Chapter 10
10
Anais
A pounding in my temples wakes me from a hazy sleep. I fight the drowsiness to open my lids, but it’s like they’ve been glued shut.
I roll over and groan, my limbs feeling heavy. My stomach roils and I quickly slap my hand over my mouth to stop anything from making an unwelcome appearance. I finally pry one eye open and all that greets me is bright fogginess.
I blink, working to clear the grit from my eyes and refocus. When they seem to be adjusted well enough, I take a good look around the room to find that I am not in my dorm room. And this isn’t Mindy and Alyx’s apartment which I remember making plans to stay at.
A second longer and the familiarity of the room starts to sink in. I’m in Bishop’s guest room.
I lift the sheet to see that I’m wearing a very large t-shirt that doesn’t belong to me. I pull the collar to my nose and inhale. The scent of Bishop immediately washes over me and it’s an instant comfort.
I push to sit up and my head feels like it may roll right off my neck. My brain sits between a vise that is trying its very hardest to squeeze it right out of my ear. Or at least that’s what it feels like.
I flip the covers completely off and swing my legs off the side of the bed and slowly stand up.
“Woah,” I say when I wobble a little too much.
I give myself a moment or two before taking cautious steps towards the bathroom. My bladder is full as if I drank a gallon of lemonade. Then I remember the massive amounts of keg beer I drank last night and I’m emptying the contents of my stomach before my bladder.
I splash cold water on my face then search the cabinets and drawers for mouthwash or toothpaste to clear the lingering taste of vomit. Luckily Bishop is stocked with a toothbrush and toothpaste and I scrub my teeth like the dentist is waiting for me.
Tiptoeing through the room, I turn down the hall and towards the living room where I can hear the low hum of a tv. I approach and see Bishop's large back, his right arm draped over the back of the sofa.
I clear my throat and he whips around, looking over his shoulder.
Oh Christ, the man is wearing glasses. I didn’t think it was possible, but a new level of hotness has been unlocked. Fucking hell, I don’t know if my body can take it.
“Mornin’. How’re you feeling?” He asks me as I approach.
“Um. Pretty much like roadkill.” I push my wild hair out of my face and I see his eyes trail down my legs then quickly move to my face. “Thanks for the t-shirt.”
His chin dips and he rumbles, “You managed to dress yourself. Not sure how you did it, but I stood on the other side of the door listening in case you fell.”
I bite my lip, slightly embarrassed that he had to stand watch in case I hurt myself. “I don’t really remember much of last night. Aside from drinking too much and then…that’s it.”
He reaches over and places his phone down on the leather ottoman his feet were resting on, then stands. My jaw drops because hot damn. He wears navy blue sleep pants that hang low on his hips, and a plain white t-shirt. The tattoos that paint his dark skin pop next to the bright cotton and no lie, I drool as I watch him standing there.
He moves around the couch and while I know I should do something other than stare, my mind is fresh out of giving a fuck. Let him see me gawking. It’s a woman's god given right to stare when a man that fine passes in front of you. In fact, it’s probably a crime against womanhood if I don’t stare. And a man like Bishop deserves more than a passing glance.
“Let me get you some medicine. Would you like some water or juice? How about food? Are you feeling well enough to eat?” He walks into the open kitchen and reaches for a cabinet, grabbing a white bottle and popping the cap.
He pours out two pills in his palm and holds them out to me. “Water would be great. Thank you.”
He nods and spins around to the fridge, takes out a bottle of water and cracks the lid before handing it to me. I throw the pills into my mouth and wash them down with the water. A few droplets trickle from the corner of my lips and streams down my chin.
Bishop watches with undivided attention and I stick my tongue out to wipe the moisture on my lips.
He gives himself a visible shake of his head, then opens the fridge again. “I’ve got some fruit, eggs, bagels. I have pancake mix but I’m afraid it’s a protein mix and I don’t use syrup, so you may not like them.”
I nervously place one foot over the other and crack my knuckles. It’s a habit I’ve taken to recently as I approached finals, and it’s the only thing that seems to bring me a little calm when my head fills with chaos.
“Could I…do you mind if I have some fruit and maybe a fried egg? You know, to soak up the alcohol?”
“You know that you can’t really soak up the alcohol, right? You basically just need to replenish your body of what it lost last night. And that was a lot,” Bishop tells me, moving towards the refrigerator.
He pulls out a couple of brown eggs, a pint of blueberries and a …
“You keep your bananas in the fridge? That’s weird.”
He looks over his shoulder at me, a crooked smile on his lips, and I have to steady myself on the counter to keep me from fainting and splitting my head on his tile. What a wonderfully embarrassing moment that would be to add to my list of vomiting and fumbling to undress.
“I like them cold,” he says, and goes about cutting up the banana and washing the blueberries before plopping them in a bowl. “Here. Eat these while I make you an egg. The banana will help with the dehydration, and blueberries are good for inflammation. They fight off the ‘puffiness’ of drinking.”
“Thanks,” I whisper and take the fork he offers.
I get a couple of pieces in my mouth when I see him slide a glass of a murky, clear-ish liquid. When I look up at him with a puzzled look, he says, “Coconut water.”
“You got any coffee?” I ask.
“I do. But first, coconut water.” He turns his back to me once again, effectively ending that discussion.
I take a cautious sip of the coconut water, then immediately chug it down once my tastes buds approve. It quenches my parched, sore throat and gives me a little more clarity than I had just minutes ago.
The last blueberry is popped in my mouth when a plate with two fried eggs is set in front of me. “There is no way I can eat two of these,” I tell Bishop.
“You can and you will. You need the protein. I fried them in olive oil. Eat up,” he orders, and I just have to act like a brat and respond.
“Geez. Okay, dad . Bossy.”
