I scoop my arms under hers and turn her toward the sink. “Rinse your mouth.”
She reaches for the mouthwash the second I hold it out to her, greedily tilting the small cup to her lips.
“Why does it have to be green?” she complains but pours it in her mouth, doing her best to swish it around without it squirting past her lips. After she spits, her eyes find mine in the mirror. Fuck, even pale and disheveled she’s beautiful.
“Shower,” I urge.
“I can clean myself,” she insists, but she stumbles the second I let her go.
I smile on the inside when she reaches for me. “I don’t know why I’m so drunk. I only had two shots.”
“You had six,” I correct, “and you were drinking absinthe. I don’t know how you can even feel your legs.”
“I can’t.” She giggles, stomping her foot on the ground. Her laughter fades away when I reach into the waistband of her yoga pants. “Don’t.”
“Baby, you need a shower.”
“If I get naked, you’re gonna want to fuck me.”
I sigh. “I want to fuck you with your clothes on, too, but you’ve gotten sick, and I’m not here to take advantage.”
“First time for everything,” she whispers, but it’s loud enough for me to hear.
Her flip-flops go flying as I push the clothes on her bottom half to the floor, and surprisingly she lifts her arms when I reach for the hem of her tank top.
Do not lick her nipples. Do not lick her nipples.
“Hold on,” I tell her as I direct her hands to the towel bar. “Let me get my clothes off.”
I’m out of my clothes in seconds, not caring that my cut slides off the counter and falls to the floor. My father would cut my nuts off if he were alive to see it. I smile at the disobedience as I direct Candi into the small shower.
“The shower back at the house is much better than this one,” I remind her as if it makes a fucking difference.
“This is heaven.” Her head tilts back, the water cascading over her head.
“Let me help you.” With one hand wrapped around her waist, I focus on getting her hair out of the knot it’s in on top of her head.
“You’re hard,” she pants as I step close enough to pin her to the wall.
Her hair requires both hands to get loose, and it’s the only thing I can think about right now. If I let my mind wander down south and how fucking good it feels for my length to be pressing into her stomach, we’ll never get out of here.
“I’m always hard around you.”
“Not just for me,” she spits. “For every woman.”
Her hair falls as I pull the elastic band from it. Pushing it out of her face so I can see her eyes, I wait, looking down at her until she manages to focus on me.
“For you,” I repeat.
“This is gonna suck tomorrow.”
Fuck she’s already having regrets, and I don’t plan to even fuck her tonight. Tomorrow morning on the other hand…
I play it cool, redirecting her and praying she forgets that she hates me. “Getting sick tonight will keep the hangover from being so bad tomorrow.”
“Not the hangover,” she sighs as the water trickles down her head, rejoicing in it hitting everywhere now that her hair is down. “You don’t have conditioner. My hair is going to be a wreck tomorrow.”
“Sorry, baby.” I peck a kiss to her cheek and reach for the shampoo. “I’ll get some stocked immediately.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” she murmurs, but she’s leaning into me a second later as I massage shampoo into her scalp.
“Feel good?”
“I wish you would leave me alone.”
“We haven’t talked in days,” I remind her.
“You’re everywhere.”
“Like a rash.” I smile and tilt her head back under the water to rinse.
“Like fucking herpes.”
Her words pull a quick smile from me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Liar.” She rests her head against my chest. “Everyone leaves me.”
Me too, baby, me too.
The rest of the shower and drying off are uneventful. She looks better in my shirt than I ever could’ve imagined, as it flirts with her thighs.
After only a few minutes of bickering about where she’s going to sleep, I finally manage to convince her that against my chest and in my arms is the best place for her considering the amount of alcohol she drank tonight.
“I’ve missed this,” I confess against her damp hair.
“You can have any girl out there.”
I don’t bother correcting her because it’s true. The difference has nothing to do with what I can have and everything to do with what I want.
“You could’ve just fucked me and left me alone,” she continues when I don’t respond. “You told me I was safe here.”
“You are safe, baby.” I hold her tighter.
“I’m not safe,” she argues. “I’ve been treated poorly before coming here, but making me fall in love with you was the most brutal thing anyone has ever done to me.”