pack quickly, throwing everything into my suitcase without bothering to fold. I ignore the cleaning lady. I have no clue why she hates me so much, but I have a feeling I might have been an absolute pain this morning.
As soon as all my clothes and toiletries are packed, I run out of the room, not bothering to wait for the elevator. I run down the stairs, lugging my suitcase behind me, hoping Coach and the team won’t be that mad at me. I’m sure this isn’t the first time someone has overslept. It’ll be fine. Never mind that I haven’t showered or combed my hair and my breath stinks of beer and death, and I probably have dark circles surrounding my eyes. Even my suit jacket looks like shit. It’s completely wrinkled. It probably would have been better to button my shirt correctly.
I run into the parking lot and groan when I see the shuttle waiting. Coach stands outside of it, tapping his foot while looking at his watch. His eyes meet mine as I slow my run into a jog. I brave a smile, but Coach isn’t having any of it.