His back stiffens and I see the vein in his neck bulge and pulse. I gulp down the oh shit that is bubbling to the surface, because it’s obvious I upset this Hulk-like man. And by Hulk I mean one minute he seems sweet and unassuming, and the next he could rip a man’s head clear off his shoulders with his hands.
Bishop doesn’t respond to my outburst, and goes about cleaning up the dishes. I quietly eat my eggs as instructed and without further argument. The sound of the water running fills the kitchen and it gives me a few moments to gather my thoughts and bravery to ask what I need to.
“Hey Bishop,” I call out so he can hear me above the clanging of the dishes.
He shuts off the water, drying his hands on a towel and turning to face me. His massive arms cross over his chest and he leans back, resting against the counter.
I take a deep breath and ask, “Did anything…um, do you know if anything happened last night? While I was at the party?”
His nostrils flare and his eyes turn black. “If you have to ask a question like that, then you have no business drinking like you did. You put yourself in a dangerous situation, and you’re lucky one of my guys was there and knew to call me. Otherwise, who knows what would’ve happened. I don’t think your friends could’ve helped you out. Anais…I kicked open the fucking door.”
I drop my eyes to my empty plate and feel tears flood them. I was careless and irresponsible, I know, but I was so upset over the date he made with that woman. I was sick thinking about him kissing her at the end of the night, and maybe even more. All I could do was drink until the images of him with someone else faded away. Apparently it took a lot of alcohol to drown them out.
“I’m,” I choke, the words stuck in my throat. “I’m sorry. I know it was stupid. I’ve never let myself get so out of hand before. I just?—”
My words are trampled by the stampede of sobs that pour from my mouth. My shoulders shake and I drop my head into my hands, ashamed that I put myself in that position, and embarrassed that Bishop was the one to find me.
The chair moves, pulling me away from the table, and big arms wrap around me. Bishop’s hand goes to the back of my head and he tucks it into his shoulder. His other hand runs up and down my spine and the deep timber of his voice soothes me.
He lets me cry for a couple minutes when I finally push away and wipe away the tears from my cheeks and sniff my nose. Bishop stands and rips a paper towel from the roll on the counter and hands it to me .
“Thanks,” I tell him, and use it to dry my face. Looking up into his eyes, I ask, “Are you going to tell my uncle?”
His shoulders rise and fall in an exaggerated motion and rubs his hand on the back of his neck. “No. We’ll both end up in trouble if I tell him. He’ll yell at you for what you did, then yell at me for not calling him even though he’s in Toronto.”
“Okay,” I breathe out in a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“And as long as you don’t pull this shit again, I won’t ever have a reason to tell him. Got it?”
I nod, gulping. “Got it.”
“Swear to me Anais. I don’t ever want to find you in a situation like that again. I’ll help Nix pack your shit and move you into his guest room if you do that.”
“I swear,” I tell him, meaning it, and hold out my pinkie. “Pinkie swear.”
He looks from my pinkie to my eyes and back to my pinkie. He finally links his with mine and I lean forward, kissing the pad of my thumb and holding it out for him.
“What’s that for?” he asks.
“That’s how you seal a pinkie promise. Kiss your thumb then we press them together. Sealed.”
He arches a skeptical brow and shakes his head.
“C’mon. You have to or it doesn’t count.”
He rolls his eyes with a small smirk then does just as I told him. When our thumbs meet, a tingle rolls up my spine feeling his callused skin against my smooth. We freeze, our thumbs pressed together and our eyes locked. Blood whooshes in my ears and everything around Bishop blurs.
I feel like we’re experiencing a moment, but all too quickly he pulls away and turns back to the sink to finish the few utensils remaining.
“I washed your clothes. They’re folded on the dryer. And the bathroom has fresh towels. There should be plenty of shampoo and body wash in there for you to use. I have to get cleaned up real quick, then I can take you to your dorm,” he rushes out, then speeds away, up to his third floor suite.
I watch him disappear until I can only hear the pounding of his footsteps and then the snick of a door closing. I wait for a couple minutes, then slowly tiptoe upstairs. I reach his door and tell myself not to do it. I scold myself that it’s wrong, but my desire to know more about Bishop overrules my sensibility.
I carefully push the door open and pad as quietly as possible to the bathroom. The closed door muffles the sounds of the running water. Hopefully it will be loud enough to drown out the creaking of the door as I push it open.
But before I can do so, I hear a deep groan rumble over the sound of water splashing on the tiles below. The groans grow louder and deeper and then I hear, “Fuck, Anais,” and I’m carefully sliding the door open.
I peek through the small slit and see the most beautiful sight I think I will ever witness with my own eyes.
Through the water soaked glass shower doors, I see Bishop’s large body standing under the spray, streams flowing over every corded muscle. His head is thrown back, eyes closed, and his muscles bulge. I follow the line from his neck as it pulses and moves across his shoulder, down his thick arm inked with art, and stopping at his massive hand that’s wrapped around his equally massive dick.
My breath stutters when I see his impressive length and girth. His hand moves back and forth, working himself closer to his release and again my name falls from his lips. The trembling in my legs is the only thing that stops me from running into that shower and dropping on my knees to finish what he’s started.
He tugs harder and I can see his chest rise and fall rapidly. My eyes dance between his face that is covered in rapture, to his pulsing cock. I lick my lips just thinking about what he tastes like. My nipples harden and my pussy begins to tingle, wetness seeping into my underwear. Then he finally explodes, ropes of cum pouring from his engorged head, and I move away, fearful that he will sense me watching .
I move speedily to his door that I practically burst through, remembering to shut it behind me, and race down the stairs and straight into the guest room. I set my shower to steaming and peel myself out of my clothes and proceed to bring myself the same euphoric end with visions of Bishop playing on repeat.