48. Olivia
Olivia
“Don’t hate me in the morning…”
Hate who? What? Those words ring through my mind the moment I register the birds chirping from outside my window.
Fucking birds. No one is that damn cheerful when the sun comes up.
Like, who needs to chirp about it so much?
Can’t they quiet down for another hour or so and give me a little more peace?
Or until my brain doesn’t feel so damn foggy?
All I want to do is go back to sleep and sleep off whatever is happening inside me. Ugh.
My brain hurts.
My body hurts.
Fuck even my vagina is throbbing.
What the hell happened last night?
I groan, readjusting the fluffy pillow beneath my head and inhaling the familiar scent taking over my senses.
Immediately, everything inside me melts into the comfortable mattress, and I become one with it again.
My favorite place to be. I bury my nose in the fluffy pillow as my limbs relax, and my brain is on the precipice of falling back into sleep land.
Well, until a loud clattering sounds somewhere in our dorm, and my eyes slowly flutter open. God, even my eyeballs ache. This is rude. I should still be sleeping. Not facing the sun and listening to the damn birds chirping.
“What the fuck is Simon doing?” I groan to myself, running a hand down my face. I roll onto my back and stare up at the white ceiling above my head, blinking my eyes several times until my vision clears.
Only, it’s not my white ceiling. Nope. Not mine at all. It’s someone else’s. Someone I don’t recognize.
Wait a damn minute…
I jolt up, regretting it immediately when my head swims and I groan, rubbing my temples.
This feeling isn’t that unfamiliar. It always happens when I’ve gotten way too drunk and gone to bed without drinking any water.
Rookie fucking mistake number one. Rookie mistake number two?
Waking up in a strange bed with barely any recollection of how I got here.
Sure, I remember the fights, meeting Malic there, and successfully seducing him into my pants.
What a great adventure that was. Adding Wilder into the mix was…
Fuck. My cheeks heat at the memory of me lying out on the kitchen island completely naked, taking Malic and Wilder at the same time.
I finished. Hard. At least three times. They finished.
Then, I came to get dressed in their bathroom and snuck into…
Well, this very fucking room.
My eyes drift back to the queen-sized bed I peeled myself out of and note the crumpled sheets. My side is warm, and the other side is faintly warm. Like whoever crawled out of this bed hasn’t been gone for long.
I peek around the room, trying to put my detective brain on.
The room is sparsely furnished, with only the queen-sized bed I’m in taking up the most space.
There’s nothing on the walls. They’re plain white.
No color. There’s a floor-length mirror hanging from the back of the door, and a bedside table sits off to my left, with a small lamp on it.
Nothing else. There’s zero personality in this room.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t find my missing glasses, but I know this is Malic’s room.
The other one had Wilder written all over it.
I briefly searched this space after using the bathroom last night.
Before the drinks. But there wasn’t anything in here.
Not even in the bedside drawer. All empty.
Like, no one even lived in this damn room.
“Fuck,” I mumble to myself, hearing another crashing sound come from somewhere in the house.
Mumbled voices greet me, and I know I’m in deep shit.
“I have to go,” I whisper frantically to myself, throwing off the covers and blinking rapidly.
All that covers my body is a loose T-shirt and nothing underneath.
I pat my breasts, groaning at the soreness, and flashbacks from the night before run through my head again on repeat.
I was supposed to leave earlier than this.
I set an alarm, damn it. 3:00 a.m., to be exact.
How could I have let myself stay the night when sneaking through the dark was my best bet for making it into my dorm undetected?
Now, it’ll be crawling with students. Students who might have questions about why I look so much like Oliver.
Or why I’m there in the first place. Shit.
I’ll have to call Simon and see if he can bail me out of this.
If he’s awake. Please be awake, I think to myself as I pat the bed around me, looking for my phone.
But it’s not here. Double fuck!
Neither is the outfit I swear I changed into after we had our fun in the kitchen last night. Unless I got so drunk off two margaritas in a can that I blacked out and got dressed in Malic’s clothes. But that’s not likely. Something in my gut tells me I’m in deep shit.
I truly am the worst agent in the history of Veritas.
