Page 125 of Making Choices

My gasping apology just makes him laugh harder.

Shaking my head, I clamber back to my feet and toss the duvet in his face. “Oh, shut up… it’s not that funny.”

The giant butthead snorts and collapses onto his back. At the sight of his morning wood tenting his boxers, I avert my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I offer again. “My hungover brain thought you were Zeke.”

“Sure. Fuckin’ Venom.”

The irritation in his voice creates a vise grip of shame around my chest. “I really am sorry, Slash.”

“It’s too early for apologies, Cherub,” Slash grumbles in a tone that’s closer to a velvety whisper than a genuine complaint. After pulling a pillow over his eyes, he pats the mattress next to him. “Come back to bed.”

“I can’t… I’m too embarrassed.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he jokes in a more Slash-like manner. “It’s not every mornin’ a man wakes up to a gorgeous blonde suckin’ his lip and shovin’ her hand down his pants.”

“Please.” I jam my hands over my ears, even as his change of mood lifts my own out of the doldrums. “Stop it.”

Lifting the pillow, he peeks at me. “Literally made you drool.”

“Argh! You’re impossible.”

Finally, Slash starts laughing again.

I wipe the corner of my mouth, hopefully removing the rest of the signs that I spent the night dribbling on the shoulder of the man I just tried to feel up. After watching him flop around like a dying fish while he enjoys his amusement at my expense, I decide that this awkward situation can only have one outcome.

With panther-like prowess that’s at odds with my hangover, I pounce on him while he’s not paying attention. All my best moves are immediately deployed. Straddling his waist, I ignore the morning wood that twitches under my arse to jam the fingers of my right hand into the pressure point at either edge of Slash’s jaw. He freezes seconds before my left hand reaches his nipple. I twist it, utilising the classic nipple cripple in a way that makes him buck beneath me.

“Not so funny now, is it?”

The ice-blue gaze that meets mine is filled with the promise of retribution. “It’s fuckin’ hilarious.”

His dick kicks beneath me again and it’s my turn to freeze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hmmm.” Slash cocks his head like he’s thinking. Maintaining the pressure under his jaw, I twist his nipple until he grunts. Still the maniac doesn’t call mercy. He peers up at me, posing his question with the same urgency he uses to order a coffee despite the pain I’m causing. “How should I pay you back for this?”

“By calling mercy,” I prompt him jokingly. Another twist that he breathes through without any sign of agony. “And bowing down before my eminently superior nipple cripple prowess.”

“Nah,” Slash declares. He abruptly tilts his hips to the side. As I slip off him, the fingers I have wedged under his jaw lose effect. “I think you should be bowin’ down in front of me.”

“Never.” I find myself trapped beneath him after he easily reverses our positions. Caught on my back, my defiance is subdued by the feel of Slash’s hips wedged between my thighs. “Ne-ver.”

“We’ll see.” Slash puts a little space between us, then snakes his hand down my body to pull my t-shirt up. With my bra-covered chest and my scarred stomach exposed to his perusal, a ripple of unease floods me. “Imagine if I repaid the favour? Hmmm... what if I made you beg?”

“Still wouldn’t call mercy,” I tell him, even as my nipples tighten at the thought. Blaming Nadia and her dumb ideas for my traitorous body’s response, I rack my mind for a way to bluff my way out of the uncomfortable situation I’ve inadvertently created. “Everyone knows women are tougher than men… we literally let babies chew on our nipples for fun.”

For the first time, the casual mention of a baby doesn’t make me well up.

Unfortunately, Slash still reacts badly.

Pain and regret flashes across his face, then he plays it off. “Good point.”

He crawls off the bed, then holds a hand out to me. Not fully trusting his intentions, I lie on my back, panting hard for some unknown reason, until the blond man leans over me to tug my t-shirt back down. Tension builds between us when his hands linger on the hem. His fingertips brush the soft skin high on my thigh. The need to squirm fills my belly, and I initially chalk it up to the baby comment.

“Cherub, I…” Slash trails off.

I can’t read the look in his eyes.

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