"Baby…" Gael nuzzled against Angela's nape, his scruff grazing her skin and sending tingles down her spine. She moaned and leaned into him when he cupped her breast through the shirt. "You might want to wake up your friend. Her flight will be in a few hours. You have to eat, and she has to prepare."
"What time is it?" she asked, tilting her head to give him more access.
"Nine."
She groaned, pulling the covers over her face and Gael's. "I feel like Thor's hammer came down on my head."
"Hurts that bad?" She nodded, and his hand snaked down her waist and past the cheek of her ass. "Let me relieve you. Hangover sex is the best remedy for that."
Gael placed soft kisses on her neck—at a spot he knew she loved while his hot fingers made contact with her bare skin underneath her shirt—his shirt. A gasp escaped her lips when his expert fingers found her wet folds. She swore, just by having him next to her, she was always damp down there.
