Heartbreaker [h.s.]

Chapter Eight

A searing sharp pain in my left temple wakes me from a deep sleep. I pinch my brows together and rub it with two fingers hoping to soothe the discomfort, but it doesn't help. Peeling my eyes open, the light of the morning peering into my curtainless window forces me to turn my head the other direction. I groan and reach for my phone on the nightstand next to me. Lifting up my head, I read the clock and it says 11:32.

I drop my phone and hear it slide off my bed and onto the hardwood floor. Burying my face into my pillow, I groan in pain as my headache creeps across my forehead, a pounding, miserable pain. I probably shouldn't have had that last shot last night, it was like the nail in the coffin.

Hunger pangs catch my attention as my stomach yells at me to fill it with food. I'd slept way later than I planned and didn't exactly eat last night, making me miserably hungry right now.

I lay idle face down on my pillow listening for any sounds outside my door. I can hear muffled voices and clanking of plates. Tweedle dee and tweedle dumbass are obviously awake, which comes as a surprise as they were both drunk out of their minds last night, too. Another growl from my stomach forces me to rise from my comfy bed in search of sustenance. Rolling on my back, I rub the sleep outta my eyes with my knuckle and sit up slowly.

Fuck I need water.

I make my way into my bathroom that thankfully isn't shared with anyone else to brush my teeth and wash my face. I peer at my reflection and groan, the sight being pretty fucking sad. My hair is half tied up and the rest...well... falling in every other direction it can. The bags are evident under my eyes and I desperately need a shave. I wash my face and brush my teeth incredibly slowly as I try to wake up more. Flashes of last night come back to me in a blur and I can't help but chuckle to myself. That closet-sized bathroom. Her plump mouth on me. The feeling of Charlotte's soft, milky skin under my callused hands. Fuck, it's making my heartbeat quicken just thinking about it. I spit the toothpaste out of my mouth and examine my face further. My eyes land on the faintest tint of red that trails down my throat. Memories of her supple crimson-painted lips attacking my throat sent a shiver down my spine.

I grab my face wash and begin scrubbing my face and neck vigorously, washing away all traces of her. I don't usually let women leave evidence, even if it's just lipstick.

Thank fuck it isn't a hickey.

Closing my eyes to splash cold water on my face, images of her parting lips and sweet cries of pleasure fill my mind. Reliving that moment when her body trembled from pure orgasmic bliss made my cock twitch in my briefs. Drying my face, I stare at myself in the mirror. Why am I thinking about her? She's nothing special. It's not like I don't get laid by beautiful women...but...last night was—

No, stop it Harry. This is bad.

She may have been a good lay, but not that fucking good. It was just a way to shut her up. That's why I liked it so much.