A sledgehamr pounds against my skull, each throb perfectly synchronized with my heartbeat. I peel my eyes open and instantly regret it as harsh sunlight stabs through unfamiliar curtains.
I bolt up-right, panic flooding my system as I take in my surroundings. This isn’t my bedroom. This isn’t even my house. The plush king-sized bed with its rumpled white sheets, the elegant furnishings, the tasteful abstract art on the walls, all of it screams “hotel room.”
“What the fuck?” I mutter my voice a sandpaper rasp.
That’s when I notice my clothes, yesterday’s button-down and jeans, crumpled and disheveled, as though they’d been hastily pulled back onto my body. My shirt is buttoned wrong and misaligned at the collar.
Movent catches my eye. Across the room, Morgan sits in a sleek armchair, her long legs crossed elegantly. She’s still wearing that silver dress from last night, though it looks considerably less wrinkled than my outfit. Her attention is fixed on her phone, thumbs tapping rapidly against the screen.
My stomach lurches violently.
“Morgan?” My voice cracks with panic.
She looks up, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Well, good morning, sleepyhead.”
I clutch the sheets tighter, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I feel. “Did we...” I can’t even finish the sentence, terror closing my throat.
Morgan’s smile widens, showing perfect white teeth. “No, of course not,” she says with a dismissive wave. “I slept in a separate room. You were a ss last night, but don’t worry, you didn’t try anything.”
There’s sothing in her tone, a slight emphasis on “try,” that makes
nervous. But relief washes over
so powerfully that I almost collapse back onto the pillows.
“Thank god,” I whisper, running shaky hands through my hair. “I... I don’t rember anything.”
Morgan sets her phone down and uncrosses her legs, leaning forward slightly. “You were extrely drunk,” she explains, her voice gentle yet sohow clinical. “I couldn’t let you drive ho in that state, and you refused to call Lana. So I brought you here.”
My head throbs harder as fragnted mories surface, Morgan at the bar, drink after drink appearing before , the revelation about Leo, my anger at Lana.
“Shit,” I groan, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “Lana must be freaking out. What ti is it?”
“Just after nine.” Morgan chirps.
I frantically pat my pockets, the motion sending fresh waves of nausea through my hungover body. “I can’t find my phone. Do you know where it is?”
Morgan’s eyes flicker with sothing that might be amusent. “I have it,” she says, retrieving my phone from her purse and holding it up, just out of reach. “But I think you need so breakfast first. You had a lot to drink.”
“Morgan, Lana’s probably worried sick,” I protest, reaching for the device. My stomach churns with anxiety at the thought of all the missed calls, the frantic texts that must be waiting.
Morgan smiles wide, her lips curving into sothing almost predatory. “You told
everything last night,” she says, her voice lilting with satisfaction. “Things you said you never told Lana. I learned a lot about you, Adam.”
Heat rushes to my face as fragnts of last night’s conversation flash through my mind. How much did I reveal in my drunken state? The full extent of my cuckold fantasies? My secret stories? The sha is overwhelming.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, unable to et her eyes. “I never ant to rope you into this.”
“Look,” Morgan says, her voice softening as she stands up. “You’re in a tough spot. Let
treat you to breakfast, and then I’ll drive you to your car and give you your phone back, okay?”
I hesitate, weighing my options. My head pounds rcilessly, and the thought of food makes my stomach rumble.
“Fine,” I concede, carefully sliding my legs over the edge of the bed. The room tilts alarmingly as I stand, and I have to grab the nightstand to steady myself.
Morgan is at my side instantly, her arm slipping around my waist to support . “Easy there,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my ear. “Take it slow.”
Her perfu envelops , expensive and familiar in a way that triggers sothing in my mory, sothing from last night that hovers just beyond my grasp. I shake it off, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other.
The hotel restaurant is rcifully quiet, just a few business travelers tapping on laptops over coffee. Morgan guides
to a secluded corner booth, her hand never leaving the small of my back. The touch feels both comforting and unsettling.
“Coffee, black, and your biggest breakfast platter,” Morgan orders for
before I can even look at the nu. “And a mimosa for .”
The waitress nods and hurries off, clearly intimidated by Morgan’s commanding presence.
“I can order for myself,” I mutter, though the thought of making decisions feels impossibly complex right now.
“You really don’t rember much of what you told
last night, do you?” Morgan asks, her lips curving into a smile that’s both amused and predatory.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Not really. It’s all kind of a blur.”
Morgan leans forward, her voice dropping to a hushed tone. “You told
you like it when the woman takes charge. I just thought it’d be nice for you to feel that for once.”
