Last night had been horrific enough. ‘You don’t owe me a thing, Rosie,’ he softly told her, reaching across the small table to pat the back of h...r hand. ‘But I’d like to hear if you want to tell me.’ ‘I owe you a lot,’ she contradicted him, sitting back in the padded chair and pulling the robe tighter around herself. Maybe she should just rip it off and fuck him, right? That’s what she was good at. But it wasn’t the answer right now. Face up to it, she told herself, forcing herself to add, ‘and. " Whitney comforted me. We continued to talk and drink until about 4 in the morning when I finally decided I had had a little too much and needed to sleep it off. Whitney and I crawl into the guest bedroom's queen size bed. As we lay down next to each other, I start to feel queasy from all the alcohol. Whitney offers to rub my stomach. "How does that feel?" She asks, seemingly concerned. "Mmmm...good. That makes me feel a little better." "Can you take off the tank top? I'll be able to rub your. More

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