“Baby, lie back,” I tell her while ignoring my urges. “The worst direct effect is dehydration, so you need water.”
“Okay, Tommy.”
The sound of my nickname drifting affectionately from her lips fixes me in place. “The second worst thing,” I explain while forcing myself to grab the water bottle from the nightstand, “is when it’s cut with other drugs. But my shit is pure.”
I stroke her lips, watching the way her eyebrows go slack, how her eyelids bat rapidly, how she leans into my touch. “And the third…” She hums again, her gaze full of trust when she opens her eyes. I swallow hard while beckoning her to sit up enough to drink. As I position the bottle in her mouth, I continue, “Well, the third sucks the most.”
She sips slowly, some of the water dribbling from the corner of her lips. My thumb sweeps away the water before I can even think about it.
“You feel absolutely amazing when you’re on it—literally happiness in a pill—sensations are dialed up to eleven, and you love everything and everyone around you.” She sputters slightly, and I catch the bottle before it can fall. “But the comedown the next day is brutal.”
She blinks lazily. “I’m tired.”
Her voice sounds so innocent, so pure that it sharpens my desire for her. I set the bottle aside, strip down to my boxer briefs, and crawl under the covers. She nestles into my chest without hesitation, my arms circling her as if this is something we do all the time. Wherever her skin contacts mine it zaps excitedly, molecules vibrating so hard that I think I might rocket us right into the damn cosmos.
But I don’t. And she falls asleep immediately.
Dark hair splatters over my pale chest, tickling the detailed bull tattoo taking up my chest and upper stomach. I run my fingers through it, surprised by the soft texture and the scent of coconut that breaks from the strands when I brush it. Her jaw slackens against my skin and soft sighs brush over my flesh, eliciting goose bumps.
The buzz of her phone cuts through my mood. She stirs slightly, mumbling incoherently as she squeezes my hand. I can’t help the smile on my lips while I watch her shoulder rise under my arm and notice the way her leg curls possessively between my thighs.
Fuck, I could really get used to this.
Her phone buzzes continuously, inviting my frustrated glare. She rouses from her sleep, rubs her eyes, and swipes her phone from the ground, staring grouchily at the screen. After dragging her finger across the screen, she says, “What, Mom?”
She tenses up. “No, I just…” Her eyes flicker to mine, instantly sober. “Well, you refused to fix my car so—” She bites her lower lip. “No, Uber doesn’t run at this hour.” Another second passes and then she looks at me with this expression of defeat as she whispers, “Mom and Amos are coming to pick me up.”
Hiding my irritation is a challenge, but I accept our predicament despite how cold I know my bed is going to be once she leaves. Even though I didn’t catch a wink of sleep, having her next to me has provided more calm to my system than anything lately.
“All right,” I tell her. “Get dressed.”
She nods, whispers something to her mother, and then slides from the bed, reluctantly lifting her clothes from the ground. I tuck my hands behind my head and recline against the wooden headboard while watching her, unable to tear my gaze away from her smooth skin. The doorbell rings about fifteen minutes later, causing me to rouse from my dreamy, euphoric cloud.
I yank on my pants and meet my father in the foyer where he stands at the door in a fluffy black robe, eagerly inviting Ophelia and Amos into our fortress.
“I didn’t realize Alexandra was here,” my father admits. He smiles warmly and says, “But that must mean they’re getting along, huh? Maybe we can talk about the cont—”
“Thank you, Gilbert,” Ophelia snatches Alex by the arm and yanks her away. “We’ll talk later.”
The anger that swells in my chest confuses me.
But I can’t deny the feeling. It’s too strong to ignore. Nobody should ever manhandle my doll like that.