Fifty Shades of Sasuke [Sasuke Uchiha X Reader]

Chapter Seventeen

        It's very quiet. The light is dim. I feel comfortable and warm, this bed has an attractive smell -- a familiar smell. This is a joke . . .I peer my eyes open, the drowsiness still in progress of fading away. These surroundings are so strange, yet, I feel serene, even enjoying to be right here. What an irregular logic. I have no idea where I am, not that I want to know it in detail anyway. The room is large and airy and plushly furnished in brown and golds and beiges. That I have definitely seen before. The question is just, where have I seen it? My befuddled brain struggles through its recent visual memories. I gasp. You've got to be kidding me- This is the Saiken Hotel . . . in a suite. I have stood in this room, or in a similar room, with Rin. But this looks even bigger. Holy shit! I'm in Sasuke Uchiha's suite. How did I even get here?
        Fractured memories of the previous night slowly return, intending to haunt me. The drinking -- maybe I went over board. The phone call -- best way to embarrass one self. The vomiting -- oh no, the vomiting! Heat rises to my cheeks. Suigetsu and Sasuke. I sure made some "memorable" moments in a single night. Cringing inwardly, I wonder how I got here. I don't remember walking to this place, in fact, I don't remember anything from after the party. Lifting up the sheets, my eyes widen -- I'm still wearing my shirt, bra, and panties, but no socks or jeans, Don't tell me I actually-
        I glance at the bedside table, dismissing all suggestive thoughts, which lingered in my brain way too long to still consider me an innocent being. On the table is a glass of orange juice and two tablets. Ibuprofen. Control freak that he is, he thought of everything. That's scary. I sit up and take the tablets. Actually, I don't feel that bad, probably much better than I deserve. The orange juice tastes divine, I take another gulp.
        There's a knock on the door. My heart leaps into my mouth, and my voice is practically gone. He opens the door anyway and strolls in.
        My eyes almost fall out of my sockets, he's been working out. he's wearing gray sweatpants that hang casually from his hips, combined with a lighter gray, sleeveless T-shirt which is dark by his sweat, like his hair. Sasuke Uchiha's sweat. Somehow it's attractive to me. I inhale, closing my eyes for a second. I feel like an idiot. It's just Sasuke. Yeah, just, my subconscious scoffs. I've seen him plenty times. But never his sweaty, muscular arms. I glare at my subconscious. Leave me be, will you!?
        "Good morning, [name]. How are you feeling?" Worse now that you're here.
        "Better than I deserve," I mumble.
        I peek up at him. He places a large shopping bag on a chair and grasps each end of the towel that's around his neck. He's staring at me with these obsidian pools, and as usual, I have no idea what he's thinking. How does one hide his thoughts and feelings so well? Teach me Sasuke-senpai!
        "How did I get here?" My voice is small, contrite.
        He sits down on the edge of the bed. He's close enough for me to touch, even to smell. Calm down.
        "After you passed out, I didn't want to risk the leather upholstery in my car taking you all the way to your apartment. So I just brought you here," he says phlegmatically.
        "Did you put me to bed?"
        "Yes," he admits, face impassive.
        "Did I throw up again?" I just need to know this.
        "No." Thank God!
        "Did you undress me?" I whisper.
        "Yes." He quirks an eyebrow at me as I blush furiously.
        "We didn't --?" I question, my voice barely audible. My mouth is drying in mortified horror as I don't dare to complete that question. I stare at my hands, anxiously.
        "[Name], you were comatose. Necropilia is not quite my thing. I prefer my women sentient and receptive," he says dryly.
        "I'm so sorry for even thinking such thought," I apologize, bowing down, a blush framing my features. I'm such an idiot, and that surely doesn't only originate from my morning stupidity -- it's more like an all-day clumsiness.
        His mouth lifts slightly in a wry smile.
        "It was a very diverting evening. I'm sure that I won't forget it for a long while."
        Me, neither -- oh, he's laughing at me, what a bastard. I didn't ask him to come and get me. Somehow I've been made to feel like the villain of the piece.
        "You didn't have to track me down with whatever thing," I'm out of my vocabulary-- "and act like James Bond, Ethan Hunt, or whoever super agent you've had in mind, Mr. CEO of everything," I snap back at him. He stares at me, surprised, I presume, maybe a little wounded by my -- for my standard at least -- outburst.
        "First, the technology to track down cell phones is available over the Internet. Second, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices. Third, I am fine in acting like myself, rather than some 007. And fourth, if I hadn't come to get you, you'd probably be waking up in the photographer's bed, and from what I can remember, you werent overly enthused about him pressing his suit," he says acidly.
        Pressing his suit! I glance up at Sasuke. he's glaring at me, eyes blazing, aggrieved. I try to bite my lower lip, but I fail to repress my giggle. He's adorable.
        "Which medieval chronicle did you escape from? You sound like a courtly knight."
        "His mood visibly shifts; his eyes soften and I notice his expression warming up. Even the trace of a smile is on his lips -- I smile too.
        "[Name], I don't think so. Dark knight, maybe."
        "What was it about 'being fine in acting like myself''?"
        "I'm the CEO of everything, so leave me in my imagination." He laughs, and shakes his head. "Did you eat last night?" His tone turns accusatory. I shake my head. What major transgression have I committed now? A shadow circles him, and I notice his jaw clenching, yet his face seems to remain impassive.
        "You need to eat. That's why you were so ill. Honestly, it's drinking rule number one." Oh great, Mr. Controlfreak has returned, if he ever left in the first place. He runs a hand through his raven hair -- he is exasperated.
        "Are you going to continue to scold me?"
        "Is that what I'm doing?"
        "Feels like it."
        "You're lucky I'm just scolding you."
        "What do you mean?"
        "Well, if you were to be mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk with that photographer -- I don't like it all, [name]." He closes his eyes, and his first sentence keeps on repeating in my mind. If you were to be mine. . . "I hate to think about what could've happened to you."
        I'm not yours, Sasuke! Even though, part of me would gladly dedicate herself to him. I flush at the thought. Is it really just a part of me? The idea suddenly seems very appealing. Something's definitely wrong with me.