It was like a starving man finally catching a scent of water—desperate, primal, and completely unrestrained.
He pushed her onto the bed, kissing her wildly until she couldn't breathe, until she was lost with him.
He took off her clothes. She was sober, but she forgot to resist.
His hands were warm, his body was warm, and his deep, sorrowful eyes made it impossible for her to restrain herself.
***
The next morning.
Darren woke up with a splitting headache. Had he dreamed that something happened between him and Angela last night?
In an instant, the lingering effects of his hangover seemed to vanish.
How could he have such a shameless dream?
He slapped himself. It was just too shameless.
Thankfully, he looked around the room and saw he was alone.
"Thank God it was just a dream." Still, Darren couldn't help but slap himself again. How could he have a dream like that? He and Angela were just friends. If Angela found out he'd had such a dream, she would kill him.
It must have been a dream. It had to be.
Darren got out of bed, and his foot suddenly stepped on something. He looked down and saw Angela's necklace.
Panic set in, sending a chill down his spine. Why was Angela's necklace here? Could it be that last night wasn't a dream?
No, it's impossible. Absolutely impossible. She probably dropped it when she brought me back last night. That must be it.
Angela had fled in a panic as soon as she woke up. She didn't know how to face Darren. She knew he was just drunk and had mistaken her for Natalie. If he woke up and found out what they had done, it would be awkward for both of them.
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