Handcuffs And Kisses (Series #1)

Chapter 5

Lilian Carson POV

I was drowning.

Water filled my lungs, its weight pressing down on my chest as I thrashed, gasping, reaching for something or anything to hold onto. But there was nothing. Just laughter. Echoing, distorted, surrounding me.

"Please—" My voice broke as I struggled to keep my head above the surface. "I can’t swim!"

The response was a cruel smile.

And then, I was sinking.

My heart pounded as panic clawed up my throat, the world above me twisting and distorting.

I shot up, gasping. My throat was dry, and my pulse pounded against my ribs. The air was too thick, too still. 

My body trembled violently, drenched in cold sweat. My fingers dug into the sheets, gripping them like a lifeline as I gasped, trying to silence the scream that threatened to rip from my throat.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

But my pulse didn’t slow.

I looked around wildly, my mind still trapped in the nightmare’s grip.

And then, realization struck me like a slap.

I wasn’t in my room. 

My fingers curled into the silk sheets, the fabric unfamiliar, too expensive. The bed beneath me wasn’t mine, it was too large, the mattress too soft. 

A sick feeling twisted in my gut. 

Where am I? 

My last memory was the club. The alcohol. The men following me.

Then— Him.

Flashes of ice-blue eyes. A sharp jawline. Strong arms lifting me before the world faded to black. 

I swallowed hard, my gaze darting around the room. The walls were painted in muted shades of gray, expensive paintings hanging in perfect alignment. The arched windows stretched high, allowing glow of early morning light to spill in. Everything about the space screamed wealth and power.

I looked down. 

My clothes, they had been changed. 

My breath hitched. My hands trembled as they fisted in the silky nightgown draped over my body. Someone had undressed me. 

My stomach churned, my skin crawling at the thought. Had something happened to me? I clutched the sheets tighter, my heart hammering. 

A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed behind my eyes. A groan slipped past my lips as I pressed a hand to my forehead, my skull feeling like it had been split in two. 

The aftermath of last night's tequila hit me like a freight train. My mouth was dry, my limbs heavy, my stomach twisting in protest. I tried to move, but even the smallest shift sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me. 

I needed water. 

Blinking against the too-bright light filtering through the heavy curtains, my gaze landed on the nightstand beside me. 

A glass of water. A blister pack of painkillers. 

I was shocked. Someone had left them there. 

I slowly pushed myself upright, my fingers trembling as they reached for the water. My throat burned as I took a sip, the cool liquid easing the rawness but doing nothing to settle the unease creeping through my veins.