Cerulean Sins   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

"What's wrong withme?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" Jason asked.

"I feel good, and I shouldn't. I feel wonderful. A few minutes ago I was terrified, dizzy, sick, and scared. But once you got me out of the bed, it all seemed better."

"Just better?" he asked. He was slipping out of his leather jacket, one arm at a time, while he took turns holding me with the other arm.

"You're right, not just better. Once I wasn't scared, it was wonderful again." I frowned and tried to think, and was still having trouble doing it. "Why can't I think through this?"

He rearranged me in his lap so he could unzip his boots, and push them off with his feet. It finally hit me that he was undressing himself, while still holding me in his lap. Who says that the skills you learn at work don't come in useful in your everyday life?

"Why are you undressing?"

"You can't move around without falling down, I'd hate for you to drown in the tub."

I tried pushing this wonderful feeling farther away, but it was like trying to fight a warm, comforting mist. You could strike out, but there was nothing solid to hit. The mist just moved and reformed, and stayed.

"Stop," I said, the one word was firm enough, though I didn't feel very firm inside.

"What?" he asked, as he moved me enough forward so that he could unfasten the tops of his jeans.

"This should bother me, you trying to get naked, while I'm naked, in a tub, that should bother me, right?"

"But it doesn't, does it," he said. He was unbuttoning his button fly jeans with one hand. That took talent.

"No, it doesn't," I said, frowning again, "why doesn't it bother me?"

"You really don't know, do you?" he asked.

"No," I said, not even sure what I was saying no to.

He'd gotten his jeans unbuttoned. "I can either lay you down on the very cold tile, or I can throw you over my shoulder for a few seconds while I take the pants off, lady's choice."

The decision seemed too hard for me. "I don't know."

He didn't ask a second time, just tossed me, as gently as he could over his shoulder, sort of half a fireman's carry. Being upside down made the world spin again, and I wondered if I was going to be sick all over his back. He balanced me there while he wormed out of his jeans.

I was now staring down his bare back as the jeans slid down the top of his butt. The nausea had passed, and I giggled—I never giggle—"Nice ass."

He choked, or laughed. "I never knew you noticed."

"Underwear," I said.