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─── ｡ﾟ☆: nine ,the shirt :☆ﾟ. ───
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A SLIGHT ACHE IN HER HEAD IS WHAT WOKE HER UP.
Angelica let out a small groan, her eyes squeezing shut as she buried her face deeper into the warm chest she was—
Wait? Chest?
There was a moment of confusion before her eyes snapped open and she froze. The confusion that swelled in her chest was quickly replaced with a feeling of horror. "Oh no. . ." The whisper of words tumbled past her lips when her gaze locked on the unmistakable Arthur Morgan. Out of all the men she could have ended up with in bed, she never expected it to be the last person she wanted nothing to do with.
For a moment, she allowed herself to take in his sleeping form. He laid beneath her, his face actually looking peaceful rather than the normal scowl he usually wore. He actually looked really handsome right now, his hair messy and slightly swollen lips. Fuck. Angelica snapped her eyes shut, trying to delete the images that were now scorched in her memory.
She tried to remember how this happened, but she didn't come up with much. Her memory was a big haze. Angelica could remember getting more drinks with Lenny and Arthur. There were fuzzy memories of laughing and dancing, then there was that memory. Rough lips on hers. The callused hands that gripped her bare hips as if their life depended on it. The deep moans — sounds she never heard from a man before — then those blue eyes.
Arthur fucking Morgan.
There was no mistaking it was him who she spent her night with. The light bruises on his neck and that ache between her legs were enough evidence to remind her of what happened. Angelica might not remember much, but she remembered enough. The short images played every time she closed her eyes, like short clips. It didn't help that she had a photogenic memory. She could remember every detail of their intimate moment. She could remember the look in Arthur's eyes when he attacked her lips outside the hotel, and how he carried her upstairs, then how rough he got when the doors were shut and locked.
