The first thing I realize when I wake up is that I’m blindfolded.

All things considered, we’re off to a great start.

The second thing I realize is that I’m naked. Bare-ass naked. Nude, crude and ready to get lewd, reclining upside down on the lumpiest bed I’ve ever laid on in my entire life. All around me smells like weed and sex and European money, and look, if it wasn’t for the banging fucking headache pounding behind my eyes right now, I’d call this the perfect way to start a Saturday morning.

And the third thing?

The third thing is that I’ve got no fucking memories of what happened last night.

But look—I don’t have to remember what I did last night to know that I’ve got the fiercest fucking hangover of my life right now.

And just because I’m blindfolded doesn’t mean I’m any less aware of the cock that’s currently dangling over my mouth.

I sniff the air, lick my lips and size up the dick blind. You don’t have to be a genius to do these calculations—just like, kind of a ho or whatever.

Which, frankly, is fine by me. Ho life forever and fuck anyone who says otherwise! My slut senses are tingling, and they tell me that there’s at least 10-inches of man meat dangling over my lips.

“Well hello there, big boy,” I slur through my hangover-mouth. “Why don’t you come to Momma and let me show you a good—aw, fuck me! Who the fuck handcuffed me to the bed?!”

I swear to fuck, I need to stop waking up like this. Every damn time—every damn time! My BFF Mysti May gets to wake up in the arms of some exotic tramp, Sammi wakes up passed out in a swimming pool, Becky wakes up looking flawless…and me?

I try my wrists again just to be sure—but yeah, it’s fucking happened again.

Handcuffed to the bed.

Every. Damn. TIME!

I lick my lips again and consider the cock. It’s so close, I can almost taste it—and holy fuck, do I want a taste. Long, thick, uncut and bulging with more veins than an oiled up body builder. Maybe seeing is believing for those other girls, but for me? The blindfold is a handicap, not a hindrance.

I’ll gnaw my own arms off at the wrist and echo locate that dick if I have to.

A ho’s gotta do what a ho’s gotta do.

Look, I know what you’re thinking. I don’t sound worried enough, right? Entire night of my life, totally gone. No recollection, no memories, no nothin’. Any other woman waking up in my place right now—naked, handcuffed and blindfolded with a big, gorgeous dick dangling over her face—well, she’d be worried, right?

But I’m not any other woman.

I’m Percy fucking Owens.

For me, this is pretty much a typical fucking Saturday.

“Look,” I level with the mystery dick. “I know you’re there, okay? So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re gonna put your dick in my mouth, and I’m gonna suck it until your eyes go crossed and you forget your mother’s—”

“Birthday?” A sexy, terrible European accent coos over me.

I roll my eyes beneath the blindfold. “I was gonna say last name.”

“Mmm…I think not, darling.”

His voice is rugged and raw and everything man—which, honestly, just makes me want to choke myself on his foreskin all that much more.

“Oh, fuck me,” I say—and mean it.

“Persephone, that’s very naughty of you. After last night, I thought you would have learned your lesson.”

And never mind how this guy knows my name—or how my entire body seems to tremble when he says the word naughty.

Because by the time he’s finished saying his piece, I’m in fucking hysterics.

“Aw, buddy,” I cackle at him. “You don’t know how this goes yet, do you? Learned my lesson…Look, whatever you think you taught me last night was in one ear, out the other. When Percy gets her drank on, Percy don’t remember nothin’. And that’s the way I like it. Capice?”

And you know what he says to that?

Fuck all.

Nothin’.

He just laughs right back at me and wags his dick a little closer to my lips.

I can smell him. Hot, hard, and all man, all night long. Or, all morning long, as it is.

Long, though. Long is the key word here.

He moves his hips toward me and Christ, I just know it. He’s some kind of sexy-ass George Clooney look-alike—only, way hotter. When it comes to men I actually bring home, I have a type—and since this guy is in what I’m assuming is my bridal suite, you can bet your sweet ass he’s capable of getting all Oceans 11 up in my pussy.

And before you start judging me—I mean, strange, sexy naked man in my bridal suite? I know how that sounds—let me just make one thing damn fucking clear:

Calling off the wedding is the one thing I for sure did last night.

It’s not marriage. I’ve got nothing against marriage, swear on my life.

It’s…well, frankly, it’s me.

As far as institutions go, I rank marriage somewhere between MIT and the local sanatorium. For some people, marriage just works. It makes sense. I do, I do, you may now kiss the bride. Cue wedding march, cut the cake, honeymoon. Happily ever after.

For other people, marriage is a fucking death wish. Might as well pick up the divorce papers right along with the marriage certificate.

People like my friends Becky and Sammi? They’re the former.

People like my mom and dad? The latter.

Guess which category I fall into.

You can’t even blame me for calling things off. Anton Lanteri is the Prince of Menage, a very eligible bachelor in his own right, and a straight up silver fox.

And me? I’m a professional fuck-up with like, I dunno. Maybe a drinking problem. I’m a free spirit! A loose cannon badass who plays by nobody’s rules but her own! I march to the beat of my own vibrator, dammit! I’m not about to fuck both of our lives up by doing something so stupid as getting married, for fuck’s sake.

So there. We cool? Are we totally squared away with me swallowing Mystery Dude’s splooge cannon until the cows come home?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

“Come on,” I urge him. “Fuck my mouth. You know you want it.”

“Maybe I do,” he says. “But silly girls who don’t learn their lessons don’t get rewards.”

“Ohhh. So that’s how it is…Professor.” Like I haven’t played this game before. “You’re so right. I’ve been a very naughty girl. Why don’t you come over here and teach me? I’m a very fast learner…with the right stimulus, anyway.”

His thumb strokes my cheek in a way that’s all too familiar, and there’s something sensual in the tone of his voice that makes my breath catch in my throat…

Not that I, uh. Enjoy it, or whatever, or anything.

“Persephone,” he purrs down at me, his thumb stroking my lower lip. “I’m afraid if you didn’t learn your lesson last night, then this time around you’ll have to learn it on your own.”

Then, the bastard tweaks my nipple until I hiss. As soon as the sound leaves my lips, I can feel him move away.

Son of a bitch.

“Hey!” I call out after him. “Don’t—you’re not—don’t fucking do that!”

“Do what?” he says, the accent light on his thick, hot European tongue.

“Fucking…this! Leaving! Aren’t you supposed to…I don’t know. Make me breakfast? Fix up some coffee? Walk around in the buff, spewing witty banter until I kick you out of here?”

He chuckles again at that. “And why on earth would you kick me out?”

I groan. “The experience, dummy! I want my damn crazy-ass bachelorette party adventure like everyone else!”

“Mmm. I see.”

I hear the window slide open and feel the cool Amsterdam air flow in over my naked body. Suddenly, my nipples are on high alert and my skin is more sensitive than ever…fat load of good it does me if Mystery Fuck is currently leaving the building.

“Stop looking and start touching, then,” I suggest. Heartily.

“No, Persephone. You’ll have your adventure, I’m sure. But for the moment…hmm. You do realize that you’re laying on something like…two million dollars of marijuana right now, don’t you?”

As soon as I turn my head to sniff what must be the most expensive weed run of my life, I hear Mystery Fuck slip out of the window…and out of my life.

Well, fuck.

Curvy girls just can’t catch a fucking break.