Page 7 of Savage Grace

“Are you okay?” he panted, trying to catch his breath as I flipped over onto my back. I scrambled back, frowning up at him and pulling the blanket over to cover my chest.

The stranger arched a brow, looking at me with that confused grin again.

Fuck, he was beautiful.

His wispy, dark blonde hair was dishevelled, and his beard glistened from where it had been moments ago.

The warm light that filtered through the gap in the blinds hit his eyes just right, highlighting the way the colour swirled from dark gold into green.

“What is it?” he checked over his shoulder, scanning the room for a problem.

“I don’t know your name.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

His shoulders relaxed then, realising that there was no real threat, and he rolled his eyes.

“That’s because you didn’t fuckingask, darlin’.”

“Okay? So what is it?”

The stranger let out a gravelly chuckle, reaching up and snatching the blanket away from my chest in a whipping swoop. His eyes trailed for a split second as he climbed onto the bed towards me, reaching forward to roughly grope at one of my tits.

“It’s Ashe,” he said quietly, pinching my nipple, and then pushing me back down before he sank back between my legs to finish the job he had started.

3

ZARINA

I groanedas I rolled over, pulling the pillow over my face. The small crack in the blinds let in far too much sunlight, and it instantly put me in a bad mood and triggered the familiar throbbing in my temples that always followed a good night out.

My eyes shot open.

I didn’t have blinds in my room.

My room had thick layers of blackout curtains to ensure that I would never have to be assaulted by sunlight in such a way.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I looked around and tried to get my bearings.

Where the fuck was I?

There was a sleeping figure beside me, and memories of the night before came back in brief flashes in my mind. The reddy-pink scratch marks down his broad, tan back were evidence of what we had done.

Where was my bag?

Where were my clothes?

Another vague memory came to mind of him ripping open the back of my dress, and then I looked to the floor, where there were indeed red tatters of material strewn about.

“Fuck,” I whispered to myself.

I slipped out of the soft, white linen sheets and made my way to the set of drawers against the wall.

Digging through the first drawer, I sighed and shook my head at the shirts thrown inside of it, not folded or organised at all. I rifled through them and picked one I thought I could get away with using as a dress.

A big white shirt that said ‘Harley Davidson’ would have to do. It was a little frayed, had a few tasteful slits in the material, and it had a long hem.

I knew I could pull it off as intentionally casual rather than an obviously stolen walk-of-shame outfit.

Luckily, the rest of my things were still in a heap by the front door. I slipped on my shoes, put my bag over my shoulder, and checked my phone. It was nearly 9 a.m. and I had 10 missed calls from my sister.

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