Her eyebrows shoot up, and an indecipherable look crosses her face before she replies. “Not as long as you’d think,” she mumbles.
Taking one last look at the incredibly lifelike detail of the red feathers, I finish helping her dress. I slip her arms into the short sleeves of the shirt, but when I accidentally brush against the curve of her very generous breast, my cock leaps up like a dog who wants to go out.
This was a bad idea.
I finish getting her situated as quickly as possible, pulling the hem all the way down to skim her thighs. My eyes rake over her, and yes, this was definitely a bad idea, because now she’s in my damn shirt, and the sight is doing something to me.
She sighs a little. “Now I’m gonna have to tell Hummingbird Judy that I ruined the dress from the communal clothes bin.”
Shaking my head to clear out the foreign thoughts swimming in my brain, it takes me a moment to unravel her words. “What?”
She nods her head at the clothes I tossed aside. “The dress I borrowed.”
“Your nudist colony has a communal clothes bin?”
“Mm-hmm. It’s very convenient.”
Convenient, indeed. I guess the communal clothes bin didn’t have a bra for her to borrow, because I just confirmed that she definitely isn’t wearing one.
Fucking hell, Warren. Get your shit together and stop thinking about her like that.
“Right. Well...I’m sure they’ll understand,” I tell her. “Are you ready?”
She glances at me warily. “Ready for what?”
“I’m going to help you into bed.”
Her brown eyes widen in panic. “No. Don’t make me,” she whines. “I can’t move! My stomach is gonna flip out, and I’ll projectile all over your marble countertops. Marble, Warren. You’re not supposed to get vomit on marble. Even I know that.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Fuck, she’s not even trying to be amusing, and I’ve been more entertained by her in one day than I have by any other woman in months.
“You need rest, and you can’t get that by sleeping on the bathroom floor.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” she retorts.
Rolling my eyes, I lean down and place my hands under her arms, our faces just inches away. “Put your arms around my neck.”
She sighs quietly. “Fine. It’s your marble’s funeral,” she grumbles before wrapping her hands around me, her fingertips brushing over my skin in featherlight touches. “Don’t drop me.”
“I’ve got you,” I promise her quietly.
I pick her up as gently as I can, surprised at the effortless way her body fits against mine. She makes a little whimper as I carry her out of the bathroom and over to the bed, but I’m mindful to keep my steps nice and smooth, and I hold her securely against my chest as she practically melts into me.
It’s a strange feeling, holding someone like this. All I’ve ever done with a woman is fuck her, and to be honest, I’ve had no interest lately in even doing that.
I’ve already turned the blankets down on the bed, so I set her down as carefully as I can so as not to jostle her.
Trix immediately curls over on her side in the fetal position, clutching her stomach as she breathes slowly. I go back to the bathroom and clean up, then bring her more water and a trash can in case she gets sick again. As I’m setting the water on the nightstand beside her, her arm comes out to grasp my wrist, and I freeze under her touch.
It’s dark in the room, but the moonlight that’s coming in from the windows is enough to show me her shiny eyes are locked right on me. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “For taking care of me.”
I look down at her, and in no way should I find her attractive right now. Her once braided hair is a mess of tangles and frizz, her face is pale, sweat lines her brow, and she’s spent the last three hours puking her guts up in my toilet.
I date models. Strictly tens. Women who always have designer clothes on and a face full of makeup. The kind that are always on their phones, who get waxed and polished and primped and plumped. The ones I sleep with and then don’t call after, and vice versa. The women who don’t want me for anything other than to be seen on my arm or for a quick and dirty fuck.
But Trix Valentine is not one of those girls.