“Ohhhh,” she answers, another drawn-out, exaggerated, very drunk sound. “In that case, no, I didn’t stay hydrated while I drank.”
“Do you have electrolyte drinks at your place? Like Gatorade?”
“No.”
“Do you have ibuprofen?”
“No.”
“Do you have anything to eat to soak up some of the alcohol?”
“O-N,” she spells out. She pauses a beat to make eye contact with me before erupting in giggles. “I mean N-O,” she wheezes.
“Oh, brother,” I sigh.
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s what you say now,” I grumble. “Go lie on the couch, and I’ll run to the store to get you stuff.”
“I wanna come,” she whines like a spoiled kid.
“You need to rest.”
“No,” she groans, “take me with! Take me with! Take me with!” To accentuate each word, she pounds her closed fist against my shoulder. Is it weird that the contact makes my groin swell a little bit?
Probably. But, hey, it is what it is. When it comes to Carmen, I’ll take any contact I can get.
“You can’t even walk!”
“Carry me,” she demands.
I huff a laugh of disbelief. “Are you always this bossy when you get drunk?”
“No. Just this time.”
I roll my eyes. “Lucky me.”
“I’ll climb on your back. Come on, Jamie, do you really hate the idea of me riding you that much?”
Her grin is devilish, and the glint in her eye is salacious—and the swelling in my groin is a lot more than slight this time. My length is stiffening, pressing against my pants. The only thing I don’t like about the idea of carrying Carmen—other than the fact that I know she needs to rest—is that I don’t trust my own erection not to pop through my zipper if she’s pressed against my back with her legs around my waist.
But Carmen clearly has a tipsy outing on her mind, with me acting as her personal chariot, and I don’t think I’m going to dissuade her.
“Fine,” I surrender. “Hop on.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” she quips.
My chest hitches. In the last week, I’ve made Carmen come with my hands and my mouth on several occasions, loving it each time just as much as the first. Though I’m getting better at keeping my pants dry in the process.
But the couple of times that she’s made a move to push things … further, I’ve backed off.
She’s probably interpreted it as nervousness. But that’s not it. Making her fall apart with my tongue lapping against her is a hell of a confidence builder. But … I’m hesitant to move to the next phase of what we’re doing. Because, naturally, the next phase of anything brings you closer to the end of it. And I don’t want what I have with Carmen right now to end.
It’s probably a good thing that my ability for introspection short-circuits when Carmen hops onto my back. With her full tits pressed against my shoulder blades, her soft forearms curling around my neck, her legs pressing on either side of my waist, her silk-soft hair fanning against the side of my face, and my senses swimming in her scent, the here and now is suddenly the only thing I’m able to focus on.
I hook my hands under her knees to steady her. Fuck, she’s so soft, so warm. I let my thumb brush against her skin, drawingslow circles just above the bend of her knee. When I try to take a step forward, it feels like I’m smuggling a baseball bat behind my zipper.
“Hurry up!” Carmen whines.