Or this case is slowly drowning me. I’m going with that when I’m dragged into headquarters by the back of my shirt and given the what-for by Jonathan and the other bosses.
I’m innocent! You sent me to the place I died.
How could you expect me to stay sober and sane here?
This stupid town is going to cost me more than my former life.
If I’m not careful, I’m going to leave in a body bag. Again. For real this time.
Getting up from the bed, I search everywhere, but come up empty-handed.
My clothes, my phone, my everything is missing.
Missing! Great, this is so damn wonderful.
So now I’m stuck contemplating if I should sneak out of a window like this and hightail it back to the dorms, where I can crawl through the downstairs window without being seen.
Yeah, you know what? That sounds like the perfect plan.
The faster I’m out of here, the faster I can pretend this never happened.
Malic’s big dick, who? Glorious time with two handsome men, what? That never happened. None of this happened.
Although my body would greatly disagree. It did happen.
Why did I think this would work, anyway?
Yeah, Liv, you can sneak into Malic’s house and find your stupid glasses.
I guess it’s time to fess up to Jonathan that they were taken from me, and I need a new pair.
Plus, I can get a new phone. And fuck the new clothes.
I won’t need them anymore. I need to get myself sorted and out of this house before Malic lures me into another threesome that I would have a hard time turning down.
Lord help me. Because I need it.
Especially as I stand before the floor-length mirror hanging from his bedroom door.
Hickeys line my neck. They’re everywhere.
Marking me up. Shit. I pull my shirt up and nearly curse at the bruises on my tits, stomach, and even below the belt.
More evidence that I had the best damn night of my life.
I mean, three orgasms—who can deny that?
Not me. I loved every reckless second of it.
I hang my head. Jordy would have some fun words for what I’ve gotten myself into.
He’d have a laugh, and I’d punch him. Hard.
In the dick. But damn, do I want to hear my best friend’s voice right now.
Because fuck… What did I get myself into?
More noises erupt from downstairs, drawing me out of my self-deprecating thoughts.
If they’re up and downstairs somewhere, maybe they’re distracted enough not to notice my departure.
Yeah, that’s it. I’ll sneak down the stairs, make my exit, and pretend this never happened.
So, with that in mind, I slowly tiptoe down the steps, trying to make my way toward the front door.
Only to stop dead in my tracks when a familiar man stands there grinning at me.
Well, there goes my master plan. Agent Seven, who? Certainly not me. Apparently, I’m not as stealthy as I thought.
“Going somewhere so soon, Little Ghost?” Malic asks casually, leaning against the front door. His eyes eat me alive, burning with lust as he takes me in.
I stop short, narrowing my eyes at him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was waiting for me. To stop me? Or greet me? I’m not sure. But there’s something in his cocky smirk and stance that has my nerves on edge.
“Uh, yeah. Home?” I ask, straightening my spine and lifting my chin.
“It was a nice night, but I really need to get going.” I gesture to the front door as I come to stand before him, craning my neck to look him in the eyes.
Tall bastard. Normally, I’m not so small next to men, being 5’9” and all.
But Malic? He’s a damn giant who has to be at least 6’7”, towering over me.
“Leave? On an empty stomach? I think not. You need to keep up your strength, Crumpet. My keeper has whipped up the best pancakes that you can’t leave without trying.
” His fingers brush over the scars on my face with a curiosity that tilts his head.
There’s an odd softness to him when he looks at me and a light in his eyes that has my body melting.
Dangerous! He’s hazardous to my health and career.
Jesus. I need to run. But how can I when he’s looking at me like this?
Or when he puts his arm over my shoulders and coaxes me toward the kitchen, yammering on about how delicious Wilder’s pancakes are.
So by the time we’re standing in the middle of the kitchen, watching a shirtless Wilder flip pancakes on the stove, my stomach is rumbling with hunger.
The hint of maple syrup filters through the air, and the sweet batter sits in a messy bowl near the stove.
It smells so delicious, I don’t think I have a choice. I have to stay and eat. What a hardship, I guess. Unless the pancakes are drugged or something, then I’m really fucked.