Lexi

 

Is that pounding or ringing? Something is happening. I peek one eye open to assess my surroundings. I’m in a hotel room, and the day before starts coming back to me in bits and pieces.

Lost baggage, cancelled hotel room, shopping, dinner, dancing, Bradley.

I close my eyes to see if the pounding will stop, and nope, it doesn’t. Scrunching my eyes closed, I get ready to peel them open again. Slowly I open them both this time, and yep, it still hurts. Closing them again, I lift my hand to my head because—surprise, surprise—it’s the source of the pounding.

Peeking them open again, I look at the other side of me, and lo and behold, there lies Bradley. The sheet is around his waist, and his chest is on full display in all its muscled glory. He’s sculpted like a model, from his broad, strong chest to his rippled, six-pack abs. One arm is up over his head, and the other runs alongside him, bent at the elbow so his hand rests on his stomach. My mouth waters at the sight he makes lying there, which is a miracle since my mouth feels as dry as the Vegas desert.

I look down at myself, noticing the sheet across my chest. Picking it up, I peek beneath it to see that I’m topless, but I thankfully still have my lace panties on. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I whisper to myself. I pick up the sheet to see if Bradley is naked. Big mistake, and boy do I ever mean big.

He’s wearing black Hugo Boss boxer briefs, but his cock is fully erect, filling it out more than it should be possible. I lick my lips at the thought I may have touched it last night, and I squeeze my legs shut at the ache I feel there.

“Oh my God, oh my God.” I continue to chant as I try to slide out of bed without waking him. But, smooth operator that I am, I did not calculate how close to the edge I was and fell right off the bed, face-planting into the carpet below.

“Holy shit.” I hear from the top of the bed.

I stay still for a moment, praying that while I was in whatever alternate universe that I visited last night—because, clearly that’s the only explanation for why I’m waking up almost naked in a bed with an also almost naked Bradley—that I took on the properties of a chameleon and am currently blending into the carpet.

“Jesus, are you okay?” He gets out of bed to help me up. He sits me up with my back to the bed, my tits pointing to Jesus, and I scurry to cover myself with my hands. He leans over me to grab a pillow and passes it to me. “Here, this should help.”

I look at him. “Aren’t you going to get a pillow for yourself?” I ask him, looking wide-eyed at his cock that is still standing at very much attention. So much.

“What’s the matter, love? Don’t you want to lick the lollipop this morning?” He smirks at me, grabbing another pillow to put in front of himself.

I groan to myself, thinking of last night. Who the hell thought that all those shots of vodka would be a good idea? “Umm, I need to use the bathroom.” Is all I can say, getting up and grabbing another pillow to hide my ass while I walk away.

“Don’t hide now, love. You practically stripped in front of me. I believe you said something about wanting to be one with the earth.” He laughs as he walks over to the phone on the bedside table and picks it up, pressing one of the buttons, and says, “Hi. I’d like to order a pot of coffee,” he starts.

“Two! Two pots of coffee,” I holler from the bathroom and then groan when my head starts to pound again. “And pancakes, hash browns, and scrambled eggs. Oh, and toast with butter! Butter, Bradley, none of that margarine crap!”

His eyebrow shoots up. “Anything else? I don’t think you said anything about sausages or bacon. Do you want them?” He smirks, repeating the order to the person on the other end. “Should be about thirty minutes. I’ll go grab you some water and some more Tylenol,” he says to me as I close the door and move to the sink.

Looking in the mirror, I gasp out loud at what I see. Loud enough apparently for Bradley to knock on the door and ask if everything is all right.

“Fine, just fine,” I tell him, assessing the disaster looking back at me. My hair looks like birds have started to build a nest in it. In fact, I think I even heard a tweet. My lashes are sticking together, and my makeup is smeared in what clearly was my best attempt at channeling my inner raccoon. Holy shit.

I wash my face, removing the remnants of last night’s makeup, and brush my teeth. By the time I walk out of the bathroom, I feel and look a bit more human. The plush, white hotel robe that I found on the back of the bathroom door feels like I’m wearing fluffy cotton balls.

He’s lying on the bed, watching television and wearing his own robe, which gapes open a bit, showing off his chest. “I put some water and Tylenol on the table.” He points to my side of the bed.

I crawl onto the bed and pop the Tylenol into my mouth and chase it down with the water.

Then I lie down in the fetal position, with my head on the pillow, to watch television. “What show is this?”

“I haven’t a clue, but I’m fascinated. It’s a show about swords. That guy makes custom swords.” He starts to tell me about the show when he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

Not moving a muscle, he looks over at me and says, “I guess I’ll get it.”

I don’t look up at him. “That sounds like a plan,” I mutter, continuing to watch the show.

There is chattering at the door. “Yes, just put it right there. I’ll deal with it.” Glasses clink as he rolls the cart over to his side of the bed. “I’m assuming we’re eating in bed?”

“We can go sit at the table if you want.” I move to get up and wince from the pain in my head. “Yep, here would be just fancy,” I say, landing back on the pillow.

I hear him chuckle to himself while he places tray after tray on the bed. “You have to eat something and then you can nap,” he says, getting on the bed himself.

It’s hard to sit on the bed, your legs crossed under you, and look sexy, but Bradley does it. Damn him. I can’t help the thought of him sitting here, eating his breakfast naked, dribbles of syrup falling onto him. I’d have to lick it off him. You know, because it would be the right thing to do.

“No, I’ll sit up. I just need some coffee first.” I spot the silver pot of coffee.

He pours me a cup. “What do you take in it, love?”

“Just a splash of cream, please.” I sit up, folding one leg and leaving one stretched out. He hands me the cup, and I inhale deeply. “This smells like heaven.”

He laughs and reaches for the other silver carafe, pouring himself a cup.

