Nash woke up like he had been hit by a train.
His eyelids were heavy as lead curtains in a storm-ravaged theater, his mind a foggy, his memories swirling like drunken. His head was painful, but not only the had. Another head, lower, had a dull, throbbing ache waking him up with a "rest in peace".
His groin, his dick swollen and tender, balls aching like they'd been pummeled in a back-alley brawl. He groaned softly.
"Ugh... what the hell..." his voice raspy, throat dry as sandpaper.
Where was he? The room spun in slow, nauseous circles, the dim light filtering through curtains casting shadows that danced mockingly. The bed beneath him felt familiar yet alien, sheets tangled and damp, sticking to his skin like a second, clammy layer.
When did he even go to bed?
He shifted slightly, and that's when he felt it, the warm, tight embrace around his cock, still buried deep inside something soft, pulsing, alive.
Confused, his heart pounding unevenly as he tried to piece it together.
