In the haze, there are blinding stars dancing in her eyes. She tries to blink them away, tries to focus her eyes on him as he sits up straighter and puts his hands on her waist, but the task seems impossible when she feels so weak.
She can’t move—her legs feel like JELL-O and he seems to sense it, offering a mumbled “I’ve got ya,” and standing to slide an arm beneath her to wrap around her back.
Then, lifting her with a soft grunt and holding her so that she is pressed flush against him, he moves them both back up towards the pillows at the head of the bed.
What a fucking gentleman.
“Need a minute?” he asks, as he lays her down gently upon the mattress. “We can take our time entering the next round.”
She nods, then shakes her head, then furrows her brows because she can’t decide. She is breathless and intoxicated (from the alcohol, from the lilt of his accent, from his hands on her skin) but she wants him inside of her, and she doesn’t really want to wait.
i see you at the bar, at the edge of my bed
a thing that’s honestly really just mostly straight smut a thing, coming soon