Page 42 of Dangle

So soft.

So…commanding.

All without being dictatorial or demeaning.

The tone, the inflection, and the care that eked out between the syllables of his words—words that felt intentional—they wove themselves through me, making me want—no, need—to obey.

As much as I hated being told what to do, I normally would be scathing at that thought, but I wasn’t. I felt…calm?

Did that even make any sense?

Or…

Was it the way he showed up game after game to cheer me on? Or how friendly he had been before the night I went off the rails? Could it be because he’d left me a note, giving me the information I would need and want without leaving me a stressed-out mess? Could it be the care package he left on the nightstand for me? Or the way he respected me even though I’m sure, given my usual behavior when I got this fucked up, I threw myself at him, offering him whatever he wanted?

Did it even matter?

Pushing the jumble of thoughts away, I did as he suggested. Grabbing the package of water, I tore into it, twisting the cap off the first bottle I wrestled free. I poured a small amount into the glass, then ripped open the hangover tablets. Two plops followed by fizzing when I dropped the first one, then the other, into the glass. As they dissolved, I mixed hydration packets into the rest of the water bottles and opened both the pain relievers, tumbling the correct dosages into my palm. I tossed them into my mouth. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back, draining the rest of the first bottle of water while I swallowed the tablets.

The room temperature liquid wet my dry mouth and soothed my parched throat. Letting my chin drop to my chest, I sighed, then traded the empty water bottle for the glass of fizzy shit I hated but knew would help right the mess I’d made of myself. I took it like the shot of tequila that put me in this hell, twitching with a bone-deep shiver. No matter how many times I drank the stuff, the reaction was always the same. The glass landed on the nightstand with a soft thud as I reached for a second bottle of water. My hand never made it, stopping halfway as a set of toes, then feet and ankles appeared on the carpet before me.

My eyes traveled upward over strong, lightly haired calves, to defined, well-muscled thighs that disappeared behind white terry cloth wrapped snugly around trim hips. The bulge behind the towel and the cum ditches above it made my mouth water.Then came the abs, not overly cut, but still there. But it was the thick slabs of muscle on his chest that took my breath. By the time I reached the man’s face, the head between my thighs throbbed more than the one on my shoulders, and drool pooled in my mouth, forcing me to swallow as I drowned in his intense, honeyed whiskey gaze.

Holy fuck.

When did hallucinations become part of hangovers?

There could be no other explanation for the Greek god who sprouted up in front of me because, yeah, I pulled hotties galore, but this man?

Holy fuck.

Did I say that already?

He picked up a bottle of water from the nightstand, holding it out to me silently. Not a cock—fuck, my eyes dropped to the bulge between his thighs. Was it larger?

Focus, Malachek. Focus.

One breath. Then two.

Where were we? Oh, right. Water.

My gaze lifted to his, and even with me getting distracted by his dick, which was definitely bigger, I found the exact same—patient—look. Not even a cock of his brow or a twitch of his lips as he waited for me to decide if I would take what he offered, as if he weren’t sure I would.

The man must be nuts. I’d take anything he offered. Starting with the command in his note and now the bottle he held out to me. The hard plastic that touched my lips was the last thing I wanted to taste, but something in me wanted to please him.

After several gulps so loud in the silence between us that they felt like a third being in the room, I lowered the bottle only to stop when his hand bounced palm up as if he were encouraging me to lift the bottle back to my mouth to drink more.

Doing as he asked, he smiled and spoke for the first time. “Good boy.”

The wordsshouldhave infantilized me, but instead, they lit a fire in my belly that spread a warm, tingly feeling through me, but not slowly. No, it burst from the center of me like fireworks in a dark summer sky. The tiny embers landed and set fire to everything inside me that they touched, engulfing me in an inferno of…something I don’t know I’ve ever felt before.

Once the last drop slid down my throat, I lowered the bottle. He took it, dropped it in the trash next to the nightstand, and held out his right hand. Rough skin rasped against rough skin as I pulled myself to my feet with the hand I placed mine into. His stoic face finally showed emotion. At least, that was what I told myself the meaning behind the nearly indiscernible widening of his eyes and the twitch in his brow meant.

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered, going out on a limb with the honorific.

“Do you know what that means?”

“Respect?” My statement turned into a question as my voice lifted at the end. Unintentionally.