Page 75 of Prince Charmless
She puts a manicured hand on her chest. “How did I not wake up? I’m a deep sleeper, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“I have no idea, but you were all floppy and boneless.” I take her arm and wiggle it for demonstration.
Melina hums. “So you just picked me up from the car then?”
Does she not think I’m strong enough?
“Yes. Darling, you weigh like a hundred pounds. You’re very portable.” I know she weighs more than that, but it’s always better to round down with women.
“Yeah, a hundred pounds.” She shakes her head into the sky. “I just can’t picture in my mind you carrying me.”
Now she’s asking for it.
I pivot and shove my arms under her back and knees. As I pick her up, she makes a delightful squeak.
“What are you doing?!” she yells while hanging an arm around my neck for balance. Her book drops on the ground behind me as I walk toward the edge of the pool. “What the hell do you take me for?”
“A pile of limbs and a torso.”
This is easier now that she’s not all limp. And I can smell the lemony scent of her hair without feeling guilty about smelling the hair of an unconscious woman.
She hooks her sunglasses to her shirt. “You know what? This might be nice. I could get used to being carried everywhere.”
I could get used to carrying her. I didn’t take into account how sensual this would be now that she’s all bare-legged. By her smile, I can tell she’s enjoying my hand gripping her thigh, my fingertips dipping just below the hem of her skirt.
Until now.
She looks down at the water below, then up at me with panic-stricken eyes like her fate rests in my hands. Well, itdoesrest in my hands.
“Don’t you dare,” she bites out. “Unhand me.”
“If you say so.” I let her slip from my arms a bit in malicious compliance. I’m obviously not going to throw her in. I just like the way her face gets scrunchy when she’s mad at me.
“Taylor!” she pleads in a low voice I’ve never heard from her before. She tightens her grip around my neck and pulls herself closer to my chest, scooting her butt into my palm that’s now encapsulated by her skirt. Her cotton panties are thin, but thankfully fuller coverage than the ones she gifted me, still, enough to make a man blush. And maybe do other involuntary things that men do when their hands are up women’s skirts. That might be happening too.
“Uh—”
“If you throw me in this pool, I’ll take your head off,” she says, grinning like she couldn’t care less if my hand is on her ass or in Casablanca. “They used to do that to you people, you know. You’ll be like Louis the—” She squints and snaps her fingers.
“Sixteenth. Did you know that the last person to be guillotined was just in 1977? Some argue it’s a more humane form of corporal punishment than lethal injection, but is killing someone ever really humane?”
I try to think of more philosophical topics I can stall with. Anything to keep her in my arms a little while longer. I wish my hand could feel color.I wonder if they’re black like her present or blue to match her nails.
She groans and peeks at the water again. “I’m serious now, I can’t swim.”
I step back and pour her out of my arms so she’s vertical, my forearm also getting a taste of what’s under her skirt, the lucky bastard. “Why didn’t you tell me that? Now I feel like an ass.”
She adjusts her waistband and throws her sunglasses onto the grass. “I don’t know, so you’d freak out when I do this.”
I back up from the splash by instinct before my brain kicks into overdrive. It takes me a millisecond to process the four facts of the situation.
Melina jumped into a pool.
Pools contain water.
One has to swim to not drown.
Melina can’t swim.
