Too Drunk

Sarah

Oops, I guess I got Matthew in trouble. I think to myself as Matthew begrudgingly follows me inside the bar.

"What did she say?" I ask Matthew.

"I don't want to talk about it," he grumbles.

I raise an eyebrow but decide not to push him—at least, not yet. Instead, I slide back onto my stool and take a sip of my drink, watching as Matthew settles into his seat, his shoulders tense. His phone is still gripped in his hand like he's waiting for it to buzz again.

"You know," I say casually, stirring my cocktail with the little straw, "if you're going to sneak around, you should at least be better at it."

Matthew shoots me a glare. "I'm not sneaking around."

I smirk. "Amanda thinks you are."

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he's going to snap at me, but instead, he exhales sharply and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't need you making this worse, Sarah."

"Hey, I didn't do anything," I say, holding up my hands in mock innocence.

"You didn't have to come out of the bar and shout at me," he says.

"Oh, come on. I wasn't shouting," I protest.

Matthew exhales through his nose like he's trying to keep his patience in check, but I can tell it's a losing battle. "She heard you, and now she thinks there's something going on between us."

I raise an eyebrow. "Well, is there?"

His eyes snap to mine, and I can see the frustration bubbling up, but he controls it with a slow breath. "You know there isn't."

I laugh softly, leaning forward and resting my chin on my hand. "She is overreacting, you know. If I was your girlfriend, I'd fully trust you."

Matthew shakes his head. "All women get jealous."

I raise an eyebrow, amused by his assumption. "All women, huh? Not me."

Matthew downs the rest of his drinks and orders another one.

Matthew's drink arrives quickly, and he wastes no time downing it in a few large gulps. I watch him with amusement as he orders yet another, his words starting to slur slightly.

"Maybe you should slow down," I suggest, but Matthew waves off my concern.

"I'm fine," he insists, his eyes slightly glazed. "I just need to forget about this whole mess for a while."

I purse my lips but don't argue. If he wants to drink himself into oblivion, who am I to stop him?

As the night wears on, Matthew's condition worsens rapidly. His words become more and more incoherent, and he starts to sway on his stool, nearly falling off a few times. I have to reach out and steady him, my hand gripping his arm firmly.

"Okay, I think you've had enough," I say.

Matthew grumbles something unintelligible, but he doesn't resist as I help him off the stool. He leans heavily against me, his body warm and solid against mine. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, mixed with the faint scent of his cologne.

"Come on, let's get you to your room," I say, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him upright.

We stumble out of the bar and into the cool night air. The walk to his room seems to take forever, with Matthew tripping over his own feet every few steps. I have to practically drag him along, my arm aching from the effort.

Finally, we reach his door, and I fish his key card out of his pocket. It takes a few tries, but I manage to get the door open and maneuver Matthew inside. He collapses onto the bed, his limbs sprawling haphazardly.

I sigh, looking down at his disheveled form. His hair is a mess, and his shirt is rumpled and half-untucked. He looks like a mess but is somehow still handsome in a rugged sort of way.

God…I can't be thinking about how attractive he is, not when he's in this state.

I set about removing his shoes and tucking him under the covers. Matthew mumbles something, his eyes fluttering open briefly to look at me.

"Sarah," he slurs, reaching out a hand to touch my face. "You're so beautiful."

I freeze, my heart stuttering in my chest. I know he is saying that because he is drunk, that he doesn't mean it. No one ever calls me beautiful. But still, his words send a thrill through me.

"Go to sleep, Matthew," I say softly, gently pushing his hand away.

"You stay with me," he says, grabbing my arm.

freeze for a second, his grip on my arm surprisingly strong for someone so drunk. His eyes, though unfocused, seem to hold a vulnerability I hadn't expected. I glance down at his hand on my arm, feeling the warmth of it, and for a moment, I just stand there, unsure how to react.

"Matthew," I start, my voice quieter now, a little softer. "You need to sleep it off."

He looks at me with a mix of pleading and drunken confusion, his brow furrowing. "Please," he mutters. "Just stay… I don't wanna be alone."

I hesitate. He's drunk, vulnerable, and clearly in emotional turmoil, but I can't deny the tug I feel in my chest. I want to stay, but at the same time, I know I shouldn't. He is only saying that because he is drunk.