“Is that tea?” I laugh at him while I continue sipping my coffee.

“Yes, ma’am. You can take the boy out of England, but you can’t take England out of the boy.” He sips his tea and then places the cup on the bedside table as he settles himself back into the bed.

He starts removing the silver lids from the covered plates, revealing everything I ordered. Stacks of pancakes, fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fresh fruit, croissants, my toast—with butter, no margarine in sight. But what really gets my interest is the plate of what looks like an omelet that is stuffed with greasy potatoes, bacon, and mushrooms. He passes me a plate.

“It’s like a picnic. A hangover picnic,” I say, grabbing some pancakes and the omelet concoction. “Nothing says ‘I drank like it was my job last night’ like a morning-after serving of greasy breakfast meats, eggs, and potatoes soaked in oil,” I tell him, bringing a forkful of food to my mouth and groaning as it hits my taste buds. It’s almost like I’ve died and gone to heaven. “This is so good.”

He picks up his own plate, which looks to be filled with some nasty, plastic-looking egg white omelet and some fresh fruit. We eat in silence, and my head slowly stops pounding.

“I’m seriously never drinking again. Jesus, why didn’t you stop me?” I look at him while I start gathering up some of the dishes and putting them back on the cart. I then refill my coffee and start sipping my fourth cup.

“There was no stopping the ‘dancing queen,’ love. Trust me, I tried.” He chuckles. “You crowned yourself that, by the way, and then informed me that we would have to shop for a crown today. I believe you said you’d need something that’s not quite as big as Miss Universe’s crown but definitely bigger than Miss USA’s.” He continues to sip his tea and watch me, his eyes crinkling while he hides his smile behind the cup.

Burying my face into my hands, I groan as I try to remember yesterday. “Okay, tell me how bad was it?” I say as a sudden image from last night pops into my head and I gasp. “Oh my God! Please tell me I didn’t bend over, touch my toes, and yell ‘how you like me now?’”

“That wasn’t the best part.” He places his own plate on the cart. “It was when you ‘dropped that ass to get low’ that I thought a bloody riot would break out.”

“Oh, God, I don’t remember that part.” There’s a knock at the door, and I turn my head toward it as I ask, “Who is that?”

Getting up off the bed, I follow Bradley to the door while he opens it. It’s a bellboy, and he hands Bradley what looks like about twenty bags, all from stores we went to yesterday. “Here you are, sir, these were just delivered to the front desk.”

Bradley takes the bags from him before walking over to his wallet that is on the table. He takes out a twenty-dollar bill and tips him. “Thanks, lad.” Then he turns and closes the door.

“What is that?” I point to all the bags in his hands.

“These are your birthday presents. Happy Birthday!” He raises up both hands that are now laden with equal numbers of bags in them.

I frown at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Please tell me you did not go back and buy everything that I put back.”

“No, I did not,” he says, looking at me sheepishly. “I mean, I didn’t go back, that is. I bought them while you were in the changing room.”

“Bradley! We are taking all that back,” I tell him, grabbing the bags and putting them at the front door.

“We can’t. They were final sales.” He tries to tell me while I look at him through the slits in my eyes. “Please just accept them. It’s important to me, and well, think of the economy.” He smirks at me and then winks, and my panties are instantly wet.

Another knock on the door has me raising my eyebrows. “I don’t even want to know who is at the door this time,” I tell him when he moves to open the door, smiling at two women holding what appears to be massage tables.

“Happy Birthday part two, love,” he says, moving out of the way so the women can come in.

“Where shall we set up for the massages?” one of them asks. “We can either set up in the bathroom, or we can do it here in the living room.”

“Where do you want it?” he asks me, excitement shining in his eyes, and I want to be mad at him, I want to be furious with him, but I can’t. He’s so excited about this, and besides, I could really use a massage.

“Stop calling me love. It messes with my brain.” I point at him while he nods. “Besides, I’m mad at you.” I put my hands on my hips. “The living room is fine.”

They go about setting up the massage tables and moving things around so they are positioned side by side. I head into the bedroom to pick up the breakfast dishes, placing them back on the room service cart and rolling it out into the hall.

I hear a muffled ping from somewhere in the room. “Oh, shit, my cell phone,” I tell him, going in search of the ping that is going off every five seconds.

I locate my purse at the bottom of the pile of my clothes that’s at the foot of the bed, and I pull it out of the purse. There are seventy-five unread messages. “Holy shit, something must have happened,” I say out loud while Bradley looks at me from the other side of the room with worry etched on his face.

I see all of the messages are from Melanie, all frantic, all worrisome. I scroll to the top of the message and see some picture I sent from last night. There are about five selfies of me in different poses. Great, just fucking great. I looked like a hot mess. Well, maybe not quite that bad, and I’m sure in that moment I thought I was a supermodel, but I did look obviously intoxicated, which is what’s causing her worry. Ugh. I’m never drinking again. I continue scrolling through the pictures I sent, but it’s the last picture that gives me pause. It’s not the fact that I sent her a picture of us together that stops me in my tracks, it’s what we were doing in the picture that stuns me. It’s a side selfie of me and Bradley…as my tongue is sliding into his mouth. I move my hand to cover my gaping mouth as my eyes move to the texts I sent to her after the pictures.

I just tongue fucked Bradley!

Mellie bellie, his cock is huge!

I’m so going to bounce on it tonight!

Like a fucking boss.

I’m finally going to get to see his cock. Eeek!

Dude, it’s so big!

Why aren’t you answering me????

Do you not care that I’m going to fuck him??

I’m the Queen of the world!!!!

I close my eyes after that last message and slowly slide into the closest chair next to me. Looking up at Bradley, I whisper the question that would change this vacation.

“We made out? Did we have sex?”