Written With Hearts

Written With Hearts - Chapter Eighteen

Abby....

As pleasurable as last night was, vodka is no longer my friend. I have the mother of all hangovers. I lie here with a pounding head and a mouth drier than Tutankhamen's ass. I don't know what time we got back to my place, but I know that the four of us continued drinking, well into the early hours. I lie onto my side, trying to summon the strength to get out of bed and get myself a glass of water. Yate brings his hand around my curled up body, lovingly pulling me against him and cuddling me really hard. As shit as I feel, his body wrapped around the back of mine could quite possibly be the best hangover cure, ever. "Morning, Little Miss I Love You," he grumbles against my back.

Confused, I groggily whisper with my head flinching back slightly against the pillow. "Morning. What do you mean, Little Miss I Love You?"

I hear him softly laugh. "Don't you remember?" he asks with his nose lightly nuzzling into the back of my hair.

Still confused, I warily reply with dread rolling around inside of my stomach. "Remember what?" I ask, growing more worried by the second.

Yate kisses my back, his smile felt against my skin. "Oh, you told me that you loved me . . . a lot." He continues to lavish my back with more of his tender kisses.

I tense up, mortified and embarrassed all squeamishly rolled into one. "Shit, I do tend to do that." I bury my head deeper into the pillow, as I try to make light of it.

Yate laughs, squeezing me within his playful grasp. "At first I thought you were declaring your undying love for me. Then you told the barman that you loved him because he put a cherry in your vodka." He chuckles, tickling me so that I turn to face him. "Then you went on to tell the bouncer, the taxi driver, Ray, KC, and Pusskins, just how much you loved them." He's enjoying watching me squirm. I squirm because little does he know, I was kind of telling the truth. As I admitted to KC last night, I know that I'm beginning to fall for Yate. Love is probably too strong a word to use at this early stage in our relationship, but it's one that I'm certain I'll be using without the aid of vodka sometime in our future. That's if me and my insecurity don't screw this relationship up first!

Avoiding eye contact with him, I look down at the space between our bodies. "I guess I was pretty drunk then?" I sheepishly ask.

Yate's brow rises with his lopsided smirk. "You could say that," he sleepily tells me, his soft eyes never leaving mine.

Looking down again, I notice that he's still in boxers, and I'm still in my bra and thong. I'm guessing that we haven't fucked. God, I hope we haven't. Ray and KC had to sleep in the living room, and I'd die of embarrassment if they heard us. As always, Yate reads my panicking mind. "As gorgeous as you are drunk, I rather like my women to remember their orgasms." He grins at me, leaning in to kiss my pouting mouth.

I groan and grimace at the same time. "Was I really that bad?" I ask with an awkward smile.

Yate's eyes light up with humour. "No, not bad. I rather liked your very loud version of Uptown Funk." He's now trying really hard to not let his mouth break into a full on smile.

I lift my chin, defiantly proud. "I'll have you know, at the age of fifteen, I wanted to be a pop star," I tell him, ever so smugly.

His brown eyes narrow, his lips twitching with restraint. "I think you've missed your calling," he sarcastically teases.

I whack his thick arm, causing no real harm to his prominent bicep. "Hey! My singing is much better when sober," I weakly argue back.

Yate brings his powerful arms right around me then rolls onto his back with me on top of him. His eyebrow rises, still giving me a smart-alecky grin. "If you say so," he replies, once again loaded with playful sarcasm. Then he rolls again, so that his masculine body is now gloriously straddled above me; confidently bringing his mouth closer.