Armed with a plan, I gingerly slide out from under the sheet that’s haphazardly thrown over my lower body. The mattress squeaks and I freeze, my panicky gaze darting toward Dean.
He’s still dead to the world.
Okay. I take another breath and ease my legs over the side of the bed. When my feet hit the floor, Dean stirs. He releases a half-moan, half-breath. Then he rolls over and oh my God, I can see his dick.
Heat floods my cheeks as I stare at his package. Even flaccid, it’s impressive. He was right—he does have a great cock.
And unless my memory is failing me, I believe I vocally praised the glory of that cock many, many times last night.
My face grows hotter as I remember everything I’d said to him. Everything I’d done to him.
A silent groan rises in my throat. All right, enough reminiscing. I need to get the hell out of this bedroom. No, first I need to find my phone.
I scan the room until I spot Dean’s sweatpants. He’d slipped them on after our romp on the couch, and I’m pretty sure my phone is in his pocket.
My own clothes are nowhere to be found—last I saw them, they were in a pile on the living room floor. Which only brings more panic, because that means Tucker must have seen them when he got home last night. Shit. And he had to have heard us, because God knows I wasn’t using my indoor voice when Dean’s tongue was between my—
Nope, not thinking about it.
I fish around in his pockets for my phone. Yes. It’s here. Thank God.
I type in my passcode. Guilt slams into me from all directions when I see the unread messages from Sean.
God. If he only knew what I’d been doing when he was sending me all these heartfelt text messages. Not that I owe him any explanations. We’re broken up. We’re going to stay broken up. But I still feel awful knowing I slept with someone else while Sean was at home, desperately trying to win me back.
Not just any guy, either. I slept with Dean. Dean, the guy who was about to have a threesome before I showed up. Dean, the guy who fucks anyone with a pulse. Dean, the guy who—
“Hand it over, baby doll.”
His voice startles a squeak out of me. My head swivels toward the bed, where Dean is sliding up into a sitting position, running one hand through his sleep-messy hair. He doesn’t look or sound groggy at all. His green eyes are alert, and his naked body is…transforming.
I feel myself blushing at the sight of his quickly hardening dick, so I drop my gaze to my bare feet. “Would you please cover yourself up?”
“That’s not what you said last night…”
His mocking tone grates. “We are not discussing last night. Ever.”
He looks even more amused. “Oh, relax. It was just sex.” He makes no move to pull the sheet over his lower body. Instead, he stretches both arms high over his head, drawing my attention to his flexing muscles. And his wrists. He has red marks around his wrists…
Because I tied him to the bed last night.
Sweet mother of Moses.
When he catches where my gaze has gone, the corners of his mouth quirk up. “Granted, it was a lot kinkier than I thought it would be,” he continues with a wink. “But I ain’t complaining.”
Kill me. Just kill me.
As another rush of humiliation crashes over me, I grab the nearest item of clothing I can find—a black V-neck T-shirt—and throw it over my head. A familiar smell clouds my senses. Something spicy and masculine. It’s the same scent I breathed in last night when my lips were traveling over Dean’s bare chest. When my face was buried in his neck as I sucked on his skin like it was candy. And yep, there’s another hickey on his throat. I really went to town on this guy.
“We are not talking about it,” I say through clenched teeth. “It happened, it was fine, and it will never be mentioned again.”
“It was fine?” Smirking, Dean drags a hand down his chest, his long fingers resting right above the head of his thick erection. “It was more than fine and you know it.”
“Would you please, please get dressed?” I beg.
“Can’t. You’re wearing my shirt.” He arches a brow. “Why don’t you take it off and toss it this way?”
Fat chance. This guy is never laying eyes on my naked body again.
Since I refuse to give up the shirt, I do the next best thing and turn my back to him to go through my phone. I ignore Sean’s texts and skip to the ones from my friends. One from Hannah checking how my night was, and one from Megan asking me to brunch.
I quickly text Meg back with a resounding YES and ask her to pick me up from Garrett’s. Just as the gray bubble that indicates she’s typing a response appears, the phone is snatched from my hand.