Lane didn't mean for this to happen; he was drinking his sorrows after his fiancée called off the wedding when she found someone else she'd rather be with. He was halfway through his eighth rum and coke when you walked in. And you looked perfect.

And you still did, laying beside him, completely nude and curled on his chest.

"Shit," he hisses, holding his head as he feels the hangover. Everything was a blur, but the markings on your hips and neck were enough of an indicator of what happened.