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It was the raging headache that woke me up the next morning, followed by the sensation of being sore between my thighs.
I rolled over, the events from last night already playing through my mind on repeat before I even got out of bed.
With a groggy groan, I pulled myself up and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the partially open blinds that showcased the city right outside the panes of glass.
A flush already started to cover my face as the memories of last night kept rolling around in my head.
The sex had been incredible. And dare I say… the best sex of my life.
Anthony had been so big. So muscular. I felt like this dainty little thing compared to him.
Was I ashamed because I had a one-night stand with a man I didn’t even know? A man I only knew by his first name?
No. No, I wasn’t. It had been the most exhilarating, thrilling, and exciting thing I’d ever done in my life.
Sleeping with a stranger hadn’t been something I’d seen myself ever actually doing. As an introvert, it wasn’t as if I put myself out there to experience anything that even touched on what was happening right now.
I should’ve felt shame and a little bit of judgment toward myself that I slept with someone who worked where I did. What was that saying?
You don’t shit where you eat?
That was just asking for trouble.
But we only exchanged first names, so it wasn’t as if Anthony would ever really find me. Well, maybe… since Pyper wasn’t the most common name in the world. But for all I knew, he was from a different branch in the company in a different town. Maybe even states away.
Besides, did I really think he’d come searching for me? No. I wasn’t under any delusion that we both didn’t know what last night was. And that was an incredible evening of rough, mindless, public fucking.
I placed my hand between my thighs and gently pressed in, the sensitivity and soreness enough to take my breath away.
I also felt the dried remnants of our combined fluids still coating my inner thighs.
Another wave of heat filled me.
When I’d gotten home last night, it had been late. I’d been exhausted, and I hadn’t thought about anything but sleeping, so I went straight to bed.
Now, all that felt like a fever dream as I made my way to the bathroom and took the hottest shower imaginable. I smelled of lavender and vanilla, my skin a deep shade of pink when I got out.
It was after I toweled myself off and looked down at my body that I noticed the fingerprint bruises that marred my hips. Black-and-blue marks that reminded me of Anthony.
From when he held me tightly and fucked me.
I braced my hands on the edge of the sink after wrapping the towel around my body, water dripping off the strands of my hair and sliding down my arms and chest. Another harsh groan was ripped from me as the blood rushed to my forehead, making my headache that was already pounding throb even more.
The sound of my phone ringing was like nails on a chalkboard, but I knew it was my mother. I had dinner with my parents every Sunday. She always called in the morning to verify things and ask what I wanted.
But I wasn’t in the mood to talk, and it was in that moment, when the phone stopped ringing, that I remembered one piece of the night more vividly than any other.
Anthony had taken my phone out and took pictures. And I hadn’t remembered it until right now.
My tongue was thick, my mouth dry, and my throat felt so tight I couldn’t swallow. I was in my bedroom and taking my phone off the charger a second later. My heart was racing as I opened up the Photos app and froze, every muscle in my body tensing when I saw picture after picture.
Ones of my bare ass.
Shots of my waxed pussy.
And then there was the really explicit ones—which seemed wild, given the ones I’d just looked at.
They were images that showed Anthony’s thick, masculine hand wrapped around the base of his dick. Another one where he lined his cockhead up with my pussy hole.
