Rolling over, the pressure on my bladder nags me into awareness.
Slowly prying my eyes open, I realize I forgot to pull the curtains closed and the light from the strip is falling across the bed. When I push to sit up, the soreness between my legs reminds me that this isn’t my room, isn’t my bed.
I blink the sleep from my eyes and look around, but I don’t see Vincent. The bathroom door is still ajar, emitting a soft glow, so I know it’s available. I gingerly climb out of bed and pad naked to the bathroom to do my business.
Finding one of Vincent’s t-shirts bunched up next to the sink, I slip it on before going back into the bedroom. Even though he’s seen all there is to see, out of the heat of the moment I don’t really feel like strolling around completely nude.
Standing there, in a stolen shirt, I start to question what to do next. This is his room. I’m the one that’s supposed to leave.
I don’t even remember falling asleep. I remember wondering if a person can die from too many orgasms. And then … nothing. I must have literally passed out the second Vincent climbed off me. Maybe even before. I cringe. No wonder he ditched.
Just as the thought comes, I hear his voice. Glancing around again, I see that the door leading out into the main room is not quite shut. Finally noticing the small amount of light seeping through, I quietly step closer and place my eye against the crack of the door. It takes me a moment to focus, but after my eyes adjust, I see his profile on the couch.
Figuring he’s on the phone, I place my hand on the doorknob but pause when I hear a second voice. Is someone else in that room? I can’t walk out there dressed in just his t-shirt and looking freshly fucked. Not if he has company.
I keep my eye to the crack and see a man pace into view on the far side of Vincent. It’s hard to tell, but I think it might be the same security guy that I saw in the hallway earlier. Was there a disturbance or something? Oh god, was it us? Was I really that loud?
I guess that settles it, I’m staying in this room for at least a little while longer. I find the clock and see that it’s just after 2:00 a.m. Standing there, debating my options, a chill crawls up my bare legs. Screw it. What’s the harm in getting a few more hours of sleep in Vincent’s big, warm, comfy bed?
Crawling back onto the mattress, I bury myself in the covers and promptly fall back asleep.
