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“Very,” he says.
“I guess I am then.” I shrug.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
“Oh, are you going to fuck me?” I ask, very interested in having drunk sex.
“I will not,” he states. He pulls me into the apartment, shutting the balcony door.
“Damn, I wanted to have drunk sex,” I pout.
“You will pass out the moment your head hits the pillow,” he says.
“Nuh-uh,” I mumble.
“We’ll see.”
“My legs don’t want to work,” I complain. I had to stop at the stairs. My brain is telling my legs to lift, but they refuse.
“They work,” he smirks.
“Nuh-uh,” I scowl.
Bash lifts me into his arms. I wrap my legs around him and lay my head on his chest. He must still like me if he’s taking care of me. He takes me into his room and stands me next to the bed. Suddenly my arms are in the air; my beautiful dress pulled off.
“Do you have to use the bathroom?” he asks. He balls up the dress and throws it in the corner.
“You don’t like it,” I accuse, pointing at the dress. “You threw it on the floor.”
“I like the woman in it, better than that dress.”
“I’m torn. Should I be pleased or upset?” I ask.
“Neither; you should be in bed.”
“Okay, dark angel,” I smile.
“Jesus,” he whispers.
“Did you find the bad man?” I ask as I crawl into bed.
“Not yet,” he says.
“I really liked your cock inside me, Bash,” I gush.
“That’s good.” His voice sounds strangled.
“I really liked when you held me against the wall,” I continue.
“Good,” he says, yanking the covers over me.
“Can we do it in the shower again?” I ask eagerly.
“Yes,” he says impatiently.
“I like feeling so small in your arms. It makes me feel taken care of,” I admit.
“I will always take care of you.”
