Dear Diary, it wasn't love

23

Dear diary,

My birthday could not have gone better.

The party ended late, and although I had plans to stay the night with Ryder at his place, he somehow talked me into coming back to the apartment.

Something about more privacy and a bigger bed.

I obviously did not put up a fight.

Until a quarter-to-four, he ravished each and every inch of my body, sucking on my skin and leaving his mark on me for everyone to see. The bite marks on my visible flesh would usually be cause for a cover-up, but not this time.

Today, is Halloween.

This gives me merit to walk around with bite marks covering my body for everyone to see, without feeling embarrassed or ashamed.

Not that I ever could.

Tonight, it's socially-acceptable to display such things for my classmates to point at.

My alarm continues to ring, causing me to shift underneath Ryder's weight in search of the annoying beacon.

"Make it fucking stop," Ryder's sexy morning voice rumbles from underneath the blanket that he's currently stretching over himself, in order to drown out the noise.

I fumble my hands over the nightstand until finally grabbing hold of my phone. However, when I lift my face to expect it closer, I notice that it isn't my phone at all.

Ugh.

I place Ryder's phone back on the live-edge nightstand before lifting my body and looking over to the nightstand on his side of the bed.

Gotcha.

"Baby, please." Ryder groans again, obviously irritated.

I can't help the smirk that pulls on my lips at his annoyance. I like to think that I'm a morning person, after all.

I do my best to reach over him and grab my phone, but deem it better to just cross one leg over his waist so that I have more leverage.

As soon as Ryder feels some of my weight, his large hands sneakily grip my thighs and hold me in place so that I'm firmly straddling him.

I finally shut my alarm off and peel back the covers to see that his eyes are still closed. Thinking that he might've grabbed me on instinct, I begin to shift off of him, but his grip never lets-up.

"Good morning?" I question with an eyebrow up, although his face is still buried behind the blanket.

"Charlize Capri Salinger, it better not be five-in-the-fucking-morning," he stirs.

"It's not." I assure him when I fight with him over the covers.

He lets me win, and I finally get to see his beautiful face.

God, I can look at that face forever, if he'd let me.

His eyes have yet to fully adjust to the harsh light coming in through the windows, and his lips are curving in a bit of a snarl.

"Phone." He barks.

I oblige.

"For fuck's sake. It's six." He announces, annoyed.