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Her hand covered her mouth, her eyes gone wide in drunken shock. She pointed, the tip of her finger less than an inch from my pointing cock. I couldn’t help it. I twitched, my tip nearly closing that one inch gap, less than a breath away from assaulting her unsuspecting, innocent finger.

“Y-y-your penis,” she gasped, scandalized.

“Don’t pay any attention to that,” I said calmly. “It’s involuntary and has nothing to do with you.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’sit hard?”

“Just blood flow. Like I said, ignore it.”

“Why’s your bloodflowin’?”

She was so drunk, I doubted she’d even remember this conversation in the morning, so I responded somewhat honestly. “Because you’re barely wearing any clothes, and your tits are out of this world. I can see your nipples trying to fight their way out of your top, and my money’s on those nipples winning that fight. It would make any halfway healthy heterosexual man come to attention. Don’t even get me started on the rest of you. That flat little belly. That tiny little waist. The thick hips and plump ass. Those shapely little thighs. Your perfect little knees. Those adorable little feet. Your tiny, delicate hands. I could nut on your cute, sassy eyebrows at this point.”

As I spoke, she was looking down at her body, looking scandalized and very, very drunk. She looked up, up, up at me and pointed to herself incredulously.

“Yes, you,” I told her with tender gravity.

She adjusted her top, as though trying to cover up, but only uncovered more.

I groaned out loud as she tugged the ridiculous triangle to the center and one tantalizing, rosy pink nipple popped out the side.

I thought she’d be embarrassed, but she was too drunk for that. She started giggling so hard that she forgot to even try to put that sweet little bud back under cover.

I bent down and tried to do it for her. I tugged the material over with just my fingertips, very careful not to touch her skin.

She giggled harder, adjusting the other triangle until a second nipple popped free.

I straightened, glaring at her. “Devereux Laurent! That’s no help at all. This is quite unwholesome of you. Bad girl.”

I wasn’t going to take advantage of her, but boy was I going to give her a good talking to. “I’m very disappointed in you.”

She didn’t take me seriously. Who would? Even in my head it sounded ridiculous. I wasn’t her father.

She seemed to read my mind. “Stop lecturing me,” she gasped out between adorable giggles. “You don’t look like anyone’s dad.”

“A few people have called me Daddy,” I mused, distracting myself with the thought, “but that was more their kink than mine.”

Certainly that didn’t stop the giggling. It was worse than ever after that.

I tried again to fix her top. She tried to help me help her, and it was a very bad idea.

I let her move my hands over her flesh for a beat, two, utterly mesmerized by her, before I came to my senses, and immediately realized how fucked up that was.

It took every bit of my self-control to stop touching her.

She didn’t help at all, clutching at my retreating hands with a surprisingly strong grip.

“Stop that, cupcake,” I chided her softly.

She let go of my hands and stuck her tongue out at me.

I almost took her up on the offer.

Finally, with a curse, I bent, picked her up in a cradle hold, and made a quick dash for her room.