Adrenaline surges through my body, and I do the dumbest thing I can: I open the stairwell door and fly upstairs—where all the bedrooms are. To the one place in the house where there’s no exit.

All the pain and terror from that night—the things I didn’t feel—rush through my body, two years late. I can barely make it up the steep, slick, hardwood stairs, my shoes slipping, my hand clawing the bannister. As I near the second-story doorway, I hear footsteps echo off the stairs behind me, and the rush through my head and chest is so strong I almost freeze, like in a nightmare.

A slap of cool air hits my cheeks as I burst into the upstairs hall. Right, then left. I don’t know where to go! I dart to the right—Dec’s bed had girls in it!—and time stretches into soup while my heart pounds and my hands fumble with the doorknob.

I’m so lost in my horror, I don’t notice someone is behind me until I hear a voice. I whirl.

“Whoa…” It’s the girl from downstairs. The drunken Playmate. Her arms are out, as if she wants to grab my shoulders. She holds her hands up as her eyes stretch wide. “Are you okay?”

I can’t think, just want to get away from her. Get inside the room to safety. I nod automatically, then rush inside Dec’s room. Where I blink at a tangle of bare bodies on the bed.

That guy’s not Dec…

The Playmate touches me, saying something. I back away, my feet moving me toward the wall as I stare at the scene in front of me.

The man-bun guy. That’s him, there in the middle. One blonde girl is licking at his chest. The other has her hand in his unzipped pants. So it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me that the guy’s eyes are widened in alarm. His hands are pushing at the girls.

The Playmate touches my arm, then tries to wrap her arm around me. I can’t help it: I start sobbing.

Distantly, I’m aware of people moving. I sense more than see Man Bun moving toward me, and for some reason, that makes me cry harder. I hear his low voice vibrate through the air and hear the Playmate say something. But I’m not processing.

“I’m so tired,” I murmur, tugging on his hand. “Let’s lay down for just a minute.”

“There’s a party going on downstairs.”

“I know…but you’re the host. Surely you can take a minute off. Don’t you want to snuggle with your girlfriend?”

“No. I don’t.” He wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest before he throws me on his big bed. “I want to fuck my girlfriend.”

I land on my back and bounce, then pull myself up, hands over my knees. “Bryce, I’m tired. I was up all night talking to Maggie about Benjamin.”

His eyes go weird. At first, I think it’s something to do with Maggie, but as he crawls toward me, taking my arms in big hands, I forget about them. “All the better.” Bryce squeezes my wrists.

“What do you mean, all the better?” I try to tug away from him, but Bryce won’t let me go. He does this sometimes. Like he’s playing around, but it’s just…weird.

I pull a little harder. “Bryce, that hurts! Lay down with me and I’ll jerk you off if you’re so horny.”

“I don’t need that, Lucy. I’ve got my own hands.”

My heart is pounding as I pull against his grip. “I’ve got a mouth.” My voice is shaking. His eyes are still weird. Like…over-focused. “Bryce…this isn’t funny. Let my arms go.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“Let go!”

He laughs as I kick at him. “You never give it to me when I want it. You’re a tease.”

“No I’m not. You’re freaking me out.”

He pulls me closer. “I’m your boyfriend, Lucy…”

His hands are on my arms. He smells like sweat and soap. I come to in a rush of awareness and sensation, finding Man Bun right in front of me. His face is kind. Concerned. His hazel eyes are caring. Gentle. My eyes roll down his thick chest.

I press my back against the wall. That tattoo on his chest… The one with the bird. The crown.

I suck back a deep breath as my body starts to hum. “Are— You’re…” I blink up at his face. Familiar face. My mind is still muddled. Am I going crazy?

His lips quirk as a smile plays at their corners. “Who am I?”

“Prince Liam?”

The smile on his lightly bearded face is as radiant as I’d imagined—maybe more. “You found me out,” he murmurs.

I blink at him. Prince Liam. But it’s weird, because his hair is lighter. Longer. And he has that scruffy beard.

“You’re—” I swallow hard, to soothe my tight throat. “What did you do to your hair?” I hear myself say in a cracking voice.

He laughs. “You don’t like it?”

His hand rubs over it, revealing his thick bicep and the hair under his arm.

“It’s long,” I whisper.

“Yeah.” He smiles, and it’s that smile. The rueful, sweet, shy smile. The one I always figured I’d imagined when I saw it online. “I grew it out when I was traveling.”

I nod mutely. Prince Liam’s world tour. I can feel my gaze drawn down his body like a magnet. I don’t let it go there, so I don’t look—not really—but I see the darkness of his boxer-briefs. They’re charcoal-black. Crown Jewels.

I keep on nodding as my face burns.

“Lucy?”

I manage a shaky breath as full awareness pours over me. I blink around the room. It’s empty now, just him and me.

His hand cups my elbow, drawing my attention to the thickness of his forearm. “Hey… You okay?”

My gaze lifts to his as I nod. How bad was I freaking out when I burst in here? My cheeks sting as I realize how embarrassed I should be. I walked in on a threesome. Interrupted them with my hysterics.

Tears prickle my eyes. I blink quickly. “Fine.” I give another sharp nod.

He nods slowly back at me. His eyes on mine are grave, as if he knows.

“Okay.” He walks over to the bed and grabs a pair of jeans. I can’t help watching as he pulls them on. Dear Lord, his body is amazing. I try not to look there, but my eyes don’t obey. I see his bulge. The crown jewels. I think I was wrong—about the size of things. He is well-hung. He’s probably a grower, too.

