“When you break bad it’s going to be something interesting, I bet,” I mused out loud.
He looked amused and unfazed by that.
“He does work at a high school,” Iris threw out.
“Hey now, what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, looking much less amused.
He was flushing to the point I actually thought she could be onto something, sinister savant that she was.
“Some of the seniors have got to be eighteen,” Iris added.
I shivered. She scared me just as much when her mischief was aimed at someone else.
“That is not funny.” Carter’s voice brooked no argument.
He was so serious that even dauntless Iris dropped the subject.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IN AN UNPRECEDENTED and shocking move, I kicked everyone out of my house before one a.m.
Ro was still drunk and still half naked, and I simply couldn’t take it anymore.
It was just us and a busy cleanup crew as I carried/led/dragged her back inside the house. I stopped and she kept moving enough to glue herself to my chest. Her head was tilted back, and she was looking up at me with a glazed bedroom stare.
I tilted my head down, closed my eyes and inhaled her sweet, boozy breath, shuddering and not with distaste.
I took a significant step back, and she stood on her own without me having to touch her, thank God.
“Have you ever been this drunk before?” I asked her pointedly.
“Neverbeendrunkafore,” she slurred.
“See what happens when you overindulge?” I asked her, trying my best to sound like a chiding parent. “I’m left to take care of you at the end of the night. I don’t even trust you to put yourself to bed in this state.”
“Oh, staaahhhp. Jus’ lemme be. I know where m’bed is. Leave me ’lone.”
Drunk Ro was too much for me.
I knew it, but I still couldn’t keep away.
My concern overrode my natural inclination to run away from, instead of into, an obvious trap.
I was trying to keep my hands to myself as much as humanly possible, but she was swaying on her feet. I sighed. “Hold onto me, or I’m going to have to carry you up like a baby,” I warned her sternly.
She gave me a drunk pout for that. “You can’t carry me thafar. Thas alot a stairs, and Imma grown woman.”
“Barely grown. You’re an itty bitty barely slip of a woman, and I could carry you easily for miles. Do you want to be carried?”
She harrumphed. “Nuh uh. I canwalk.”
“Fine. Then hold onto me.”
“Where?”
I lifted up my arm and held it out. “Hold around my waist,” I told her. I was so tall, and she was so small that it was the only way we fit walking side by side.
She actually listened, hugging me around the waist, her big, soft, nearly naked tits nestling into my abs.
I sucked in a breath, but quickly recovered, cupping her shoulder and moving her slowly in the right direction.
I was tempted to give her my bed as we passed my room, but quickly abandoned the idea. She’d likely get the wrong idea if she woke up alone with her first hangover in my wicked, wicked bed.
We ran into a slight problem when we hit the stairs that led to her wing of the house. She saw the first carpeted step, and it was just too tempting for her.
She pulled away from me with a grunt and parked her cute little ass on it, elbows perching on the step behind her, thrusting her magnificent tits forward at the same time that her lovely, slender legs spread limply out in front of her. “Jus’ leaveme here. Thisis good.”
I sighed, hands going to my hips. I loomed over her, jaw clenched, whole body clenched, and wondered how I was going to last another five minutes with a nearly naked Ro sprawled out in front of me.
I didn’t realize what the stance accentuated until her eyes traveled rather unerringly to the obvious erection that my swim trunks were never going to hide.
Her hand covered her mouth, her eyes gone wide in drunken shock. She pointed, the tip of her finger less than an inch from my pointing cock. I couldn’t help it. I twitched, my tip nearly closing that one inch gap, less than a breath away from assaulting her unsuspecting, innocent finger.
“Y-y-your penis,” she gasped, scandalized.
“Don’t pay any attention to that,” I said calmly. “It’s involuntary and has nothing to do with you.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why’sit hard?”
“Just blood flow. Like I said, ignore it.”
“Why’s your bloodflowin’?”
She was so drunk, I doubted she’d even remember this conversation in the morning, so I responded somewhat honestly. “Because you’re barely wearing any clothes, and your tits are out of this world. I can see your nipples trying to fight their way out of your top, and my money’s on those nipples winning that fight. It would make any halfway healthy heterosexual man come to attention. Don’t even get me started on the rest of you. That flat little belly. That tiny little waist. The thick hips and plump ass. Those shapely little thighs. Your perfect little knees. Those adorable little feet. Your tiny, delicate hands. I could nut on your cute, sassy eyebrows at this point.”
As I spoke, she was looking down at her body, looking scandalized and very, very drunk. She looked up, up, up at me and pointed to herself incredulously.
“Yes, you,” I told her with tender gravity.
She adjusted her top, as though trying to cover up, but only uncovered more.
I groaned out loud as she tugged the ridiculous triangle to the center and one tantalizing, rosy pink nipple popped out the side.
I thought she’d be embarrassed, but she was too drunk for that. She started giggling so hard that she forgot to even try to put that sweet little bud back under cover.
I bent down and tried to do it for her. I tugged the material over with just my fingertips, very careful not to touch her skin.
She giggled harder, adjusting the other triangle until a second nipple popped free.
I straightened, glaring at her. “Devereux Laurent! That’s no help at all. This is quite unwholesome of you. Bad girl.”
I wasn’t going to take advantage of her, but boy was I going to give her a good talking to. “I’m very disappointed in you.”
She didn’t take me seriously. Who would? Even in my head it sounded ridiculous. I wasn’t her father.
She seemed to read my mind. “Stop lecturing me,” she gasped out between adorable giggles. “You don’t look like anyone’s dad.”
“A few people have called me Daddy,” I mused, distracting myself with the thought, “but that was more their kink than mine.”
Certainly that didn’t stop the giggling. It was worse than ever after that.
I tried again to fix her top. She tried to help me help her, and it was a very bad idea.
I let her move my hands over her flesh for a beat, two, utterly mesmerized by her, before I came to my senses, and immediately realized how fucked up that was.
It took every bit of my self-control to stop touching her.
She didn’t help at all, clutching at my retreating hands with a surprisingly strong grip.
“Stop that, cupcake,” I chided her softly.
She let go of my hands and stuck her tongue out at me.