Rebound, Boundless Series, Book 1

Chapter Seven

When I woke up in a dark room, I couldn't tell where I was, but I wasn't in my own bed. I had a splitting headache and my leg hurt. With the need to relieve myself from all the drinking the evening before, I looked around the darkened room in hopes of figuring out my location. My eyes adjusted to the limited lighting coming from the edge of black-out curtains.

As I lifted onto my elbows, I heard light breathing beside me. Frightened, I scrambled out of the unfamiliar bed, discerning the outline of a sleeping man. There was only one man I would've gone home with last night—Dashing.

My girls, especially Chelsea, would have never allowed me to leave with a complete stranger, so I suspected I was in Dashing's home. A haze of distorted memories from the previous night left me confused. I remembered dancing provocatively with Dr. Dashing. The mortifying moment when I told him he could take me home and fuck me, but I had told him no. I had opted to remain with my friends—until I got injured—then the cut on my shin which explained the throbbing pain in my leg.

However, I couldn't remember what happened next.

I wrapped my arms around myself. By the feel, size, and length of the garment I wore, I wasn't wearing my dress. Instead, I wore a man's undershirt, soft and light underneath my fingertips. Pinching the collar and sniffing it, I inhaled a dainty lavender scent. Underneath the shirt, my bra and panties were in place. Touching my folds through the fabric, my panties remained dry. Relieved that I hadn't had sex, I sighed and thanked the Gods I hadn't been taken advantage of.

He had asked me if I'd had too much to drink. Surely, he asked to gauge my ability to consent. It was honorable of him. Yet, I hadn't agreed to spend the night at his home or wake up in his bed.

To confirm it was Dashing, I leaned in to look at his face but he was turned away from me. The physical size was consistent with his body type. I poked at his shoulder hoping he would turn to face me, but he burrowed his body into the mattress and his head into the pillow.

The need to urinate overtook me.

Under a shroud of darkness, I found the bedroom door and exited like a thief in the night. Sunlight streamed in from the thin drapes in the living room. A stark contrast to the blackness of his bedroom. Peeling the curtains back, the sunlight blazed into the room. I couldn't tell the time from the dawning sun. Situated in a high-rise, I took in the spectacular view from midtown Boston. My eyes scanned to locate the many landmarks and the harbor.

Unable to hold my urine, I turned to seek the bathroom. Before I could take a step, Dashing stood before me, bare-chested with a dusting of trimmed hair on his chest. He wore boxers, fitting tightly against his thighs. His quad muscles flexed when he rooted himself to the spot. Sexy and masculine weren't enough to describe him. My flip-flopping stomach replaced the pressure in my bladder. The flutters ventured to my throat and I couldn't move or speak.

"Hi," he said with a smile. The dimples I had admired welcomed me too.

Wrapping my arms around myself in an attempt to cover my body, I crossed my legs to contain the urine which dared flow. "Hi." I waved quickly. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Oh, yeah. It's right behind me." He turned and pointed to the door.

Aware of the dull ache in my left leg, I walked quickly and locked the door. The release, after a long night of drinking, was almost as good as an orgasm. But panic soon set in. Having very little experience with men, I had no idea what my next move should be. Surely, Dashing brought me to his apartment with an expectation that we'd fuck. I cringed at the thought of using that crude word with him last night. He was so refined and clearly educated. And I was just a girl from South Boston.