Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
WILDER
I had every intention of taking Maisie home.
Every intention of making sure she got safe inside, then walking back to my truck and going the fuck home.
That is, until she passed out, slumped against the window of my truck, approximately thirty seconds after I pulled out of the parking lot of the bar.
And I have no fucking idea where she lives.
She groans and cuddles deeper into the old hoodie of mine she draped across herself when I tried reaching over to wake her up, her lips parted, snoring lightly.
What I would give to be able to fall asleep so easily, without hours of tossing and turning, my head plagued with nightmares. I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night without one.
It would be easy to pop an Ambien or drink until I passed out, but I just… can’t do it.
I’ve tried.
I realized it made me no better than the piece of shit people who raised me, and that was something even I couldn’t stomach.
I glance back over at Maisie, sleeping soundly, and shake my head as I turn toward my apartment, even though it’s the last place on Earth I want to take her.
The drive isn’t far from the bar I picked her up from, and I pull into the parking lot and cut the engine.
She never stirs. Doesn’t move a muscle as I pick her up out of the truck and slam the passenger door shut with my foot.
Her head lolls, completely dead weight in my arms.
Good thing I could bench three of her with my damn eyes closed.
I manage to get the front door of my apartment unlocked and open without waking her, and truly, I don’t know whether to be impressed that she’s sleeping this damn hard or pissed that she potentially put herself in a bad situation.
I don’t even let it cross my mind, the onslaught of things that threaten to tip my fury into overdrive.
I got her, and she’s safe.
That’s all that matters.
Crossing the room to my bed, I gently lay her on the mattress and step back, my eyes moving over her sleeping frame. Her hair is splayed out around her in a soft, golden halo, that damn dress that was already too short bunched up to the very tops of her thighs.
The strapped heels on her feet match the golden hue of the dress. I carefully lift her foot, my fingers fumbling slightly with the tiny little clasp around her ankle.
“W-wilder?” Her voice has my eyes snapping up to hers. Her eyes are hazy and unfocused as she tries to sit up on her elbows, but she sways.
In an instant, I drop her foot and move up the bed, my palm curling around her shoulders to steady her.
“Oh God.” Maisie pinches her eyes shut, and her throat bobs. “Everything is spinning. I’m so dizzy.”
“Alcohol will do that to you.”
Her fingers curl around my biceps like she’s holding on for dear life.
She groans, deep and low, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t shoot straight to my cock.
“Is it too early to say that I’m never, ever drinking again? Because I’m not.”
I chuckle. “It’s always rough the first time. It’s your twenty-first, a rite of passage.”
Somehow, in the last minute, I’ve managed to sink down onto the mattress beside her, my arms tucked around her, her face buried into my chest.
My fingers stroke the bare skin of her arms, and she shudders, suddenly picking up her head to peer up at me.
Her makeup is smudged, leaving dark circles beneath her eyes. But somehow, she’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
It’s fucking terrifying how much I want her.
How much I shouldn’t want her.
She’s fourteen—well, as of tonight… thirteen—years younger than me, a college girl who’s living the best years of her life.
And I’m a piece of shit that could never give her a fraction of what she’d deserve.
“Where am I?” she asks as she sinks back into my chest, burrowing her face into the fabric of my shirt.
“My apartment. You were snoring and swatted me away when I tried to get directions so I could take you home.”
Her response is another groan.
Suddenly, she’s out of my arms and scrambling toward the edge of the bed. “I think I’m going t—”
The words don’t even make it out of her mouth before she’s falling to her hands and knees on the floor and heaving.
“Shit.” I scoop her up and run to the bathroom, depositing her onto the floor just in time for her to empty the entirety of what she drank tonight in the toilet.
I wind the ends of her long hair around my wrist and hold it back as she clutches the bowl and wretches.
“You’re alright. Just get it out,” I murmur, running my palm up and down her back softly.
She’s puking her guts up, and yet it’s still one of the most intimate moments I’ve ever had with another living person. Taking care of someone.
The realization hits me, and I stiffen slightly.
Maisie raises her head between heaves, her blue eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, a tear tracking down her cheek. “Please go away. I… I don’t want you to see me vomit, Wilder.”
