The city's best hitman and a precious little flower meet at Le papillon blue, New York's most notorious strip club. An angel on his shoulder that hes going to drag down to hell with him, what could go wrong?
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I stood there, watching her. I was...
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***
God my head hurt.
I really needed to stop drinking as much.
My eyes were closed so tightly from the amazing deep sleep I just had that I wasn't even sure I could open them if I wanted to.
My mouth was dry and my throat felt like sandpaper. I desperately needed a drink of water to wash away the awful toxins that I had drowned myself in last night.
A wave of nausea added to the misery of waking up, I didn't want to move. I was so comfortable and warm but my brain felt like it was swelling inside my head and the dehydration was too obvious to ignore.
I needed some painkillers and my medication, surely that would help the dull ache that I could feel in every part of my body.
I peeled my eyes open, despite my body's protests, I had no idea what time it was but I could tell by the light in the room that it was very late. My eyes fell shut again and I was glad I didn't have to put in the effort of keeping them open anymore.
I must have had a good time last night, this god awful hangover proved it.
I knew I would need to get up at some point, but my brain needed to readjust to being awake.
My eyes felt much better when they were closed and it calmed down the intensity of my headache-
What the fuck was I laying on and why did it just move?
I heard a faint snore come from somewhere around me. My eyes shot open at the realisation that I was definitely not laying on a pillow, unless my pillows learned to snore overnight.
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a giant butterfly tattoo.
I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn't seeing things.
This cannot be happening.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I was lying completely on top of Harry. My head was on his chest right on top of the butterfly tattoo, and the rest of my body was basically on top of him too, one of my legs slotted between his.
One of his hands was resting on the bottom of my back and his other hand was around my thighs his head was facing towards me.
I never thought I'd see Harry so not angry looking.
His sharp features were softer, but still sculpted and contouring to his face. His eyes were closed so delicately and his lips were pouted slightly.
And at some point during the night he had finally gotten under the covers, because we were both wrapped up in the sheets.
How did that happen? We were on opposite sides of the bed and somehow I ended up on his side completely on top of him.
