Yep.
Still wearing clothes.
So’s she.
Still have a raging hard-on too.
Don’t think she’ll notice. Or want to do anything about it.
“It’s the sun, Laney.” I test both hands—both fully awake today—and realize the arm Laney was sleeping on is cold and wet.
She drooled on me again.
No matter what happens the rest of my life, I will forever know that Laney drools in her sleep, and I will forever like that about her.
“What did I do last night and where did my arm go?” Her voice is husky enough that the whimpering makes my cock even harder.
“Which arm?” I ask.
“The one I can’t move.”
“Which one can you move?”
“This one.”
There’s no movement.
None.
Her eyes are squeezed shut. Her hair’s a tangled bird’s nest against the white pillow. Her skin’s pale, almost green.
I shift on the bed to face her, stifling a grin that I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate.
She whimpers. “I want off the boat.”
“Feel your arms yet?”
“They’re gone. The elf stole them.”
And I have officially lost the battle and am full-up smiling now. “What elf?”
“The elf that made me drink last night.”
“Good news. Elf’s gone, and your arm’s still here. I can see it.” I touch her bicep lightly, pretending I’m not enjoying the feel of her skin beneath the shirtsleeve of her dress that rode up overnight.
She squeals and then grumbles.
“Just me, Laney.”
“Tickles,” she gasps.
“Huh. Tickles. Weird. Is it like…your arm fell asleep?”
She whimpers. Squeezes her eyes shut.
I stroke a single finger down her bicep.
A strangled noise slips out of her throat.
