Nightwolf

I can’t have that. I knew the moment that Solon suggested that Amethyst come here that he was going to tell me to go too. This was his push, his way to say that we needed to finally get it over with and fuck, or at least talk and figure out what we are to each other. Get it out of our system. He’s hoping that when we come back to Dark Eyes and the house in San Francisco, that we’re either able to move on or…move in.

It won’t be the latter. I wish it would be. I wish it could be. But it won’t.

Which is why last night was last night, I tell myself, watching the sky lighten over the petrol gray horizon through her bedroom window. A little fun, something that was inevitable, but still something we can recover from.

In a way, it’s a blessing she passed out because I probably would have fucked her and then I’d really be done for. Instead, I noticed her slipping below the water, then quickly pulled her up. She was delirious, could barely open her eyes. It was like all the alcohol had hit her at once. I took her inside, got her some water and she slowly started to come to, drunk as anything. I brought her to the bed, toweled her off, took off her clothes, then put her pajamas on. Then sat in the chair in the corner for hours, watching over to make sure she was okay.

Then I went to my room. Didn’t sleep a fucking wink. Couldn’t. I kept thinking about her, about the way she felt as she came around my fingers, the way she groaned my name. Even after pleasuring myself four times last night, I’m still wound up tighter than a nun’s asshole.

I let out a little growl of annoyance and that makes her stir, brings out a creaky moan. Slowly she raises her head, then once she notices my presence—she always does—she looks over her shoulder at me.

“Hey,” she says in a craggy voice.

“Good morning,” I tell her, leaning against the doorway.

She frowns and then slowly turns over on her back, hoisting herself up on her elbows, staring down at her pink pajamas in confusion. “What…uh…what happened last night? I, uh…”

“You mean in the hot tub?”

Please tell me you remember that.

“Yeah. The…yeah when you…I remember you being underwater,” she says that in such a way that she’s skipping over the obvious. “And then I…”

“You passed out,” I inform her.

“I passed out?” she says in disbelief.

“Yes,” I tell her, folding my arms across my chest. “The combination of wine, straight whisky, no dinner, being in a hot tub too long, and the mind-melting orgasms I gave you resulted in you passing out.” I pause and give her a playful grin, so she at least knows I’m not bothered by it. “Apparently it’s a human thing.”

She shakes her head and the movement makes her stop suddenly, holding her temple. “Ow, my head. I shouldn’t have done that.” She peeks at me through her fingers. “I bet that made your ego soar above the moon, didn’t it?”

“Well, yes, in a sense,” I admit. “Though I rather you had stayed conscious a little longer.” There were still things I had wanted to do to her.

“Wow,” she says, looking back down at her pajamas. Her brows come together. “Wait a minute, how did I get in these?”

“I dressed you.”

Her eyes go comically big, absolutely adorable. “You dressed me?” She pulls away the collared neckline of her top and looks down it. “You mean you saw me naked?” The last word goes up an octave.

“I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal considering I had my tongue inside you.”

That makes her still, her fingers curling around the edge of her pajamas. “So that wasn’t a dream.”

“Not a dream,” I tell her, then I realize I have a way out of this if she wants it, if she’s regretting what happened. I clear my throat. “But we can easily pretend it was a dream, if that’s what you want.”

I give her another easy smile, but I hold my breath for her answer.

“No,” she says quickly, and I exhale. “No, no. Last night was good.” She laughs to herself. It sounds like music. “It was good. I’m just embarrassed I passed out, and, like, almost died.”

“You’re only human,” I tell her, rapping my knuckles along the doorway. “I’ll get another pot of coffee on. Want breakfast? Emilio stocked the fridge too.”

She nods and her smile is so genuine and soft that it makes me feel dizzy. “I’d like that.”

I leave her room before I can say something stupid.

I know Amethyst really well, in the ways that people who live together do.

I know she likes oat milk in her lattes, but it has to be a certain brand, and that even when she loves it, she only half finishes them.