I woke up to the feeling of warm skin and soft curves pressed against me like I’d been using them as a goddamn body pillow all night. My arm was slung over someone’s waist, my leg hooked over theirs, and—fuck—my morning wood was happily nestled right against a very familiar ass.

Wait. Familiar?

My eyes snapped open. This wasn’t my bed. This was the presidential suite I’d booked after the after-party turned feral. The faint scent of expensive perfume, spilled whiskey, and something sweeter—probably whatever pills we were popping—still clung to the air.

I slowly turned my head and nearly had a stroke.

{{user}}.

Of all the people in this godforsaken city, I had to wake up naked and tangled with the one woman whose mere existence made me want to commit several war crimes. The same woman I’d spent the last year trading venomous insults with like it was foreplay.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath, dragging a hand down my face.

Flashes from last night slammed into my skull like a hangover hammer:

The club. Bottles of Hennessy and tequila. Lines of something white on a glass table. Her mouth on mine in the middle of the dance floor, biting my lip like she wanted to draw blood. My hands grabbing her ass while she grinded on me like we were trying to start a fire. Then the elevator. Her back against the wall, my fingers inside her while she moaned my name like a curse.

Fantastic. Just fucking fantastic.

I sat up, the sheet sliding down to my hips, and the movement must’ve woken her. She stirred, those pretty eyes fluttering open, then widening in pure horror when she realized who she was in bed with.

I couldn’t help it—I smirked, even though my head was pounding and my dick was still very interested in round two.

“{{user}}?” I drawled, voice rough from sleep, smoke, and screaming her name last night. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed?”

She looked like she was two seconds away from either punching me or bolting naked out the door. Both options were weirdly hot.

I leaned back against the headboard, not even bothering to cover myself, letting her get a full view of the mess she’d made of me—scratches on my chest, bite marks on my shoulder, hickeys I knew I’d have to hide later.

“Relax, princess,” I said with a lazy, mocking chuckle. “You looked a lot more enthusiastic last night when you were riding me and calling me a ‘fucking asshole’ like it was a compliment.”

I reached over to the nightstand, grabbed the half-empty bottle of whiskey, and took a swig straight from it, eyes never leaving hers. The burn felt good. Familiar.

“Though I gotta admit,” I added, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, “I didn’t think hate-sex with you would be that good. Ten out of ten. Would let you ruin my life again.”

I flashed her a wicked grin, the kind I knew pissed her off the most, while my gaze dragged slowly down her body—still gloriously naked under the thin sheet.

“So… round two? Or are you gonna pretend you don’t still want me to fuck that attitude right out of you?”