Page 73 of Bourbon Bliss
“Get in there, honey.” I stepped in the shower with her. “Turn around, let’s rinse your hair.”
She stood in front of me and let me run my fingers through her hair, wetting it. Rather than risk her sleeping with puke or the remnants of whatever Cassidy had spilled in her hair, I washed it for her. Her head leaned back as I massaged her scalp.
That hard-on of mine was going absolutely nowhere, which made me feel like a giant asshole.
I rinsed her off and thankfully she took the initiative to wash the rest of herself. I stood back and turned to the side to give her what privacy I could.
Goddamn, she was beautiful. Her wet hair hung down her back and water ran over her soft curves. She was on the tall side for a woman, but little next to me. Most people were. I stole quick glances at her as she washed herself off, admiring the tapering of her waist. The curve of her hips. And that ass. Damn, that ass.
She stumbled and I caught her, which reminded me how drunk she was. Even though her naked wet body was now plastered against mine.
“Why are we naked?”
I groaned. “Bedtime, June Bug. Now.”
She didn’t protest. Her eyes were heavy and she leaned into me. I practically had to drag her out of the shower. As quickly as I could, I toweled her off. Her hair was still wet but I had to leave it. She needed to lie down.
I got her on the bed and tugged a t-shirt on her so she wouldn’t be completely undressed. I’d already decided I was sleeping on the couch, but I didn’t want her waking up naked in my bed. I had no idea how much of this she’d remember in the morning.
“Lie down now. I’ll get you some water.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice dreamy.
The t-shirt bunched up to her waist as she scooted onto the bed. I rolled my eyes and got a pair of boxers out of a drawer. Tugged those up her legs. They were too big—as was the shirt—but I needed to cover what she had between those gorgeous legs of hers. I’d be up all night just thinking about it, her pussy tormenting me from afar.
I got her some water and helped her take a long drink. Then she collapsed, her head just missing my pillow.
“Thank god,” I muttered, setting the water glass on the night stand next to her. Hopefully she’d sleep the rest of the night.
“Stay.” Her face was smooshed into the mattress, so I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.
“What?”
“Stay with me,” she said. “I’m too inebriated to be alone.”
“June Bug, you’re just going to sleep. I’ll be right out there if you need anything.”
Her eyes stayed shut as she talked. “Intoxication can lead to vomiting and there’s a danger of pulmonary aspiration.”
Even drunk June was smart. “All right. I’ll stay. But you better remember this was your idea in the morning. I don’t want a hungover June yelling at me for sleeping with her.”
“Do you mean that literally or as a euphemism for sexual relations?”
“I mean sleeping literally. No one is having sex in this bed tonight.” God, I was tired. I went around to the other side of the bed and sank down. “Let’s go to sleep now, okay? I’ll be right here.”
“Okay, George.”
At least she was calling me George again. That seemed like progress, even though she was passing out drunk.
“Night, June Bug.”
The only answer was her soft breathing as she slept.
24
June
Asharp pain stabbed me behind the eyes and my stomach felt like it had been scraped out like a pumpkin. I groaned, tucking my knees up. Why had I let Cassidy talk me into drinking so much? I never drank to excess. I knew the precise ratios of alcohol, food, and water my body required to avoid the misery of a hangover. Why had I tossed that all aside and poured blackberry moonshine down my throat last night?
