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“No one should ever go to Underworld,” said Fort. “But you don’t seem like a psycho, so I’ll set you loose.” He started to undo the cuffs, and when I frowned at him, gave a half-shrug. “I did find you outside a BDSM club. I didn’t think you’d freak out about the restraints. Would you rather I’d used rope?”
“No.” I rubbed my wrists when he released me, and tried to sit up, then collapsed again when the room spun.
“Take it easy.” He unwound the cuffs’ chain from the headboard and backed off the bed, standing to his full height. “I’ll get you some water and ibuprofen.”
“You don’t have to.”
He pointed at me on his way out the door. “Stay there.”
Spoken like a true Dominant. It wasn’t a coincidence that he’d found me outside a kink club, or that he owned the serious kind of cuffs. In a less hungover situation, I would have been drooling over his alpha-male posturing and muscular physique, but right now, I was just trying not to cringe from the sunlight bleeding through his window shades.
By the time he returned, I’d managed to sit up, drawing my legs under me. I felt gross and awful, embarrassed, stupid, everything. I was thirty-two years old, too old to be waking up hungover in some stranger’s guest room. He presented me with a tumbler of ice water and two pills, and I took them, because he was acting dominant and I was feeling submissive and defeated as hell.
“I’m so sorry about this,” I mumbled.
“Drink as much water as you can. It’ll help the headache and dry mouth.”
He was right, the water was heavenly. I drained the tumbler and asked for more, and by this time, I’d woken up enough to watch him leave. Tall, thick, dark hair, gorgeous ass. What was his name again? Fort? He was built like a fort. I’d never seen him at Underworld, but if I had, I would’ve considered him out of my league.
By the time he got back, I’d crawled from under the covers and perched on the edge of his bed. He sat beside me, leaving some space between us, and watched while I guzzled most of the second glass.
“Feeling any better?” he asked.
“A little.”Not that I deserve to. “Thanks for rescuing me last night. Seriously, I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome, but you need to be more careful. Don’t go clubbing alone, and…” He clicked into lecture mode. “Don’t drink. You’re not good at it. You were so wasted, you couldn’t even tell us where you lived.”
“Us?” I darted a look toward the door.
“My friends aren’t here now, but they were with me last night. They can vouch for me, that you were mumbling and sobbing, leaning against the Caraway hotel. You’re sure nothing happened to you? You seemed pretty upset.”
I looked down at my clothes, and my slightly rumpled, but still intact, gray over-the-knee socks. “I don’t think anything happened, but thanks for stepping in to help me. Most of last night is a blur.”
He studied me, his hazel eyes narrowed with concern. “Did you play last night in the club? In Underworld?”
“No.” A blush crept into my cheeks. “I was just watching.”
“Whose collar were you wearing?”
I couldn’t meet his gaze. This was so humiliating, especially since he was obviously kinky, obviously a Dom. “It was no one’s collar. I mean, it was from an old relationship. A failed relationship. A relationship I need to let go.”
He looked away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t pry. The collar’s downstairs, by the way.”
“I don’t want the stupid collar.” I finished the last of the water, swallowing against my tears. “I’ll never do anything like this again.”
“You mean the drinking?” His eyes flickered. “Or the collar?”
What a question. The truth was, I always,alwaysgot involved with the worst jerks and players, convincing myself I could change them and make them love me if I put up with enough of their shit. I’d been born into a poor, dysfunctional family with an absent father, so my behavior wasn’t unexpected, just hard for me to overcome. It was an endless cycle of self-deprecation and heartbreak, made worse by my submissive tendencies.
“I don’t know that I’m cut out to survive either thing,” I said, summing up my issues. “I’m sorry you had to get involved, but thanks for not leaving me on the street.”
“You’re welcome. You said you lived here at the Blackwell, so I figured, in the morning—”
“The Blackwell?”
He blinked at me, fighting irritation. “You told me several times that you lived at the Blackwell. I guess someone stole your shit at Underworld, or outside Underworld, because you didn’t have any identification on you.” He grimaced. “You might want to cancel your cards.”
Damn. My wallet. My phone. Now that I was fully awake and functioning, I felt like I’d been hit by a car. Ice picks were stabbing my brain. “I live in a place called the Black Wall,” I told him. Tears welled in my eyes again.
