He ditched his bloodied overshirt and pushed back his sleeves before dragging me up from the toilet, hooking a strong arm around my waist. I was standing by only the loosest definition of the word.
Again, the smell of alcohol filled my nostrils as he reached past the shower curtain and turned on the tap.
“Vodka,” I said, resting my forehead on his shoulder as he began to aggressively rub the skin on my torso and back. “You don’t look drunk. Are you drunk?”
“Yep.”
He didn’t bother to explain, so I kept leaning against him, trying to remember how to breathe.
“You were slurring and fading in and out for a minute there,” he said, peering into my eyes. “How’s your vision? Does your head hurt? Are you seeing double?”
Swear to fucking Christ, his voice was like warm butter.
“Face hurts,” I said, touching my eyebrow.Fuck. “Vision’s good. Slurring ’cause I’m so f-fucking cold.”
“Anything broken?”
His hands drifted carefully over my ribs as if looking for something he could fix. Make better.
I shook my head, then looked down at the new bruises blooming through my tattoos like some fucked-up briar of wild roses. “Nope. I j-just feel like one of those Dam-Dammit Dolls.”
“I bet.” He chuckled as his hands moved up and down my arms, my neck. “Nice to hear you say a full sentence.” Finally noticing my feet, he asked, “Where the fuck are your shoes?”
“Bottom of the lake,” I said as I bent down to take off my socks.
Oof. Mistake. I was so dizzy I might just fly off the planet at this point. I stumbled forward, and he caught me.
“I’ve got you,” he said, holding me with one arm while using his free hand to help me remove the wet socks.
I leaned into him and let the swirling in my head pass. My hands were still cold and the skin on my feet was raw from walking on the wet knit, but I’d beenlucky. They’d mostly protected my feet when it counted.
The state of my extremities had distracted me from the head wound, which started to throb as my body slowly heated. I glanced in the mirror. My eyes were unnaturally bright against the mask of blood on my face and numb realization replaced the dizziness.
“That’sho-horrifying,” I said on a shiver.
“It’s just a bad gash on your eyebrow,” he assured me in that melted honey voice. “I’ll get to it, but we need to get your temperature back up first.”
“Okay,” I said as he knelt, loosening the button on my jeans. “I can’t… I can’t believe I didn’t die.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said, his voice low as he concentrated on lowering my zipper.
God, his sincerity was fucking me up, big time, and the way he fought against the soaked material made me want to run my fingers through his thick, unruly hair.
Frustrated with the lack of progress, he grabbed my waistband with both hands and yanked hard. That got both my jeans and my underwear to mid-thigh, nearly pulling me on top of him.
My cold, shriveled nuts brushed his cheek, and I bit back a moan. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, just kept tugging until he got everything down to my ankles. I grabbed his broad shoulders as he finally worked the stubborn material free.
When I’d imagined him ripping my clothes off, I was always warm enough to have an erection. I couldn’t decide if I was grateful for the shrinkage or if Iwanted to explain that I was more of a grower than a show-er.
I could just imagine Ursula fromThe Little Mermaidwhispering in my ear:pathetic.
I decided silence was the better option and stood there, naked and shivering so hard it felt like my teeth were going to rattle out of my head. He repeated the same sort of aggressive rubbing up and down my legs, breathing so hard I could feel his hot breath on my chilled bits.
What are your thoughts on cock warming, Detective Rafferty?
The image of him taking my soft cock into his mouth set me spinning again. I could picture it perfectly. He’d let it warm up, slowly, with the gentlest suckling until it grew against his tongue. Revived, he’d feast on me, sucking, fingering, driving me out of my mind until I was a boneless, spent mess.
Going without sex for a year has clearly fucked with my priorities.
