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We soon find the master bedroom and spacious bathroom.
I place Hamlet straight in the empty, deep, standalone white tub.
I look away when she drops my leather jacket over the side.
“I’ll take my pants, boots, and socks off and leave them on the floor.” I forgot she was still wearing boots. “I don’t have a change of clothes. The jeans are only a little damp in places. I have a jacket out in my car I can put on over my bra.”
“Good idea. How is the gash on your forehead?”
“I’ll live.”
“While you get comfortable, I’ll find some bubbles.” I’m sure Retro has bubbles here somewhere for his girlfriend to enjoy a bubble bath.
“Tucker, I don’t need bubbles. The plug isn’t in.” I hear her peeling her pants off. “It’s underwear, no different to a bikini.”
“Your call.” I turn around, and to my credit, I don’t bat an eyelid when I see her in the tub, in only her panties and bra with water pouring from the faucet she has turned on.
Yup. It’s still sexy underwear, no matter which way you try to paint it.
She scoops water onto her face, washing away the blood.
Her gash now looks like it has stopped bleeding, which is good, but it still looks like it will need stitches.
She moves her body onto her side, angling it so the water directly wets down her front.
One bare, shapely, bubble butt cheek has my attention. I silently groan, eyes rolling to the ceiling. It’s a thong she’s wearing.
I’m a man on a mission. Where are some bubbles?
Hamlet rolls again to her back. She has no idea these scraps of lace do NOT resemble a bikini when wet. They become transparent hard-on material.
I gather my leather jacket and Hamlet’s discarded items and bring them over to the heated towel rack. I turn it on, place her pants over it—the leather jacket I put back on, and take her boots and socks into the bedroom.
I am doing my best to distract Woody.
I then busy myself collecting three carefully folded white bath towels from the pristinely organized bathroom shelving.
One is for my crotch. I will not lie.
To be safe, I hold all three against my abdomen.
Now is not the time for Woody to pitch a tent. I do my best not to look in the tub, or Woody and I will set up camp, but I also can’t leave her alone.
The battle to see her home safely is the next thing on my to-do list after I get her examined by a doctor.
Her eyes flutter shut.
“Stay awake for me if you are thinking of taking a nana nap.”
“Not napping. I am just enjoying the cool relief on my skin, but I don’t think I can stay here much longer. I’ve made the water as cool as I can stand without shivering.”
Jesus.Her nipples are thrusting at the material containing them. I spin around, swinging the bathroom door closed, praying there is a robe hanging up on the back of it.
I’m in luck—one pink, fluffy robe.
I walk over and place one towel on the floor folded in half as a place for her to stand when she gets out, and the other one, I put on the ground beside it, all without looking in the tub.
“I should be good to get out now.” The faucet turns off.
