“You’ll see. Give it another shot.”
I try again, inhaling just a wisp. This time, I tolerate it better. The taste is earthy, almost bitter, but the effect quickly creeps up on me. My limbs feel as if they’re melting into the couch, and my mind goes fuzzy like it’s wrapped in cotton.
“Okay?” he asks, watching me closely.
“Oh yeah.” I take another drag and sink back with a lazy smile.
“That’s probably enough, Blue,” he says, taking the joint back.
“Probably,” I admit, through a pleasant haze.
Chaz chuckles and takes another drag. I can see his lips moving, saying something to me. Is it funny? I don’t know, but I start giggling uncontrollably. I cover my mouth on a snort that only makes me laugh harder. When I finally stop, my eyelids feel heavy, and so does my head.
“Do I have a pumpkin head?” I ask, touching the top and sides. “It feels ginormous.”
“No, Lex. Your head is perfectly matched to your perfect body,” he says, stubbing the joint out in a makeshift ashtray. He stands and extends his hand to me. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”
“But I wanted to hear you play.”
“Tomorrow.”
“You promise?” I hold out my pinkie.
“I promise.” He locks his pinkie around mine and pulls me up.
My legs feel boneless, my body buoyed, floating just like Chaz said—a man of his word. I lick the side of his face, and he laughs, keeping a steady arm around me as we climb the stairs. In the bathroom, he flips on the light and grabs my toothbrush from its travel case, prepping it with water and his toothpaste.
Giggling again, I clutch the toothbrush like a child holding a crayon.
Chaz brushes his own teeth without issue while toothpaste dribbles down my chin. With amused patience, he rinses my brush and sticks it in the holder beside his before wiping my mouth.
“Thanks, hubby.”
He grins and leads me to the bedroom, where he pulls a T-shirt from his drawer. “This should be comfortable for you.”
“What are you going to sleep in?”
“Boxers. That okay?”
“Naked would be better,” I say, my head lolling to the side. “Will you be the big spoon?”
“I’d love to be your big spoon, Blue.”
“Yay.” I try to get the sweatshirt off but can’t seem to lift my arms without almost toppling over.
“Need help?”
“K,” I giggle.
He helps me change into the shirt, slipping it over my head. The fabric is buttery soft and smells faintly of detergent and him. He sits me on the bed and crouches to pull off my socks.
I squirm as his fingers brush the arch of my foot. “That tickles.”
“You’re adorable.” He kisses my forehead and stands to undress.
I ogle him shamelessly as he removes all his clothes. Broad and thick with a network of ink, his body is a masterpiece of contrasts: hard and soft, rough and smooth. His ass, two perfect globes, and his penis is like a silk-covered rod—all the textures I crave. He pulls his afro into a man bun and ties a durag around the crown of his head, fitting snugly and framing his gorgeous face.
“I need my camera. You’re like a work of art.”
