Doubull Indemnity

12

Greg,  P̶r̶u̶d̶e̶ Scoundrel

I caught Isla just before her head smacked against the hard floor. She crumpled against my chest instead, her knees seemingly no longer able to support her. I wrapped my arms around her waist to keep her as upright as I could. She was hot. I don't-I didn't mean-get your mind out the gutters! She was downright feverish. Her pulse, too, had shot up to an unnerving, sprinter's pace. If the sprinter's heart was about to explode from a steroid overdose.

"H-hope not everything you do is that, uh, that fast," she murmured into my shirt.

And then burst into giggles.

Oh no. oh no oh no oh no oh no.

"Hey," I gently lifted her chin from my chest. "Isla, look at me."

She blinked her eyes open. They were glassy and dark. Upon meeting my gaze, she licked her lips.

Damn you, old boy, you've poisoned her.

"We need to get you to Penn, or, I don't know, a witchdoctor. Listen, you drank—stop squirming please—you accidentally drank a love potion. Your pulse is racing. Please, stay calm. We need to get you an anecdote before you, I don't know," (irreversibly fall in love with me?), "imprint on a lamp or something—oh hell it's too late."

Isla vibrated with laughter. Heat from her soft breasts squeezed against my chest, from her sweet breath against my collarbone, from her hips quavering against the front of my pants had, um, ahem, had no effect on my nerves in the slightest.

"I tried to tell Phoebeeee! It wasn't that kind of l-love potion. It's more like a, ah, um, a love endurance potion."

"A what?"

"You gave me magic Viagra, not a magic roofie, you s-sexy idiot."

Oh nelly. The stallion hair.

"Are you sure?"

Isla reached an arm between us and wiped the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Seriously? You've never used one of these before? Ha! Prude! Billy and I used to, uh, we used—" her eyes fluttered shut and for moment she swayed. I pressed her tighter to me. "How, uh, how much was the dosage?"

"Um, uh, fangs, hold on, can you sit for a moment?"

She shakily nodded.

Delicately as I could, I guided Isla to the edge of the bed. She flopped back onto the plush mattress, breasts nearly bouncing free from the increasing plunge of her neckline. Though she hardly seemed to notice, fanning herself with one hand and kicking off her heels.

"Don't get that comfortable!"

She whimpered.

I zipped off the bed to my jacket on the love seat. Tried to keep one eye on her—she seemed to blink, dizzy and unfocused, in my general direction—as I flipped through my notebook. Of course, of fanging course, Isla's recreationally taken illicit potions before. Should I have expected anything less?

"Got it. Max dose 50 mils. Do not exceed that in 48 hours. Each bottle is... each bottle a 100."

The cinnamon whiskey lay empty on the floor not two feet away from me.

"Ah, well, that's def not—not good for my blood pressure," Isla pawed at the knot in her top, the apparent last remaining sentinel of her modesty. "Fairy nards, is it hot in here or just me?"

Before I could answer, Isla won the battle against the fabric. The pink garment puddled around her waist as her breasts sprang free. Sighing, she arched her back, offering her bare chest to the ceiling. Her, uh, nipples puckered into stiff peaks.