I distract my battered mind with dirty thoughts while he plucks his shirt off the footboard and pulls it over his head. He turns mostly away from me, grabbing a thin, pink slip of fabric off the bed and stuffing it into a pocket. Oh my God, he’s pocketing a thong.

Embarrassment washes over me, heavy and suffocating.

That he saw me freaking out.

That I broke down at all.

He flashes me a kind smile as he angles himself toward the door. “I’ll give you a minute. Looks like the party moved, anyway.”

He lingers just a moment before opening the door. It seems like maybe he’s going to apologize—but why? What does he have to be ashamed of? Finally he tilts his head a little. With his eyes on mine until the last second, he steps into the hall.

The door clicks shut behind him.

When I’m sure he isn’t coming back, I turn the door’s lock.

* * *

I relax the hand that’s fisting Carolina’s hair and drag my fingertips over her scalp. Something more gentle. She’s sucking my cock; I figure it’s the least I can do.

I must be going fucking crazy because her lips are like a goddamned glove, but I can’t come. It’s not all the whiskey or the coke, either. That shit never seems to faze me.

I let her suck me back into her hot, tight throat and flex my legs, groaning while Suzie bites my nipple.

Fuck. My balls are tight, my dick is throbbing…

I keep seeing her.

I blow my breath out as Suzie’s tongue traces my navel. God, this feels so fucking good, but…

Carolina’s soft hand cups my balls, and I know right then it won’t happen.

With another groan, I push up on my elbows and reach down toward their heads. Two pairs of made-up eyes rise to mine.

My friends are easily distracted by the suggestion that we stop and do a few more lines of coke. I leave the baggie on the dresser in the guest room, telling them I’ll be back.

Buttoning my jeans in the dim hall, I look down toward the door of Dec’s room—the one I’ve been using. I’m still pretty hard. I run my hand over my bare abs, trying to think about the one thing I know will kill a boner: the reason that I’m doing all this blow and living one long hangover. It only takes a few seconds to work.

She’s not in there, I tell myself. Not anymore. But I won’t rest until I check.

For reasons I can’t explain, I’m quiet and careful as I twist the doorknob, silent as I push the door open. I hear her before I see her: little sniffles interspersed with soft, sad sounds: the aftermath of tears.

I find her curled up in the bed, facing a wall of shelves, her back to me. Something hot pours through my chest. My first thought is I should go, just leave her be, but I’m in motion, stepping toward her, my tight, buzzing body prickling with agitated heat.

“Lucy?”

She moves so fast, I’m startled by it: one moment lying on her side, the next upright, arms out, sheets falling to her hips. Even with the haze over my mind, I notice that her face is very pale—just like before. It makes her lips look red, her eyes look dark.

Her pretty, dark hair hangs around her face. My cock stirs.

Asshole.

Despite my body’s readiness, I feel unsure. It’s an unusual sensation. I just stand there, staring at her. That’s what I’m doing when she puts a hand over her eyes, flops back down, and hides her face in my pillow.

I see her shoulders shake. That’s the only reason I don’t go. That’s what I tell myself.

I’ve never been one to leave a woman. Not if she has some sort of need. And Lucy Rhodes needs…something.

I hesitate a moment more before I step over to the bed. My gaze trails down my bare chest. I must reek of alcohol and sex, but still…

I touch her shoulder. Her body curls up—I see it through the covers—and I exhale slowly.

Should I go?

What can I offer her?

For once, a woman doesn’t want my cock, or worse yet, my blow. This woman doesn’t want me here. But I can’t leave. It’s my bed, after all—my room while I’m at Dec’s. I can’t just leave her crying.

“Luce?” I try. I’m such an asshole. Like we’re friends.

Her shoulders shake again, and I can’t stop myself leaning over the bed. I watch my hand come to her dark hair. Fuck, I’ve always loved a woman’s hair. How fucking soft… I sift through her silky tresses, my body still except my fingers, feeling for some motion from her. If she tenses up, I tell myself, I’ll go.

But…Lucy doesn’t. If anything, I think I feel her settle as I play through her thick, shiny locks and rub her scalp. She doesn’t have to know it’s a move I perfected for the women sucking my cock. I’ve never asked them how they like it, but it must be nice, because I feel her muscles slacken. Feel her sink a little deeper into the downy mattress.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to bother yeh.” I don’t know why I say the words. I don’t know why they come out so damn Scottish. I did most of my schooling in the states, then London for a bit before I left uni. But I’m from Gael, still. I suppose we do sound Scottish…

I can feel her shoulders sink with her low exhalation.

So it eased her.

Maybe so.

I hope so.

I stroke her hair away from her face and am rewarded by the peek of her delicate ear. It’s so tiny, so…pretty, if an ear can be so. It’s a struggle not to kiss her there, to kiss her milky throat. I’m hard again, and feeling like a bastard.

Beautiful…

I want to say the word, but hold it in. She doesn’t care right now. Whatever’s happened, being gorgeous isn’t on her mind.

And yet she is. She’s just as lovely as she was on my flatscreen, back when I used to jerk off to her in her bathing suit by her family’s pool.

I try to make up for it now by being gentle with her hair. She doesn’t move, not for a long time underneath my hand. I feel a bit of pride. I’ve got her quiet. Maybe she’s feeling better now. Her name is on my tongue—I’m going to ask her what’s upset her—when I hear a little snort.

I stand still and listen, feel the movement of her breathing.

And there it is again: another tiny snore.

Lucy Rhodes just fell asleep in my bed.