Page 65 of Hexed Up

In the bathroom, I try my best to make myself look as unattractive as I can. The baggy pyjamas help, so does scrubbing off all the makeup and tying my hair up into a messy top-knot. Unfortunately my skin is probably the clearest it’s ever been and my hair isn’t at all greasy but it’s the best I can do.

I consider not brushing my teeth in the hope my breath might be sour by now but that’s a step too far and once I’ve brushed, rinsed and gurgled, I realise I’m stalling and pluck up the courage to step back out there.

Horatio isn’t dressed in pyjamas like I hoped. In fact, he’s tied one of the hotel’s fluffy robes around his body, leaving me wondering if he’s wearing anything at all underneath.

He stands there staring at me and I wait for his lips to curl and for him to take a decided step away from me in horror. He doesn’t, he steps right towards me.

“You look so adorably cute. I want to eat you out all over again, Molly.”

“No!” I yelp, holding out my hand to stop him. “I … I’ve just completed a very complicated nighttime beauty routine and youcannot ruin it.” I place my bundle of clothes back in my suitcase and point towards the bathroom. “It’s all yours.”

He gives me a bemused look but picks up his stuff and heads for the bathroom.

Once he’s safely inside, I dive right back into the comfortable bed, building a pillow fort right down the middle, then turning onto my side and switching out the light.

When he emerges a few minutes later, I pretend I’m asleep, listening to him pad across the room and then climb into the bed beside me, the mattress shifting as he does.

It doesn’t take long for Horatio to fall asleep (which considering how hard he was working between my thighs, is unsurprising), leaving me lying there wide awake berating myself because I’m literally giving him the cold shoulder after he gave me the best orgasm of my life.

But it’s for the best right?

He’s not really my boyfriend and he certainly isn’t really in love with me.

Chapter Twenty

I wake up in a puddle of sunlight in the middle of the bed. The cushions that had formed a physical barrier between me and my fake boyfriend are scattered about the bed, an arm is draped over my waist, something hard pressing into my butt and warm, sleepy breath drifting across my neck.

“Are you awake?” I whisper ever so quietly, receiving nothing but soft snores in response. I’ll take it as a no which leaves me wondering how we ended up like this. I certainly have no recollection of snuggling up to him in the night. Did he dismantle the pillow-wall when I was asleep and pull me towards him? Or did we both move this way while asleep?

Thankfully I’m still wearing my baggy pyjamas and as far as I can tell Horatio is in a pair of boxers, which means at least we didn’t get up to any funny business in our sleep. Or at least I don’t think we can have.

Holding my breath, I attempt to wiggle free of his embrace. All it seems to achieve is him tightening his hold, grinding his cock against my arse, and nuzzling his mouth against my neck, and he whispers something dreamily about being totally in love with me.

I can’t help a little moan of appreciation because my body is still sensitive and, yes, bloody horny, from last night, and this is all rather delightful.

Unfortunately, that little noise is enough to wake my sleeping companion. I feel his body judder behind me, then turn rigid, and I can practically hear his eyes flicker open.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Erm, good morning,” I say.

He doesn’t let me go and I make no move myself.

“Do we need to talk about last night, sweetheart?” he asks me.

And fuck, this man! I’ve always hated that term of endearment. It’s patronising and sickly and totally erotic when it’s coming from his mouth in that stupid accent of his.

“Probably,” I confess.

“Did it freak you out? Or were you unhappy with something I did?” he asks.

“No, it’s all me, my thoughts, and my actions.”

“I’ve been told that a marker of a good relationship, fake or not, is communication. So do you want to tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

“I’m a bad person – a bad witch – who’s taking advantage of you.”

“And how exactly are you taking advantage of me?”