“Easy,” I murmur, guiding Aspen up the stairs.
Her eyes are mostly closed. She’s been getting progressively less responsive for the past hour, and now her muscles are failing her, too. She stumbles and puts more of her weight on me. She mumbles something, but I can’t make out the words.
Eventually, once we’re out of sight of the party, I swing her up into my arms and carry her the rest of the way. I balance her and unlock my door, then set her on the bed. She flops a bit, her body relaxed. She doesn’t so much as shift.
I lock the door and reposition her on the bed, her head on the pillow. She looks like a sleeping angel like this, her dark hair fanned out, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes flutter. I pull the blanket up over her and flick off the light, then sit beside her.
After a while, she falls into a deeper sleep.
The drugs I put into her drink grab a deeper hold of her mind.
“Aspen.” My voice is loud.
No response.
I turn my bedside lamp on, and she doesn’t react to that either. My heart picks up speed, and I take a deep breath. I’ve been planning this for so long, practiced for even longer. I’m not the sort to get nervous—but I am ready.
I push the blanket off her. With slow, sure movements, I unbutton her jeans and yank them down. Over her hips, past her thighs. I toss the denim to the floor and go for her panties. Dark purple. Satin. A thong, no less. I smirk as I drag them down, too. The strip that sits against her cunt is damp. It makes me wonder what sort of wicked plans she had for us tonight.
She probably didn’t see this coming.
I run my finger up her center, noting with pride that she’s wet. She doesn’t react to the intrusion of my finger, or my thumb resting on her clit. I stroke her, finger-fucking her, until I do get a reaction. Her cunt clenches on my fingers, and her body goes rigid. Not as powerful as when she’s awake, but I’ll take it.
I pull away. My jersey is still on her torso, her nipples poking through the fabric. I push it up and expose her breasts, undoing the bra and maneuvering it off without removing the jersey.
Then my true task begins.
In the corner of my closet is a box of supplies.
Ordered from a local shop, along with a quick lesson. The box is also filled with practice material. I made sure I could do it without issue before I’d even attempt it on Aspen.
And still, there are risks.
What I should’ve done was bring her to a shop.
Had a professional do it.
But she’d never agree—and the thought of someone else seeing her in this state is unthinkable.
I set out a towel and lay out my supplies, then take the cheap disposable razor and clean the area. She’s already shaved—or waxed, maybe, I don’t know—so my job is easier. I turn on my overhead light and glance up at Aspen’s face.
She’s so fucking peaceful. Beautiful.
And mine.
With a small smile, I get to work.
