She was quick to nestle in, leaning her head on my shoulder and sucking in a deep breath.
“Any better?” I asked.
“Little,” she admitted. She sucked in another deep breath. “You always smell like coffee.”
There was no reasoning with the part of me that was thrilled to learn she noticed something like that about me.
“You smell like sugar.”
“Sugar doesn’t have a smell,” she objected.
“Sure it does. And you smell like it. Though, you smell like berries and tequila tonight.”
She tasted like it too.
I tried to force those thoughts out of my mind, knowing if I didn’t, I’d be rock-hard within a minute. With the way she was sitting across my lap, there was no way she wouldn’t notice that.
“Too much tequila,” she said, letting out an exaggeratedly long sigh.
“Eh, just enough,” I said.
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’re happy and uninhibited, but conscious and not bent over a toilet.”
“All true,” she agreed, rubbing her cheek against my chest.
“Everything still spinning?”
“It’s worse if I close my eyes.”
“So don’t do that,” I suggested. My hand seemed incapable of staying around her hips. It drifted up and down her spine, toyed with the silky edges of her hair. “That feels nice,” she declared, making my stomach tighten.
I tried to take a steadying breath.
But I only breathed in more of that sugar-sweet scent of her.
“Mmm,” she moaned, the sound going right to my dick. “That feels even better,” she said as my fingers made little circles around her scalp.
She shifted closer, leaned more firmly against me.
And she let out several more of those little moans.
Thankfully, our stop was just a few seconds later, so Sammy and I half-carried the girls out of the train, up the steps, and back out onto the streets.
The cold seemed to revive both of them momentarily, making it easier to get them up into their apartment building.
“I’ll be back to check on you in two minutes,” Sammy said as she led her girlfriend toward another apartment.
The meaning there was clear: I will make sure you don’t hurt my friend.
I had to respect that.
“Ugh!” Stephanie grumbled, shaking her purse. “Just pick it,” she said.
“The lock?” I asked, confused.
“My purse ate my keys.”
