After she finishes her sandwich, a bottle of Gatorade, and we’ve both polished off our Pringles, I ask, “How are you feeling?”
She yawns, a long, ragged sound. “Tired.”
“Ready for bed?”
“Not yet. Put on an episode of X-Files.”
A warm, pleasant feeling spills through me as I remember the first night we spent together in this apartment. Easily one of the best nights of my life.
How many of the best nights of my life involve Carmen, when I’ve known her for so short a time? There’s that night when we were trapped here together by the weather. The night we went stargazing. The night we drank coffee at the gas station. And tonight. Would it be totally crazy to rank all of those in my top ten?
Probably. But maybe, when it comes to Carmen at least, sanity isn’t my strong suit.
What’s really insane, though? That night after bowling, when I nestled my head between her legs she made me come so hard it almost hit her ceiling … yeah, that night would be up there, but I think I rank it on a level just below those others. It’s the nights where I got to know her mind, her personality, her history, and her sense of humor that I value higher than the night I got to know her body.
I find her remote and start the next episode of season one that we left off at. Carmen’s still hanging on by the time it’s over, but it’s clear she’s ready for bed.
I stand up and stretch before turning a wry look at her. “Am I going to have to carry you?”
Her eyelids are only a crack open, and she responds wordlessly by reaching out her arms in my direction. With a chuckle, I stoop down and gather her in my arms, savoring the heft of her weight in my grasp until I gently rest her on her bed.
When I go to draw myself back up, I’m stopped by her hands looping around my neck. Her fingers spear into my hair at the back of my head, and she pulls my lips to hers, stealing them with a kiss.
My lips close over hers, and she tilts her chin to deepen it. Her tongue glides into my mouth. Our breaths mingle with two pleased groans.
I pull back for air. Her heavy-lidded eyes are sated and smoldering, with a hungry look that pierces into my heart and makes my breath catch.
“You know,” she says, her voice husky and seductive, dangerously seductive, “I’m not that tired.”
An ache twangs up and down the length of my cock. There’s no question of what she’s implying; there’s also no question that she’s in no condition for it.
“I am,” I answer.
Her hand lands on my chest, and her fingers raise goosebumps all over my torso as she drags them down toward my waistline. “You sure there’s nothing I can do to wake you up? After all, there’s one big thing we haven’t done yet …”
Fucking hell. Desire winds through my body, but it’s out of the question. I’d never do anything sexual with any woman who isn’t in the state of mind to know what she’s asking for, and there’s especially no way I’d have my first time withCarmen without both of us being totally lucid and guaranteed to remember every detail.
She angles herself in just the right position to give me a clear view down the front of her dress, revealing the cleavage between her two perfectly round, deliciously firm tits. My groin turns into a hot throb of tight muscle. For my own sanity, I have to step away.
“We both need to get to sleep,” I say gently but firmly.
She exhales a disappointed but assenting sound. “Fine. But I want us to try more stuff soon.”
My interest rises. Her tongue is a lot looser after a night of drinking. “More stuff?”
She nods through a yawn. She’s practically sleep-talking at this point. I’d be shocked if she has any memory of this conversation tomorrow. “Like, sex stuff. I want to try things I haven’t tried before. To really figure out what I like.”
My jaw clenches. It’s like the universe is conspiring to send me to hell. Carmen in her bed, looking the way she does in that dress, flat-out asking me for sex and talking about how she wants to experiment.
“Well, we can talk all about what you want to do tomorrow.” Not that I think she’ll remember what she mentioned. But it’s clearly a real desire of hers. I’ll have to think of something … interesting to try and live up to it. At a more appropriate time.
“Tomorrow, sure,” she breathes out with a kind of peevish disappointment that makes me grin. “You’re at least staying the night?”
She starts to scoot to one side of her bed, as if to make room for me. But I know that if I sleep next to her tonight, I’m not going to get a wink of sleep. My perpetually firm dick is going to torture me all night long. It might even turn into one of those scenarios where it lasts so long I have to see a doctor, like the TV commercials warn about. It’s supposed to be a concern ifit lasts four hours or longer, right? Well, it’s longer than that until daylight, and there’s no way it’ll deflate if I’m lying next to Carmen in bed, not in the state I’m in right now.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I say.
At this point, she’s too tired to put up any argument. The softness of her mattress and pillow has quickly seeped out the last bit of drunken energy she had. Her eyelids are already closed. She just nods weakly. I’m pretty sure she’s asleep by the time I make it the short distance to her couch.
