Page 142 of Broken by my Bully
Her words, not mine.
I tried to convince her to sleep in my bed, that I would take the couch, but that’s around when she passed out.
No way in hell I was moving her. What the hell would she think if she woke up in a different place than where she remembered falling asleep?
After how much she drank, though, I doubt she’ll remember anything at all.
I make us coffee, double strength. I could take pity on her—both of us—and call this a snow day, but that would set a pretty shitty example.
Plus, after the breakfast I have planned, she’ll be right as rain in an hour or two.
I take her coffee to her, setting it down on the table and shaking her shoulder. “Haven. Haven, wake up.”
“Ffffmmm.”
“Come on, girl. You’ll feel better after coffee and a shower.”
“Mmmfffgd.”
Which is ‘oh my fucking god’ in hangover. I spoke it fluently in my twenties.
“Yes, I know it hurts, but maybe you’ll remember to pace yourself next time,” I growl irritably.
I grab her under the arm and drag her into a sit.
Her head lolls to the side in an uncanny resemblance to the dead person I thought she was mere minutes ago.
“Haven.” I tap her face. “Haven!”
“Jaysusss,” she whispers, reluctantly opening a blood-shot eye. “Whaaat?”
“Coffee. Shower. Breakfast.” I snap my fingers on each. “You’ve got class.”
“You’ve got…” The other eye opens. “To be kidding,” she finishes lamely. “Puh-lease let mesleep.”
“Coffee. Shower.” I stand, crossing my arms.
She tips back her head, her chest heaving as she drags in a breath. “Fine.”
On her second failed attempt to get up, I grab her arm and help her to her feet. “And if you’re not done in five minutes, your breakfast is going in the trash.”
She tugs her arm free, hesitates, and then snatches up her coffee cup. As she half-stomps, half-staggers out of my living room, I swear I hear her mumble, “Yes, Daddy.”
I can’t help myself. I’m hungover, irritated, and already halfway to a hard on.
Haven yelps when I grab her arm, and again when I land a slap on her ass. “The fuck?” she whimpers, rubbing herself through her wrinkled dress.
“Keep sassing me, and there’ll be more where that came from.”
“Promise?” she whispers, still rubbing her ass.
I grab her chin, forcing her bloodshot eyes to mine. “Careful what you wish for, girl. I don’t do safe words.”
She sloshes coffee into her mouth, dragging a hand over her lips when some trickles down her chin.
“Who says I want safe?”
I take my coffee outside, hoping the combination of caffeine and fresh air will jumpstart my brain. And it seems to work until I turn to look back at my house. More specifically, the bedroom windows.