I bite my lip, my resolve wavering as I look down at Matthew's pleading face. His dark hair is tousled against the pillow, his eyes glassy but still somehow intense as they lock onto mine.

The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the bedside lamp. It casts shadows across Matthew's features, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw and the fullness of his slightly parted lips.

He looks…tempting.

I know I should leave. I know that staying would be crossing a line, taking advantage of his drunk state.

My eyes trace the lines of his body, the way his shirt stretches across his broad chest. I can feel the heat emanating from his skin, even from this distance, and it makes my own body flush with a sudden, intense desire.

Slowly, as if in a trance, I let my hand trail down his arm, feeling the firmness of his bicep beneath my fingertips. Matthew's breath hitches, his eyes darkening as they follow the path of my touch. The atmosphere is electric, charged with a simmering, unspoken want.

"Sarah," he breathes, his voice low and rough.

I sink down onto the bed beside him, letting his arms wind around me, pulling me flush against the solid warmth of his body. He smells like whiskey and something distinctly masculine, a scent that makes my head spin and my pulse race.

Matthew's hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. The touch sends sparks racing through my veins. I let my eyes flutter closed, my lips parting slightly in silent invitation.

And then his mouth is on mine, hot and hungry and demanding. He kisses me like a man possessed like he wants to devour me whole. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close.

If I was a better woman…a good woman, I would stop this and leave his room right now.

But I am not.

His hands roam my body, sliding under my shirt to caress the bare skin of my back. I arch into him, craving more contact, more friction. I want to feel his skin against mine, to lose myself in the heat of his embrace.

I want him to take my first time.

Matthew's lips trail down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair as he finds a particularly sensitive spot.

His hands find the hem of my shirt, tugging it upward impatiently. I raise my arms, allowing him to pull it off and toss it aside. "God, Amanda, I want you," he breathes.

The name is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I freeze, my body going rigid in his arms. "What did you just call me?" I ask, my voice low.

Matthew blinks, confusion clouding his features. "What?"

I push him away. "You called me Amanda," I spit. "I'm not your damn girlfriend, Matthew."

He looks at me dazedly as if he is not registering what I am saying.

Anger and humiliation burn through me. I can't believe I actually thought he wanted me. But of course, in his drunken state, he thought I was Amanda. The realization stings more than I care to admit.

Matthew is still looking at me in confusion, his eyes unfocused and glassy. He reaches for me again, mumbling something incoherent, but I swat his hand away.

"Just go to sleep, Matthew," I snap.

He blinks slowly, his eyelids growing heavy. The alcohol seems to finally be taking its toll, dragging him under. His head lolls back against the pillow, his limbs going slack.

I stand there for a long moment, staring down at Matthew's unconscious form, my chest heaving with anger, humiliation, and frustrated desire. How dare he mistake me for his girlfriend in the heat of the moment? After I went out of my way to help him, to take care of him in his drunken state.

I feel rejected.

But then, slowly, an idea begins to form in my mind. A wicked, delicious idea that sends a thrill of anticipation down my spine.

Why not give him a little surprise to wake up to in the morning?

A smile curves my lips as I start to undress, slowly peeling off my clothes and letting them drop to the floor.

First, my shirt, then my jeans, until I'm standing there in nothing but my bra and panties.

I reach behind me and unclasp my bra, letting it slide off my shoulders and fall to the floor.

I climb onto the bed, the sheets cool and smooth against my bare skin. I stretch out beside Matthew, molding my body to his, skin to skin. He is warm and solid, his chest rising and falling with the slow, even breaths of deep sleep. I drape one leg over his, pressing my breasts against his arm, my head coming to rest on his shoulder.

In the morning, he'll wake up like this - naked, with me in his bed. He'll see our clothes strewn across the floor, feel my bare skin against his, and he'll assume that we had sex. That, in his drunken state, he cheated on his girlfriend with me.

I can almost picture the look on his face - the shock, the horror, the sinking realization of what he thinks he's done. It sends a dark thrill through me, a sense of power and control.

I close my eyes, a satisfied smile on my lips as I let myself drift off to sleep, wrapped around Matthew's unconscious form. I can't wait to see his reaction in the morning. It's going to be delicious.