Chapter 2- In the bed with a stranger

*Present time*

Grace Lim was naked. That was the first thing that hit her as she slowly opened her eyes: that she was bare, her body ached from everywhere, particularly the lower region. She was in bed. But it wasn't her bed.

She squinted hard, and then unexpectedly, the next thing hit her, and it hit her like a ton of bricks to the head. It was fruition that she had been so intoxicated last night that she ended up giving herself to some hot stranger. She cringed, the pain piercing through her temples and her belly twirling with queasiness.

This was not happening. No! This could not be happening.

Why?

How?

Alright, so this was a hangover. She whined, scraping her eyes shut and seeing stars explode across her brain. Oh, this was surely a hangover alright. Her first one. Unhurriedly, Grace opened her eyes to thin slits, peeking around the room. Okay, not her small bed. Absolutely not her bed. Not her room either. No, this one was massive, remarkable, and... strangely familiar as her brain battled to piece together the vague reminiscences of what had occurred last—

And then abruptly, the third thing hit her. She wasn’t alone in the bed.

A gorgeous man! Strong, muscled arms held her closed, hugging her against an overwhelming, chiselled, large, warm body.

Yeah, she freaked out and closed her mouth, trying not to scream.

Grace had never been in this kind of unnerving predicament before, in her 23-year-old boring life. Never.

However, last night, her office mates invited her to a celebration or maybe it was a farewell party. After all, their hotel would soon be bankrupt, and it wouldn't take long before they all lost their jobs. And yes, being a friendly, reasonable and hard-working secretary with no-boyfriend-since-birth, she was the prodigy of the Hudson Hotel executive department, working there since she was twenty years old and having very good secretarial skills. But of course, because she was faithful and naive at the same time, she agreed to go to a pub nearby and get herself wasted.

Now, what did it get her?

"Oh, my God," she groaned under her breath and sprung from the bed like she'd been hit by lightning, lunging away from the mattress and staring at the man still lying on it, half of his face buried in a pillow. She shuddered, her hands were holding the other side of the silky blanket.

She attempted to swallow the dryness in her mouth as her eyes peeked over his muscled body, her heart battering as she eyed at the bizarre runic swirls and lines of unusual dark and red tattoos crisscrossing his back. Her head spun and hurt, her bleary eyes fluttering as her brain tried to piece it all together.

What the heck happened?

She was in a strange, enormous, elegant hotel room. In bed with a gorgeous, shirtless stranger. She was bare, and she honestly recalled nothing. Her pulse thumped through her, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she slowly shook her head.

Please tell her she hadn’t just done what every hint suggested to her having done. Please tell her this wasn’t true. Please tell her she hadn't just slept with a stranger while thoroughly drunk for the first time. Please tell her she hasn't lost her innocence to him.

Grace turned, her breath coming in tight, quick little gasps as her spirit sank into her stomach. She felt the terror rising, her head swirling as she pushed her fingers through her hair. She froze, her eyes unexpectedly locking on her left shoulder in the reflection of the mirror—that was currently coated in clear tape.

What on earth?

She felt the dread explode through her as she scraped at the tape, scraping it off and pulling as the panic lanced through her. She got her fingers under it, and without waiting for another second, she jerked the thing off of her.

Her eyes widened.

Oh, bloody hell.

She didn’t know what she’d anticipated finding — an injury? Had she been in an accident? Had she been assaulted? Whatever the horrible case scenario her brain had been diving into, when she pulled off that clear tape, she knew one thing: the truth was much awful.

Her eyes concentrated on the brilliant, rosy, fresh vampire fang tattoo inked just above her cleavage, while a dark sort or vein crossed it to her shoulder and unexpectedly, everything came running back to her.

At the pub, meeting the gorgeous stranger. It came back to her like a series of lightning bolts flickering through her mind. The liquors, and then more alcohols, and then so many more that she lost track.

The man — the very same man — was still lying asleep in the bed. She thought of that look in his eyes and that smirk that encouraged all sorts of poor consequences. She recalled his touch and his whispered beautiful phrases that promise a night of passion and sex.

And the dare.

He enticed her to come with him and do foolish things, which involved going to a very weird, gloomy place with dark-hooded strangers he called his brothers and sisters. Then, in the middle scene, a beautiful semi-dark stage with a massive throne-like seat, his hands on her, his lips so close to her. Grace thought of the kiss, and for one second, she remembered the way the entire freaking world had just halted when his lips touched hers. It was like she had been transferred to a different realm where only the two of them existed.

And then she recalled the rest of it, the ceremonious tattooing, and this time, the hotel room really did spin when she tried to remember the rest of it. She thought back to their rituals, their weird matrimonial sort of procession, and the old man who looked like a priest but she knew wasn't. She remembered saying certain words and the hot stranger kissed her on the neck; then the pin-prick extraordinary pain that followed; then the otherworldly feeling of climax or seizure she couldn't quite remember. 

Weird. Those memories were fogged by some unusual cloudy mist on her brain, like it was there but weren't like it was just a mere dream. Or was it not?