I laugh nervously, the sound catching in my dry throat. “I’m horrified that it sounds like I told you so much.”
Morgan’s green eyes lock onto mine with an unsettling intensity. “You know what else you kept quipping last night?” she asks, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You kept saying how would lana like it to have to watch you fuck soone for once.”
My stomach lurches, and I nearly choke on my coffee. “What? I said that?”
She nods, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Multiple tis, actually. You were quite... passionate about the idea.”
“That would just be cheating,” I protest, heat rising to my face. “I wouldn’t do that just to make her feel bad. I would never.”
Morgan shrugs, stirring her mimosa with her finger before licking it clean. “You also kept asking
if there were any open castings. If I could get you an audition.”
My face burns hotter than the coffee mug between my hands. Had I really been that drunk? That pathetic?
“I don’t think I’d be cut out for porn,” I mumble, staring into my coffee to avoid her penetrating gaze.
“You know,” Morgan says casually, leaning closer across the table, “I have my last scene coming up. A femdom one.” Her lips curl into a smile that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. “You wouldn’t have to do much. Why not try to get Lana to taste a little bit of her own dicine?”
The suggestion hangs in the air between us, tempting and terrifying in equal asure. For a split second, I imagine Lana’s face as she watches
with Morgan, the tables finally turned.
“That’s insane,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction. “She’d never forgive .”
Morgan tilts her head, studying
like a scientist observing a particularly interesting specin. “Wouldn’t she, though? She expects you to forgive her for fucking Leo on cara. For fucking dozens of n. Why is the standard different for you?”
“That’s not how a relationship works, Morgan,” I say, shaking my head as the words co out clearer than I expected. “You can’t just go punch for punch like it’s so kind of sick ga. She didn’t hide that she was a pornstar from . She was always upfront about that.”
Morgan’s eyebrows arch, surprise flashing across her face at my sudden coherence.
“Lana’s a good person,” I continue, straightening in my seat. “I can’t hurt her just for the sake of it. That’s not love. I need to talk to her first, hear her side about Leo.”
The mimosa in Morgan’s hand trembles slightly. Her knuckles whiten around the stem of the glass.
“Such nobility,” she says, her voice dripping with mockery. “Such devotion to a woman who’s been lying to you. Such a different tune than you had last night.”
I nod slowly, feeling my jaw clench. “I’m still mad, Morgan. Really mad at Lana for not telling
about Leo. But that doesn’t an I want to hurt her deliberately.”
The waitress arrives with our food, placing a massive plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes in front of . The sll makes my stomach growl despite my hangover. Morgan watches
with those piercing green eyes as I take my first bite, her expression unreadable.
“You know what’s strange?” I say after swallowing, “I feel like there’s sothing else that happened last night. Sothing important that I can’t quite rember.”
Morgan’s posture stiffens almost imperceptibly. “Drunk mories are unreliable,” she says dismissively, waving her hand. “You were rambling about all sorts of things.”
I stare at her, trying to piece together the fragnts floating in my mind. Flashes of silver fabric. The sensation of hands on my skin. Sothing about her eyes changing color? I must be rembering a dream.
“Can I have my phone,” I say finally, setting down my fork. “I need to talk to Lana.”
“Finish your breakfast first,” Morgan insists, her voice taking on that commanding edge again. “Trust , she’s waited this long. She can wait a little longer.”
I reluctantly continue eating, each bite helping to settle my stomach and clear my head. As the fog of my hangover gradually lifts, I beco increasingly aware of Morgan’s intense focus on , like a predator watching its prey.
“Why are you being so nice to ?” I ask suddenly. “We barely know each other.”
Morgan’s expression softens, her sharp features lting into sothing almost gentle. She reaches across the table and places her hand over mine, her touch warm and surprisingly comforting.
“Because I like you, Adam. I want to be friends.”
The sincerity in her voice catches
off guard. After all the uncomfortable monts, this simple declaration feels strangely authentic.
“I’d like that a lot,” I say, surprising myself with how much I an it. Sothing about Morgan that draws
in, a magnetism I can’t quite explain.
Her lips curve into a smile that reaches her eyes for once. “And plus,” she adds, leaning closer, “I think I know more about you than your girlfriend does now.”
I choke on my food a little, coughing as a piece of pancake goes down the wrong way. Morgan hands
my water glass, amusent dancing in her eyes as I gulp it down.
“When you say it like that, it sounds awful.” I splutter, wiping my mouth with a napkin.
“Does it?” She tilts her head, studying . “Or is it liberating? To be truly known by soone?”
“I guess.”
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