Fourty Seven

I wasn't so drunk last night that I can still remember where Rhysand took me, remember what he did to me and how I felt about it. How does it feel to be touched and how do I enjoy it. I took a deep breath as I stared at the wide glass wall in front of me.

I've been sober since fifteen minutes ago and still keep quiet to pick up the remnants of my sanity that's been scattered somewhere. And I'm not in Rhysand's VVIP club room anymore, but in his penthouse. I'm sure, instead of leaving me to Reagan and Rafaella, he brought me here last night.

They must be looking for me. And the asshole man is still sleeping with steady breathing behind me who is lying on his side. His arms wrapped tightly around my stomach, his face was on the nape of my neck and his legs locked onto mine. And I'm just wearing the big shirt he wears on me when I'm unconscious. No underwear, just like some time ago when I was sick.

This is another reason I didn't move at all the first time I woke up. I didn't want to wa