Sexchange ● JJK

• 6 • you said fucking what?

Stabbing a grape with your fork, you tried to lessen your soreness and stress.

Your head was pounding like a disco when you woke up, uneasy feeling taking control of your stomach. Last thing you remember was drinking at Boulevard and not stopping after a few glasses-too-many. Yesterday, you were really hurt. He should have called you but the lack of communication or response from his side made bitter feelings raise in you. It wasn't his fault either, you knew how he was but still expected a lot from him. But you did want to drink and forget about all this for a while: the confusing FWB agreement, his cold as ice responses, the failed attempt at having sex, your first time getting ruined.

It wasn't like you hadn't drunk before but you had never drunk this much. Like the quantity you had drank last night was way past all the other times you had drank, combined. The consequences were ugly as fuck.

The pound on your head was like a continuous, vexing hammering at a construction site. You grimaced and massaged your head again.

Waking up was a scene too. You wanted to puke immediately after you woke up but couldn't place where you were. In a second, your body was moving towards the door. Thankfully, the bathroom door.

You had no idea how you ended up in his bed but you had a feeling that whatever must have happened was surely not pretty. The minute you walked out from his room, you found him shirtless. Reading a book in his balcony. Sun-kissed skin, sun bathing, reddish hue on him due to the heat. Sweat curled around him, minimizing the chances of you not feeling shy at the exposure. His muscled, caramel body was basking quite happily out there and you had no idea how to call him out.

You cleared your throat.

He turned back, sunglasses perched on his straight nose. Stunning, summer model. Muscles twisted in a glamourous spiral. There's something about his small, handsome face that's so endearing and hot, just can't resist him even in this situation. His eyebrows shot up as he looked at you. There was confusion on your face as to why he was staring so incredulously at you from behind those fine Ray-Bans.

Puzzled, your eyes travelled down to find yourself only in your bra and you eek-ed. Turning around at once, struggling to maintain a civil approach. Where was your t-shirt? Lord! What the fuck happened last night?

Before you could mumble something in embarrassment, he walks in from the balcony. Body hot with his session, aggressive pumping of his veins. They looked bolder after being baked in the sun. He had a knack for making girls nervous, the way about him, the aura of not caring at all. Your eyes fall on his comfy, grey shorts and his bulging, large thighs below it, coursing with veins too. Even his calves had muscles! You're knocked out of his way when he's heading towards the sofas, making you follow him consciously to see what he was doing. 

He bends down, abs scrunching, to pick something up and you realize it's the tee you were wearing last night. Finally, taking your eyes off from him --his sweaty, beach body-- and going over his entire living room to find your stuff scattered all around. Your one heel was under the sofa, other one near the door. Your scrunchie hidden between two cushions. There's flaming redness on your face seeing the hurricane that had passed. You must have done some insane things which you didn't wish to know but needed to know too. 

You're so grateful to him for letting you sleep in his bed even after you troubled him so much. It seems like he went to great lengths to bring you back to his house and make you sleep. He hands you your tee and leaves to the kitchen area, not even looking down at your body. You pouted despite everything. You were staring shamelessly at him, he could have appreciated your body a little more. 

This unaware you had no idea how fucking intently he had gorged you down last night that every detail of your body was written down in his mind forever. Your moles, your cup size, your curves were familiar to him like the back of his hand.