Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,18

retrieve something.

She wasn’t wearing clothes. Had I fucked her last night?

For an agonizing moment, I searched my memory, desperate to recall. There had to be something. Anything. Because if I’d fucked Sophie Abbott and been too drunk to remember, that was a goddamn tragedy.

How could I not remember?

Maybe she did. Not that I was going to come out and ask. That would be a blow to my manhood. Hey, sugar, do you by chance remember if we fucked last night? How was it?

No.

I’d just play it cool and wait for her to tell me how great it had been. Or maybe ask for more.

I leaned against the doorframe, still holding the towel over my growing erection. I didn’t want to alarm her with it. If she wanted some of this, I was certainly in—it didn’t do me any good to take a woman to bed and have no memory of it. If I had actually taken her to bed, and the way my cock ached made me wonder.

“Morning.”

She let out a surprised squeak and straightened. Her hand clutched the sheet at her chest and she very slowly turned her head to look at me.

“Morning?”

That hesitant—almost shocked—expression wasn’t what I’d expect from a woman I’d taken to pound town last night. So maybe we hadn’t.

Or maybe she didn’t remember either.

“Did you lose something behind the couch?”

“My bra. At least, I think it’s my bra. There’s a bra.”

Her blond curls were matted down on one side of her head and she had smears of makeup beneath her eyes. Somehow, that only made my dick harder. I wanted to think I’d messed up her hair, but it still wasn’t coming back to me.

“How did your bra get behind the couch?”

“I’m not positive, but it might have had something to do with that.” She pointed.

I was clearly not awake yet. How had I missed the portable stripper pole in the center of the room?

“Where did that come from?”

“I’m not sure.” Still clutching the sheet in a tight fist, she climbed off the couch. “Everything after we left Mandalay Bay is pretty hazy.”

I raked a hand through my hair. “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

The room was a mess. Pillows littered the floor and we’d apparently gotten late-night room service. A tray of half-eaten food sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. Our clothes were scattered around the room. I spotted one of her shoes beneath the coffee table, but the other was nowhere in sight. My shirt hung haphazardly from the corner of the wall-mounted TV and her dress was a deep purple puddle next to the pole.

And were those her panties dangling from the top of the curtain?

She turned toward the window and seemed to see the same thing I did. “Oh my god.”

I was about to tell her not to worry about it—I’d get them down—but she dashed over to the window as if she could grab them before I realized what they were. Only, her feet got tangled in the sheet and she face-planted on the floor with a thud.

“I’m okay.” She held up a hand to wave me off.

I crouched next to her. “Are you sure?”

She lifted her head. “Yeah, I—” Her eyes went wide.

Glancing down, I realized I’d dropped the towel and was kneeling in front of her with my morning erection just inches from her face.

I jerked my hips back, trying to get it away from her. It was one thing if a woman wanted your dick in her face. Quite another if she didn’t.

She snort-laughed, which was not the sort of response a guy wanted to a close-up of his manhood.

“Sorry.” She pushed herself up and managed to get to her feet. “I wasn’t laughing at you. That’s nothing to laugh at. In fact it’s very—” She stopped abruptly, pressing her lips closed. “Never mind.”

It’s very what? Hard? Thick when it’s inside you? Satisfying? Tell me, Sophie!

I grabbed the towel, stood, and wrapped it around my waist—trying to ignore the pressure in my groin. Sophie adjusted the sheet without giving me so much as a peek of what was underneath and went to the window to grab her panties. She had to jump, but she hooked them with a finger and got them down.

“Okay, um, I’m just going to get dressed and go.” She shuffled past me to the stripper pole and gathered up her dress. “I’ll just leave the bra behind the couch. It’s fine. Have you seen my other shoe? Maybe it’s in the bedroom.