Page 40 of Lost the Handle

“Fuck,” I mutter since I can’t let her sleep like that. I inhale a harsh breath, blowing it out in a whoosh because I know what I have to do.

The question is, can I make it through it?

I leave her there and go to the bathroom between our rooms. I turn on the shower, letting it warm up before chucking off my pants and shirt, along with my shoes. As much as I want to relieve myself of my boxer briefs, I need the barrier between us. When I go back into her room, she’s laid out like Patrick Starfish. I shake my head, trying not to laugh as I reach for her tank, pulling it up and finding that she doesn’t have a bra on. I hiss out a breath, trying my best not to ogle her sweet tits.

I fail miserably.

They’re teardrop-shaped, and her pink nipples bead once the air hits them. My whole body goes taut, my mouth watering at the sight. They’re bigger than I remember, and I wonder if I can still cover them whole with my mouth. She liked when I did that before. Not as much as I did, but she liked it.

“Stop thinking about what she likes,” I chastise myself, and when I have to shake out my hands, I feel like an utter fucker for not being able to touch my friend without getting turned on. I’m not a teenager. I’m a man, and I can handle getting my friend naked and bathed.

“Yes, you can,” I mutter to myself before I reach for the button of her skirt without running my hands over the roundness of her stomach. My hands still tremble against the button as I take in her body. She has new stretch marks, and fuck if I don’t want to lick each one. My cock throbs and heat gathers in my balls, but I somehow manage to get the button undone before hooking my thumbs into the skirt and her underwear. I pull them down, and I have to close my eyes because I know it’s going to be torture to see between her legs. I drop the skirt and then gather her up as I look at the ceiling. But when her breasts press to my chest, I can’t keep in the moan at the feeling of her against me. I have wanted this for so long. Craved the feel of her hot skin against mine. But fuck. No.

I’m bathing my friend.

That’s it.

“Quinn?” she whispers, and I hug her tighter to me as I carry her to the bathroom.

“Yeah, lovebug. I got you.”

Lovebug.

Wow. Pretty sure an engaged man isn’t supposed to call his childhood sweetheart by his term of endearment for her when she’s drunk and naked against his chest.

Pain burns deep in my chest as she nuzzles her nose in my neck and breathes me in. Of course, my cock, who forgot we’re engaged, rages to life. He’s such a whore for her. If I’m honest, so am I, but I act like the perfect gentleman, easing her under the stream of water. She whimpers as the spray hits her, and I try to keep her head out of the water since I don’t want her hair to be a mess in the morning. I hold her tightly against me as I wash her body, using the wall to brace her as I move the loofah all over her body. When I look down, my boxers are tented and I feel myself leaking for her, but I continue to make quick work of getting her clean.

Meanwhile, Emery is none the wiser, practically passed out.

I chuckle to myself as I pick her back up and shut off the water. I get out, wrapping her in a towel before heading back to her room with another towel to lay on the bed so I can dry her off. Once I have her settled, I dry her off before using the damp towel to clean her face free of vomit, tears, and makeup.

Fuck, why does she have to be so goddamn stunning?

I stare at her for longer than I need to, but thankfully, I don’t allow myself to touch her. Instead, I take in the curve of her cheek, the angle of her jaw, the thickness of her lips. I keep staring until I know it’s creepy, and then I move to get a pair of PJs. I grab a pair of panties and a large Assassins Tee. It isn’t until I see the number 6 on it that I realize it’s my dad’s number.I check the size, and then I see the QA written in black marker on the tag.

This is my shirt.

I side-eye her, but I can only chuckle. I’m sure if I looked, I would find a lot of my shirts in there. She had a habit of stealing them, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I move toward the bed before throwing the shirt over her exposed chest. I can only handle looking at those perfect breasts for so long. I take the panties and guide them up her legs, but before I can move my head away to keep from gaping at her pussy, I notice a tattoo on her inner thigh that she didn’t have before.

It’s small.

Just five letters in a curvy script.

Quinn.

My mouth dries up, my heart slams into my ribs and I feel light-headed all of a sudden. Why does she have my name tattooed on her thigh? I swallow hard, and unable to resist, I rub the pad of my thumb along the exposed flesh of her thigh. It’s so close to her pretty bare pussy, it wouldn’t take much to caress her, but I don’t.

I continue to stare at my name on her skin.

When did she get this?

Why?

Fucking hell, why does my heart ache?

When she whimpers and starts to roll toward her pillow, the motion breaks my trance, and I quickly pull her panties up and then put her shirt on. I lift her to the top of the bed, covering her up quickly because I gotta get the fuck out of here. Once I have her all tucked in, I go get a bottle of water and a bottle of aspirin for her. When I come back, she’s snoring lightly, cuddled deepinto the bed. I set everything on the nightstand and then allow myself to do something I know I shouldn’t.

I kiss her temple, letting my lips linger against her warm skin as I breathe her in.

---