I don’t move. Instead, I tighten my hand in her hair, the other brushing back a few loose golden strands that stick to her face.
“Little late for that,” I laugh, and she moans again, dropping her head down onto her forearm that’s resting on the rim of the toilet. “It’s just a little puke. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Yeah, can’t imagine how I look right now,” she responds dejectedly.
“Very hot.”
A soft laugh bubbles out of her, followed by a pained noise, and she rises on her knees as another wave hits her.
I end up on the floor beside her, my hands never leaving her until she finally sits back, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth and nose, sniffling. She leans back against the old bathtub and stares over at me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
She’s already falling asleep when I lift myself off the bathroom floor and scoop her into my arms again, carrying her back to the bed.
A soft whimper escapes her when I lay her on the mattress, but she’s out, the weariness of getting sick and the alcohol pulling her under.
I walk back to the bathroom and grab a washcloth from the cabinet, wetting it with some warm water.
I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing.
I’ve never done this before, taken care of anyone besides myself, and even then, I’m thirty-four years old, and I still don’t know how to do it the right way.
I just know I don’t want her to wake up in the morning with old puke and smeared makeup on her face, still in heels that have got to be hurting her feet.
I’ll make sure she’s good tonight, and then first thing when she wakes up, I’ll take her home. It’s the least I can do after, apparently, as her friend said, I almost ruined her twenty-first birthday. I know nothing else can come from this.
When I sit beside Maisie on the bed, she murmurs something soft under her breath, her eyelids fluttering.
I grip her chin between my fingers and turn her face toward me so I can clean her up.
Even in her sleep, she sinks into my touch, nuzzling her cheek into the palm of my hand and sighing contently when I gently swipe the warm cloth over her face.
I take my time removing the makeup, my eyes roaming over every inch of her face that I touch. It’s the first time I’ve ever been able to stare at her without being rushed, without having an audience.
She looks peaceful. Beautiful. Even more unguarded than she is while awake. Her long lashes fan out on her cheeks, fluttering as her breathing begins to even out.
Carefully, I wipe the makeup away and toss the rag into the laundry basket, then grab an old T-shirt from my dresser and a pair of socks.
I make quick work of the heels on her feet, letting them fall to the floor with a thud.
She moves, another dreamy sigh bubbling out of her as my fingers flex around her ankle, my thumb making a circle on her soft skin.
“Mmmm. I love your hands on me.”
The words are whispered so quietly that I almost miss them, her eyes still pressed tightly shut.
The admission makes me stop in my tracks, my hands still on her warm skin. Fuck, even in her sleep, she says whatever she’s thinking. No hesitation, no filter.
I swallow hard, setting her foot down gently, and move to ease the T-shirt over her head, deftly loosening the straps of her dress and tugging it down once the fabric of the T-shirt covers all of the parts I’ve been desperate to see again.
She’s infiltrated every single thought in my mind since she stripped down in my office that day.
But I don’t want her like this. When she’s drunk and vulnerable, not able to give consent.
That’s not something I would ever fucking do.
So I drag the T-shirt all the way down her body and pull the dress down her hips from beneath it, tossing it onto the floor with her heels. My shirt covers her completely, settling right above her knees.
And thank fuck for that.
Maisie sighs as I pull the comforter over her, and she burrows into it, twisting her fingers in and clinging to it like a lifeline.
She’s clean and safe, and no one can fucking touch her.
For a moment, just briefly, I let myself dream about what it would be like if I could have Maisie. Truly have her.
Seeing her in my bed… wearing my shirt… cuddled into my sheets has something possessive tugging in my chest, has my stomach dipping at the idea of having her like this more than just tonight.
After she’s sated and exhausted from my cock and my mouth.
Waking up with her in the mornings with my head between her legs and my tongue buried in her pussy.
The sun beaming in through the windows and covering every inch of her skin in warm morning light.
She’d have a sleepy, just-got-fucked look in her eyes, a sweet little smile that would make me want her again the moment we were done.
I reach for a pillow from the bed, throwing it onto the ground and lowering myself onto the floor beside the bed.
The last thought in my head as sleep pulls me under is her.