The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 50

Chapter 50: 50 | The CEO of the Morning After

Diane’s phone buzzed somewhere on the nightstand, the sound drilling into her skull like a carpenter working overtime.

Her eyes cracked open to harsh morning light streaming through the curtains she’d forgotten to close. The digital clock beside her phone read 7:03 AM in cruel red numbers.

Four hours of sleep. Christ.

Another buzz. Then another. Her phone was having a full conversation with itself, probably her assistant losing her mind over something that could have waited until a reasonable hour. Diane reached for it, her arm protesting the movement.

Everything protested.

Her thighs ached. Her hips felt like someone had spent hours testing their flexibility limits.

Someone had.

The memories hit her all at once. Lukas’s hands on her skin. His mouth everywhere. The way he’d moved inside her for what felt like forever, round after round until she’d stopped being able to form coherent sentences. Six times.

The boy had made her come six times and fucked her through every single one like he had something to prove.

And he’d still been hard when they finally stopped.

Diane’s face flushed hot despite the morning chill in her room. She glanced sideways, half expecting to find Lukas still tangled in her sheets. The bed was empty. The pillow beside hers showed the clear impression of his head, and when she touched it, the fabric still held warmth.

He must have left recently. Probably sneaking back to his room before Sloane woke up for training.

Her daughter. God, what had she done?

Diane sat up slowly, wincing as muscles she’d forgotten existed reminded her they did. The sheets stuck to her thighs. Cum, still tacky and drying. Lukas’s cum, dripping out of her even hours later.

She could feel the sticky residue between her legs, coating her inner thighs in a way that made her stomach twist with equal parts satisfaction and horror.

Her phone buzzed again. Three new emails, all flagged urgent. Two texts from her assistant. One from a client threatening to fire her agency if she didn’t call back by eight.

"Fuck," Diane muttered, scrolling through the messages with one hand while the other rubbed her temple. The light was too bright. Her head pounded.

She felt thoroughly used in a way she hadn’t experienced since her twenties, back when stamina was something you had instead of something you faked.

Young people. They had too much energy. Lukas especially.

She stood carefully, testing her legs. They held, barely. Walking to the bathroom required concentration and several pauses to let the world stop spinning.

When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she stopped completely.

Her hair looked like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket. Mascara that she’d forgotten to remove last night had smeared down her cheeks in dark streaks. Her lipstick was completely gone, probably transferred to various parts of Lukas’s body throughout the evening.

Bite marks dotted her neck and shoulders, dark purple bruises that would need serious concealer. Her breasts showed matching marks where Lukas had sucked hard enough to claim territory.

And her thighs. Jesus Christ, her thighs were a disaster. Handprint bruises on both hips from where Lukas had gripped her. Red marks from his fingers on her inner thighs.

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