Page 17 of Fake Dating Adrian Hunter
In my drunken passed-out state, nothing is clear except that I have the most erotic sex dream of my life, featuring Adrian. I’ve now entered that club of women who can reach orgasm in their sleep. Multiple orgasms, to be exact.
ChapterSeven
Aside from the typical hangover symptoms of a pounding head, dehydration, and nausea, I wake hot and tingling with the Adrian sex dream tattooed in my memory. I’m disgusted at myself for how much I enjoyed it, and how satisfied yet unsatisfied it left me. I’m desperate to touch myself, but the headache prevents me.
The sun wants to torment me, shining in my eyes instead of letting me sleep off this hangover. I pull the covers over my head, but beneath the blankets lies a whole lot of mortifying flashbacks from last night. Snippets of a disaster. Seeing Jake at dinner, that embarrassing slide show, and running into the ocean to escape everyone. Pieces of the night are missing from my memory, and I can’t string together a coherent sequence of what actually happened.
My eyes flash open with the obvious question. How did I get into bed? I shoot to an upright position—a terrible mistake for the pounding in my head—and peer around the room. The layout is all wrong. This bedroom is smaller than the one Tory assigned me. All the furniture is positioned back to front.
A sickening feeling washes over me when I realize this isn’t my bungalow. I peek beneath the sheets and, oh God, I’m in my underwear. I race for the bathroom and wrap a towel around myself, knocking men’s products off the basin in the process, then run into the living room.
Adrian is asleep on the couch.
That little scumbag. I knew this had his name written all over it.
I grab the TV remote and throw it at his head. “How did I end up in your bed? And why am I half-naked?”
He takes one look at me, smirks, then closes his eyes. “Don’t tell me you forgot about your little strip show, sweetheart?”
“Adrian!”
He rolls away from me, his voice groggy with sleep. “Relax, it’s nothing I haven’t seen on a woman before.”
I jog through my memory, recapping everything I can remember from the previous night but have no clue what he’s referring to.
Bile rises in my throat as a shoot-me-now thought enters my mind. The sex dream. The multiple orgasms. Last night was the first time I experienced them during sleep. What if I was loud? What if he heard me coming? I scream internally because what if I was saying his name in my sleep?
FUCK!
“Did you hear or see me do anything strange?” I ask.
“That’s debatable.”
“Adrian, I swear, if you don’t tell me exactly what happened between us last night, I will kill you.”
All that aside, I’m trying to ignore how good the lazy upturn of his mouth looks while he’s half-asleep and with bed-hair. His sex-hair would look better. Crap! Why am I thinking about such things? It’s a blessing he’s still got a shirt on, otherwise my imagination would be a lost cause.
“We went for a swim together,” he tells me. “Remember that? You propositioned me for hate sex.”
“As if I would ever do that,” I scoff, instantly regretting that I asked for Adrian’s recount. I’ll never know what’s the truth or a lie. “How did I end up in your bed?”
“You fell asleep when I was carrying you back to the resort. You had no room key or clothes, so I brought you here. Didn’t touch you for a second longer than necessary. I bathed in bleach to get the scent of you off me. I’ll take athank youanytime.”
“You shouldn’t have put me in your bed. NowI’mgoing to have to bathe in bleach!”
He chuckles. “Would you have preferred me to leave you passed out on your doorstep for everyone to see?”
“You could have asked reception for a key.”
“Didn’t cross my mind.”
“Was there anything else? I mean, did I talk in my sleep at all? You can never trust a drunk tongue.”
His gaze narrows on me, followed a few seconds later by a cocky grin twitching at his lips. “Wanna tell me what you were dreaming about?”
“I didn’t have any dreams.”
“What are you so afraid I heard?”
