And my hands were on her body.
“Good,” she crooned softly. “Not a disappointment at all. I told you.”
She tried to place her own hands on my shoulders, but it proved to be an uncomfortable reach for her that way. So instead, she looped her arms around my back, pressing her cheek against my chest. My head dipped down towards her of its own volition. Her hair smelled like flowers and fruit and all the sweet things I’d never really cared about. Until now.
Until this moment. This moment that told me there was likely no way around it, no way to avoid it.
I was becoming hopelessly addicted.
I would not say this to her. Could not say it. What purpose would it serve? To tell her I thought that she was beautiful? The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in all my blasted life? That when she’d come out in this tight, short dress tonight, my desire for her felt like it might actually kill me?
I would not tell her that I thought of her the moment I woke up, the moment I went to bed, and every other moment in between.
She was not mine to keep.
She was not mine at all.
But I could hold her for now, and I did so, as if the moment might last forever. Her body was exquisite glory against my own. She was putting her full weight on me now, perhaps an effect of fatigue, or the alcohol, or both.
“You are tired,” I said.
She just said, “Mmm,” and burrowed closer.
The dip of her waist was perfect in my hands. I wanted so badly to touch my lips to her hair.
I was getting hard. She did not seem to notice. Her eyes were closed. She barely moved in my arms.
She is practically asleep on her tiny little feet.
“Come on,” I said. “Let us get you home to bed.”
“Song’s not over yet!” she protested weakly.
But the song was over. It ended just after her reply, with a final flourish of melancholy notes.
“Come on,” I said again, more firmly this time. I did not want to use my warden voice on her, but I would if I had to. Luckily, she seemed amenable enough now, and I led her to the chair by the door. Removing the clothing there with my tail, I directed her to sit.
“Put these on,” I said, putting the warm pants and jacket onto her lap. “Where are your boots?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a heavy sigh.
“Stay there. I’ll find them.”
The boots had been abandoned by the side of the dancefloor. I fetched them and returned to her. She’d managed to get her pants on, but seemed to be struggling with the jacket.
“I can’t get my arm in here!” she cried, showing me the right sleeve of her jacket. “Something’s wrong with it.”
“Your gloves are inside it.”
“Oh.”
My chest constricted. My mouth tightened. I liked Lualhati when she was at her most competent.
But I also liked her like this. Just a little bit helpless.
In need of her warden.
“Here.” I retrieved the gloves from the offending sleeve, which allowed her arm to go all the way into it this time.
