The weather in California was still somewhat scorching in September, and Dean furrowed his brow as he climbed out of bed.
"Shit! Just how crazy did I go last night?"
Dean rubbed his lower back in wonder, feeling a trace of soreness.
At his age, he had never experienced anything like it before.
He turned to glance beside him, where the hand-crafted ebony bed, with its expensive wool cashmere sheets and blankets, had been thoroughly ravaged.
Jennifer Connolly, bereft of any covering on her body, was still fast asleep next to him, apparently unaffected by Dean's movements.
It was clear that not only Dean but Jennifer Connolly as well had been worn out.
Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, he twisted his waist and felt his head was still somewhat dizzy.
He had drunk a lot last night and now could hardly remember the situation at the time.
With a few cracks of his joints, his heavy head finally began to clear a little.
