Chapter 2: The Morning After

Evangeline

“Fuck. . .”

I hear the grumble of that word over and over and over. The voice distant, almost soundless like an inaudible echo in my head. I hum and stir, groaning in relief at the softness that wraps around me from beneath.

“Fuck, What the fuck have I done?” I hear again, louder and firmer this time.

A man.

A man.

Fuck, a man. 

My breath catches as realization settles in, my pulse quickening to the memories that slams into me. Memories of last night, the bar, the drinking, the kisses, the tongue that had me orgasming many times over, and the cock that railed me throughout the night. 

Mr. Alexander Creed.

I jerk up from the bed, sitting up with a strained grunt. Gosh, my head is hurting so bad. “Fuck,” I whisper, the tips of my fingers massaging my temple. 

I feel his gaze burning into me, almost piercing through my skin. What now. . . I crane my neck to the side and stare back at him with just the same amount of intensity he’s staring me with. His throat moves as he swallows nervously and I smile in triumph. I unnerve him just as much as he unnerves me. Good.

“Do I have drool all over my face, Mr. Creed?” I ask, my voice laced with sarcasm. His brows pull into a frown, causing me to snort. “You’re staring too hard.”

Alexander throws his head back and breathes out a heavy breath, a hand raking through his hair. “I’m sorry for last night,” he says, his tone soft, but the heaviness in his voice gives him away.

Sorry?

Why’s he apologizing?

“Why’re you apologizing?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.

He shifts uncomfortably, his hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well. . .I believe I took advantage of your drunken state—”

I cut him off with a chuckle, the sound mocking. “Me? Drunk?” I ask, my index finger pointing at myself, “If anyone was drunk, then it was you, Alexander. I consented to everything that happened between us last night, so you don’t have to apologize simply because your wedding is today.”

His eyes snap to mine, the frustration in them glaring. “It’s not today,” he murmurs with a hush.

“What?” I ask, blinking.

“The wedding is not until two days.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So why did you have the party yesterday?”

He leans back, rubbing his temple like he’s already exhausted by this conversation. “Well, I have to travel for business and I won’t be here until two days.”

“Where?” I quiz.

“London,” he says, his voice softer now, eyes cautiously flickering to mine. “I don’t want to seem disrespectful, but I’d like to appreciate you somehow for last night. As much as it unnerves me to admit, it was the best night of my life, and you made that happen.”

Something shifts in the air and heat almost creeps up my cheeks. Maybe he doesn’t mean the sex, but my stupid, dirty mind is starting to get ideas.

He’d like to appreciate me?

There’s something I do want, but it’s not the right time. He cannot know just yet.

“What you said last night,” I murmur, my voice quieter, “about being confused and loathing the woman you’re marrying, was that true?”

His eyes narrow in an instant, his jaw tightening, as though to snap at me and tell me to mind my business. But he doesn’t speak. He looks away and grunts out a breath before turning bringing his eyes up to mine. “You shouldn’t dwell on the things I said while I was probably drunk,” He stands abruptly, his hand still rubbing the back of his neck. “Just get dressed so my driver can take you back home.”

I swing my legs off the bed, planting my feet firmly on the floor. And then I start to approach him, my steps slow, provocative, my lips curling sultrily.  “Let me come with you.”

He takes a step back, putting more distance between us as he asks, “What?” 

“I would like to come with you to London,” I whisper, my steps closing up the distance between us, my eyes narrowing seductively. 

My hand shoots forward, moving to rest on his chest. He draws back and whispers my name tiredly. “Evangeline. . .”

“It’s two days before your wedding, Alexander, and I don’t want you to be confused going into a marriage. I want you to be sure.”

“Why do you care?” He asks frustratedly.

I place my hand flat on his chest and his body shakes with a breath. I smile. “Because I do.” 

“You don’t understand, do you?” He says, his voice strained.

“I do,” I say firmly, taking a step closer to completely eradicate any distance between us. “I see it. Your desperation for a way out.” I let my words hang, giving him a moment to absorb them. “Let me be your distraction for two days. Let me be your woman for two days. And if by the end of it, you’re still confused, then you owe it to yourself to walk away from a marriage that will make you miserable.”

His lips pull apart, but no words come.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging both hands through his hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I knew you were trouble.”

I stare at him with a small smile, no words spoken, no convincing needed. I watch as he resists my charm—or tries to resist my charm. He fails woefully. His head veers back and a heave of breath escapes. 

“No sex, angel,” he suddenly whispers, his eyes holding mine. “If this is to work out, then we cannot sleep together.”

I pout. “Why not?”

His lips part again and a scoff breezes through. A scoff of disbelief. He almost can’t comprehend the kind of woman I am, what I want from him, and I want it to remain that way. I want him to continue to wallow in confusion. For now.

 “Because it’s two days before my wedding,” he breathes as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course, the wedding.” I reply softly, “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

As I speak, I wink at him just as I slowly lower myself to my knees. His muscles go rigid underneath my touch as I run a hand over his thigh, my eyes holding his.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, shaking his head, wanting to refuse. But the pleasure his flesh craves betrays him.

I pull out his cock from his briefs and gently run my hand over it. The length pulses erratically, desperately, precum leaking. I flatten my tongue over his cap and lick—just a single swipe that drags a strained moan from his throat.

“So? What do you say?” I drawl.

Of course he’ll agree, because he’s at his weakest—with my hands massaging his pulsing cock and the heat of my mouth blowing over his cap. . .who’ll ever refuse a request in that state.

His jaw ticks just as his hand finds my hair, holding firm, eyes dark. “I guess we’re doing it.” he forces out.

Then he slams his length into my mouth.