Oh, holy fucking shit. It wasn't real, right? No cult sort of thing happened to her last night. It was just her imagination, or perhaps a nightmare.

But why does it feel like it was real? Like it really occurred?

Goodness, who the hell was this man?

Some sort of Illuminati or a cult leader? That doesn't make sense. She shook her head at the silly idea. This wasn't a medieval era. The thought was as ridiculous as the tattoo on her left shoulder that crisscrossed her cleavage in such an intricate and beautiful way.

She whirled, blinded, reaching for anything as she felt dizzy. Because right there, she remembered something else.

She recalled getting married or something related to it. She remembered saying something, a promise of some kind. Slowly, she turned, her hands covering her mouth as her wide eyes glared at the tattooed stranger lying naked in the same bed she’d just been lying in with him. No, not a stranger, she thought as it all came back to her in a horrendous coil. Not a stranger at all. The man lying in bed—the one with the muscled, glorious body draped in elegant tattoos—the one with the cocky, pulse-quickening smile, the piercing blue eyes, and the hot, panty-meltingly filthy mouth—wasn’t a stranger at all.

The man in the mattress was the famous billionaire playboy. The most tabloid-infamous rich bad boy in the elite world. The sort of man her grandmother warned her about. The kind she doesn't want to wake up naked next to. The wicked billionaire with a bad stature as massive as his dick. The one who allegedly owned a legion of bodyguards and was rumoured to have his own brotherhood of gigantic, ex-military, strong and beautiful men and women in entire Europe.

The man lying in the silky bed was all of those things.

Heck! All that and one more thing...

It wasn't a real marriage ceremony, right? She was not married to this man? It was just a thing that those cultists desperado-kind of commemorate, right?

"Christ! What the hell did I do?" groaning to herself, she began pacing around.

This man was an influential, distinguished billionaire who had probably already forgotten her name. But damn! She gave her virginity to this stranger? Her grandmother would kill her, that was for sure.

Grace's pulse thumped in her ears. Her gut was tied into knots, and her heart felt like it was sinking into her chest. She’d gotten intoxicated once... one freaking time... She’d woken up with all of this: nude, enormous hottie, in bed with, and possibly married to, the biggest bad boy in entire Europe.

Wait! One more thing hit her again, as she looked at her finger and found nothing in there. No ring! Thank God. It wasn't a real marriage ceremony. At least she could breathe in now. No ring. No marriage. No huge mistake. It's not that giving her virginity was no big deal, but at least she wasn't married to a stranger.

She sucked in a breath of air, still feeling the room whirl as she slid her hands up her face and pushed her fingers into her hair. She took a deep breath, attempting to stop the spots wobbling across her vision as she bent over and sucked in another breath.

"Now that’s a spectacle a man could get used to waking up to."

Grace wailed, her hands yanking to cover herself as she turned and suddenly locked eyes with him.

"Fuck!" She whimpered.

The man smirked, "We already did sweetheart, so many times I lost count."

Grace’s eyes broadened.

The man was unbelievably disrespectful!

James Grayson III was awfully much awake, smirking at her, and very much letting his eyes drift over every single inch of her.

"You filthy —!"

"And a decent morning to you too, sweetheart! Fancy a morning sex?"

Her hand shot out and pulled the silky blanket, grabbing it off the bed against her body as she backed away, glaring at him at the same time

"Are you out of your mind?!"

"Nope, my sweet…"James Grayson just cracked up, sitting up and then tilting back against the headboard with his hands intertwined behind his head. His glamorous, perfect, muscles flexed, his abs rippling as he smirked that alluring, arrogant smile at her. Grace's eyes lowered, and when she saw the flimsy coveringet tenting over an enormous swell between his legs, she felt her cheeks flush as she instantly stared at the floor and clasped the blanket tighter.

"Nothing I haven’t beheld or tasted before, sweetie."

Her eyes flickered back to him, waning as she glared. Grace felt her skin itch under that stare, a quiver taunting through her as his gazes deliberately dragged over her, as if he was peeking right through the blanket.

He smirked and mumbled, "Breakfast?" He stretched, cringing slightly as his fingers hurried to rub his temples. "I could go for some fresh blood,"

Her eyes widened.

"I mean, a bloody coffee. Let’s call some—"

"Wait, um- did we…"

The words rolled from her mouth, her cheeks going glossy pink as she gulped thickly. She took a weak breath.

"Did we, uh, you know-" she bit her lips.

"Did we what, little human?"

Jerk!

Grace's cheeks charred as she nibbled her lip. "Did we, you know, um-do it?"

Grayson’s grin grew broader, until a deep laughter broke out his sinfully excellent mouth.

"Do it? Did we do it?" He beamed at her, his dark eyes glinting a wicked excitement. "You mean, did we fuck?" He grinned and winked at her.

The obvious answer, of course, was yes, because Grace could feel the little sweet pain down there, but she wanted to know. To know how dumb she was. Giving her most prized possession to a bad boy billionaire.

"Just answer the question, will you?" She blurted out, her clasp tight on the blanket.

“Oh sweet, we did more than that.”