The Revenge Games Duet

“Well, good morning to you, too.”

“What can I say, I’m an early riser.”

Her body lays flat and I wiggle myself out of her. “We have to leave soon.”

“Already? Did you even sleep?”

I shake my head. “But you did. You’re so cute... you still do that pouty sleep face from when you were a kid.”

She sits up with a struggle, holding onto her head while wincing. “When did you ever watch me sleep?”

“A dozen times,” I answer truthfully. “Whenever you fell asleep on the sofa, and that time we camped in the backyard.”

“Oh yeah,” she reminisces along with me. “You stayed awake all night and pretended to be a clown with the freaky mask. Ash couldn’t sleep for weeks after that.”

I laugh, a fond memory that still haunts him to this day.

“I should shower.” She yawns, stretching her arms then pulling them back wincing again.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried.

“You’ve fucked me to the point of thoroughly fucked. I can’t move.” She stands up, hobbling to the bathroom and turning on the shower. The water runs for a while with steam filling the room and clouding the mirror. I hop in with her, noticing her skin looks red-raw and there’s a few bruises.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.” I kiss her arm from where I gripped on so tightly.

“No, you’re not.” She laughs. “You loved every second of it. It doesn’t hurt, I didn’t feel a thing. I’m completely numb right now except for down there...” she points, “… where it kinda stings.”

I grab the soap and bend down, washing her softly and noticing how sensitive her skin is. She relaxes enough to hold onto my shoulder, and when I finish, I kiss her lips.

“It’s going to be awkward at breakfast.”

“Maybe we should tell them,” I say with a straight face.

“Tell them what? That we’re fucking? Oh, that’s going to go down real nice.”

“Why not?” I joke lightly.

“Because they think we hate each other.”

“Okay…” I challenge her, “… then we’ll pretend to hate each other. Besides, the best sex is hate sex, right?”

She smirks, throwing a towel my way. “Game on, Carrington.”

***

“Dad, you look like shit,” Emmy tells Chris while scarfing down her breakfast even though she complained her jaw hurt from all the deep-throating.

“I’m not twenty-one anymore.” He grimaces at the rare sun gracing us this morning. “God, I don’t remember how much your head can hurt after a big night.”

Abbi sits quiet on her chair, sporting oversized glasses and a hat.

“Mom? What about you?”

She raises her finger motioning Emmy to be quiet.

“I think Mom and Dad partied too hard.” Ash chuckles, unaffected by his beer consumption last night. “Where did you end up, Emmy?”

She shuffles nervously, crossing her legs. “I got a room. I was exhausted from the day out plus, I didn’t want to travel back this morning.”