Lost in a Reverie 18+ Only (Book 1 of Lastor Series) ['23/'24 EDIT]

Chapter 39

I was hot. Not in the figurative and complimentary sense. Literally.

I was faintly aware that a pair of arms were wrapped around me and a hard chest was pressed against my back. A man. A man whose body practically radiated with heat.

Jesus. Allah. Buddha. Shiva. Zeus. I prayed to all the Gods to please, let it not be Archibald.

I forced my eyes to open, blinking as the unfamiliar surroundings settled in my throbbing head. I dropped my eyes on the arms around my body and tried to move away but the man merely pulled me back. I swallowed hard, trying to remember the events that unfolded last night.

I remembered taking Alex up on his challenge that he could out drink me. I remembered licking his body as we did tequila shots off each other. I remembered getting pissed drunk. I remembered...

What else?

Did we fuck?

I tried to remember but I quickly gave up when my head protested with being used too early.

If I did fuck that piece of shit, I wasn't going to stay around for the awkward morning. I never minded one night stands. I've been jumping from one unknown body to another long enough that it would be ridiculous to act like a nun about it. But this was Alex. Leo. Archibald. He was like the crass and homicidal version of my brother. He could be a pervert but he never showed any intention of fucking me. Fucking him was practically incest.

I wanted to vomit. Right then and there.

I bolted from the bed, gagging as the bile rose up my throat. I spotted a door and kicked it open. Running out of the room and down the hall, I kicked down the next door I saw and practically jumped for joy when it ended up being the bathroom. I ran for the toilet bowl, dropping on the floor and hurling my guts out.

Fucking tequila.

The disgusting noises I was making probably woke him up because seconds later, I felt his presence. I didn't turn. I would probably vomit again.

"You asshole..." I hissed while I was hunched over the toilet seat. "I swear, Archibald, if we fucked and you infested me with whatever disease you're carrying, I'm going to cut your fucking dick off and feed it to your daughter," I spat menacingly before going into another fit of vomiting.

This was why I stuck to whiskey. And vodka. And scotch. And beer. Rarely tequila. That shit bites your ass once morning came.

"Who's Archibald? Is that one of your friend's list of fake names?"

I froze when I recognized the voice. It wasn't the perverted killer.

I straightened as I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth. I turned my head to look at Rick, my eyes raking over his half naked state. He only had a pair of boxer's on, his chiseled torso blatantly on show as he leaned against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, regarding me with an unimpressed gaze.

I winced, a sudden stinging in my head catching me off guard.

"Did we fuck?"

"No. You passed out after vomiting allover yourself. It wasn't exactly a turn on," he muttered dryly.

I groaned and dragged myself up to my feet, which was a mistake because a wave of nausea hit me like a ton of bricks, causing my head to make a quick spin on its own motherfucking axis.

The floor suddenly seemed incredibly close to my face.

Rick was on me in a flash before I face planted myself on the tiles and I held onto his arms as my limbs gave out.