Chapter 30
JAMIE
“Sheesh, how much did you have to drink?”
Carmen holds her hand in front of her face and sticks up fingers, squinting to see in the dim, faraway light of the orange streetlamp a block away as I help her up the stairs to her apartment.
“Ummmmm,” she draws out the pondering sound, then shoves her hand toward my face. “How many fingers are on this hand, again?”
I smirk, biting back a laugh. “Five.”
“Five? That’s all? Well, I had more drinks than that.”
I laugh now, shaking my head as we make it to the landing at the top of the stairs. “I take it you didn’t stay hydrated while you drank?”
Her forehead scrunches. “What do you mean? Drinking equals hydration.”
I roll my eyes, but a smile carves onto my face at the same time. Carmen always has a dry sense of humor, but she’s never this goofy. It’s a side of her I like. But she’s not going to like the aftermath if we don’t get her some necessary supplies to make tomorrow morning more bearable.
“Drinking water equals hydration,” I correct. “Drinking alcohol doesn’t.”
“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, drawing slow 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.
Trying to walk down the narrow wooden steps like this without falling sobers me up enough to deflate my cock. Carmen remains blissfully unsober, though, giggling through the treacherous descent.
She talks about her night out as I carry her toward the twenty-four-seven gas station.
The same one we shared a midnight cup of coffee in.
My chest squeezes at the thought. If I knew then that sooner than later I’d be carrying her on my back, feeling her flush against me, if I knew the things we’d end up doing together …
well, I might not live to actually do any of that, because there’s a damn good chance I would have died of joy.
I dip down to let her off my back when we step inside the store, but the action is met with a protest. “What are you doing?”
“Uh, letting you down so I can shop?”
“But I wanna stay,” she groans.
Maybe part of me should be annoyed. But the fact that she’s comfortable enough around me to act like a complete idiot when she’s drunk, the fact that she’s comfortable with me taking care of her—well, a backache tomorrow is a small, small price to pay.
“Fine,” I answer, trying to make my voice sound begrudging, even though carrying her around like this is nothing but a privilege.
With Carmen on my back, I walk around the store, picking up medicine, Gatorade, and a sandwich for her to eat when we get back to her place.
Carmen insists we get two containers of Pringles, too.
Her reasoning being that she wants one entire container for herself, but she doesn’t want to eat alone, insisting that I have one as well.
Attempting to argue her drunken logic would be futile, so I pick up the sour cream and onion flavor she requests and a regular flavor for myself.
“Just the regular?” she asks, disapproval evident in her voice. “Booooo. Boring.”
I laugh. “I’m not a big Pringles guy.”
She gasps. “Don’t say that again, and I’ll pretend I never heard it in the first place.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Fine, I’ll get a sour cream and onion, too.”
“Copy-cat.”
I huff in exasperation, even though I’m enjoying every second of this absurd moment. “Fine. I’ll try … the cedar cheese.”
“An excellent choice.”
Carrying all the stuff and fishing my wallet out of my pocket to pay at the counter are not easy tasks, but against all odds, soon we’re back outside in the cold, heading home.
Heading home. With Carmen. I hardly drank tonight, but I’m suddenly lightheaded and giddy like I’m at the most pleasant point of intoxication. The crisp, lamp-lit night feels like it’s taken on a golden glow.
“Admit it,” Carmen says minutes later, when she’s sprawled out on the couch and I’m sitting with my legs tucked under me on her floor. “You’re glad I made you get those Pringles.”
She levels that accusation at me with her mouth full of chips, and I respond in the same condition.
“You’re right. If I were sitting here watching you eat those without a cannister of my own, I’d be very tempted to steal some from you.”
“With my kitchen knives just a couple steps away, you’d be making a risky move in that case.”
“As if you could even stand up right now.”
“Touche.”
“Eat your sandwich, too. It’ll be better at soaking up the alcohol, and you’ll have less of a hangover tomorrow.”
“That sounds like bro science.”
I roll my eyes. “Just eat it.”
“You’re very insistent about me putting things into my mouth tonight. I wonder if that’s a sign of things to come.”
Heat twists at the base of my balls. “Not tonight. You’re in no condition.”
“Party pooper.”
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 with Carmen 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 if it 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.
I didn’t realize how exhausted I am until I collapse onto it. As soon as my eyes are closed, I fall asleep. But a couple hours later, in the dead of night, something stirs me awake.
“Scoot over.” It’s Carmen’s voice whispering in my ear.
She slides onto the couch, her back molding against my front. My eyes catch her clock in the dim lighting. It’s half past three in the morning.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Can’t sleep?”
She snuggles against me. Mellow satisfaction beats through my chest.
“No, I could sleep fine. I just thought I’d sleep better next to you.”
I nuzzle my face against the back of her hair and pull in a slow breath. Pure relaxation and contentment slide through me.
I loop my arm around her waist and tuck her close.
Carmen made it clear at the beginning that this wasn’t supposed to turn into a relationship. But she was the one who got out of bed to come to me.