Page 74 of Holding The Reins

“Room. Spinning,” she says as she reaches up to hold her head.

“Shit,” I mutter as I pick her back up and carry her to the bathroom attached to my bedroom.

My room is dark and moody as I flick on the lamp on my dresser. Deep grays and creams against the dark cabin walls set an earthy vibe. My bed is a massive California King with the best sheets money can buy. I may not be showy but there are certain things I don’t skimp on and my bed is one of them. What little sleep I do get, I want to be comfortable.

I grab her a t-shirt out of my drawer and hand it to her. It will be like a nightgown on her tiny frame. It’s odd having a woman here. I’ve been alone for so long, but I don’t hate seeing her standing in my bedroom—not one bit.

CeCe stands in the doorway like a squirrel afraid to move. I pass by her into the bathroom. It’s much like my bedroom. Gray with white heated travertine tile floor and shower tile as well as the world’s largest seven-foot bathtub because there are days after coaching all day that I just need an Epsom salt bath and I don’t fit into a regular sized tub well. I reach into the walnut vanity and grab her a new toothbrush and a clean face cloth, turning on the heated floor for her feet.

“I’ll… give you some privacy.”

She nods.

“I’m right out here if you need me.” I close the door and pace my bedroom while I hear her turn on the faucet.

I pull the heavy duvet back on my bed and reveal my deep gray 1200-thread count sheets. I grab a Gatorade from my kitchen, pour it over ice and place it on a coaster on my bedside table with some Tylenol because something tells me she’s going to need that in the morning. Then I sit and wait, tapping my foot on my bedroom floor.

Fifteen minutes pass by, but she doesn’t come out. I internally argue with myself about knocking. The water is off and I don’t hear anything.

“CeCe,” I call

No answer comes so I knock.

“I feel… sick. Stay out.” I hear through the door.

“Not a fucking chance,” I mutter as I unlock the door and go in. She’s in her dress, still sitting on the bathroom floor with her head over the toilet. Mascara under her glassy eyes. The realization that she’s probably been sitting like this since I left her tugs at my heart.

“Fuck baby…” I go right to her and hunch down on the floor beside her.

“You don’t need to see this. I… brushed my teeth but then I felt sick. The toothpaste. Too many margaritas. I might throw up,” she says.

“I’m not going anywhere until you’re ready to leave this bathroom,” I whisper.

I pull her hair from her clasped hand and carefully crouch behind her, smoothing it off her face and braiding it down her back. A trick I’ve learned from watching Cole braid Mabel’s hair all the time. I don’t have any girly hair elastics or anything that even resembles one. I improvise. I reach over and pull dental floss out of the bathroom drawer and break a piece off tying it around the bottom of her braid in a bow. It does the trick nicely. Another fifteen minutes pass as we sit on the floor while I rub her back.

“I feel better now. I’m just so thirsty,” she says, leaning against the bathtub.

I grab the Gatorade from my room and bring it to her. I don’t say anything as she drinks some down. She looks better now, the color is back in her cheeks

“What do you want, Rae?” I ask her as I push a strand of hair off her face and tuck it behind her ear.

CeCe looks around. “This is a nice bathroom.”

“Only you would notice the décor,” I say as I stand up and run a facecloth under hot water.

“I’m never drinking again,” she mumbles, and I chuckle.

I use the hot cloth to wash her face and hold it on the back of her neck. She sighs at the simple feeling and closes her eyes. The obsessive beast in me realizes how close my hand is to her inner thighs and how far up her dress is hiked as she’s crumpled on my bathroom floor. Am I wrong for thinking about burying myself in her while she’s drunk and vulnerable? Probably.

Do I want to anyway? Fuck yes.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” I say, instead of acting on my thoughts. I stand and lift her with me. “I’m gonna take your dress off and put my t-shirt on, okay?”

She nuzzles into my arms like I’m her home.

“Okay, Nash,” she sighs.

The feeling of her needing me sends intense warmth right through my chest. I set her down on my bed and move behind her, unzipping her dress under her arm quickly, sliding it down over her shoulders. Her silky skin under my fingertips sends all the blood in my body straight to my cock. Goosebumps break out over her flesh with my touch and the urge to reach around and feel those pink pebbled nipples under my fingers makes my knees weak. If I wasn’t sitting right now, I would need to.

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