It takes more willpower than I thought I possessed, but I manage to pull away from her. She looks up, confusion clouding her glazed blue eyes.
“Our second time shouldn’t be like this.” My voice is rough. “When we do it again, you’ll be sober and begging for it.” And definitely not pulling a Cinderella at midnight and running like hell.
“Oh, come on. I’m not drunk.” She sways slightly.
“You just don’t sound drunk because you aren’t slurring.”
But there’s no point in arguing. I turn her around so she can’t kiss me again, not trusting myself to resist a second time. My dick’s so hard it hurts. Resting my hands on her shoulders, I guide her gently into her apartment.
“Are you leaving?” She sounds a little whiny, like a child deprived of her favorite teddy bear.
“I really can’t stay.” I’m going to do something stupid if I do. I refuse to fuck this up and take advantage when she’s too intoxicated to consent.
“But I don’t want to be alone. And you shouldn’t be driving tonight anyway.”
“How come?”
“You’re in no condition.”
I think about saying that even my dick isn’t quite large enough to interfere with a steering wheel. But I don’t. “Uh, I drove us here.”
“You did…?” She frowns. “When?”
“Never mind. My…condition is fine.”
“You’ll get into an accident.” She points to a door. “That’s my room.” She takes a stumbling step toward it in her heels.
Damn it, she’s going to fall and crack her head open. I step forward and escort her to her room. She opens the door and flips the light switch. I should turn around and go, but I can’t resist the urge to peek into her private space. Her desk at work is utilitarian and clean. Nothing personal on it except a picture of someone I presume is her father—given the pronounced family resemblance—and a desktop calendar.
The room is modestly large. A queen-size bed sits flush against a wall with windows. Her sheets are pale cream with a small yellow flower print, feminine and charming. A small brown stuffed bear sits on one corner of the bed. Probably not a gift from her boyfriend because it’s too old. The bear is wearing a shiny silver samurai helmet with a red Japanese character and a fierce Asian mythological beast, but the goofy smile on the bear’s face makes it look harmless.
There’s a plush armchair with a magenta cardigan draped over the back. A tiny vanity with some cosmetics strewn on top. A framed photo of her and her dad in a garden, both of them grinning.
The room is cozy, warm and smells like citrus. I like it, and for some odd reason find it comforting. Like home.
“Stay over there. I’m just going to wipe this gunk off my face.” She tries to indicate her face but doesn’t get much past her neck. “So annoying.”
“What is?”
“Nobody’s come up with makeup that auto-cleans off your face. Like, when you’re ready to go to bed.” She tries to snap her fingers. “Hey, you think we could come up with that?”
“Uh, it’s not—”
“We’re in venture capital. Bet we can make a fortune. Actually, you can make a fortune because you have the money.”
She continues to totter on her heels. She’s definitely going to trip and fall. I go down to one knee, place her hand on my shoulder so she won’t overbalance and pull the stilettos off her feet.
I’ve never had any real opinion about a woman’s feet before. Feet are just appendages designed to help people walk, nothing special. But Amy’s are somehow fascinating. They’re narrow, with cute little toes.
Maybe I’m developing a foot fetish. An Amy foot fetish.
Ah, fuck me.
“Thanks. I tried to slip them off earlier, but couldn’t.” Amy lowers her voice to a whisper. “They’re very stubborn shoes.”
I stand up. “It’ll be our secret.”
“Did you know Prince Charming put shoes on Cinderella?”