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Amanda, though, remained largely unaware that she was close to being mauled on the dance floor by a slimy asshole who appeared to regularly prey on women who had had too much to drink. Instead, she gyrated towards me and put her arms around my neck. Her eyes were still slightly red and puffy, but the half-smile that tilted her lips did something funny to my insides.
As did the way she moved her body against mine.
“Oh!” she giggled, her eyes widening slightly when she finally recognized me… “Hey, Oliver! Do you wanna dance?”
The way she was moving was driving me crazy, and I would have shown some appreciation if only we weren’t in a public place and, well…
“Amanda,” I groaned. “You know I can’t dance.”
Getting me on the dance floor was traumatizing to all viewers involved.
Amanda, on the other hand, was a hell of a dancer.
“Caaannn’t?” she slurred in a singsong voice, moving against me. “Oooorrr wooonn’t?”
Bloody hell.
My mind went blank for a moment, zoning in on the beautiful, inebriated woman in front of me.
Inebriated.
My short-circuiting brain snapped back to reality. I gently removed her hands from my neck and spoke to her over the loud music, “You’ve had too much to drink. Let’s get you home, okay?”
“But, Ooollliiiee,” she whined. “I still want to daaance.”
“We can always dance some other time,” I told her gently. “But right now, we have to get you out of here.”
She nodded and looked at me with those beautiful eyes, “You promise?”
“Yup.”
She smiled again, allowing me to guide her off the dance floor as she wobbled on her dangerously high heels. I immediately caught her and she giggled as she leaned into me for support.
We were almost out the door when the bartender ran up to me and handed me her purse.
“She left it on the counter,” he explained.
I thanked him and handed him a bunch of bills that hopefully covered Amanda’s drinking spree. He thanked me profusely and I just waved him off, thanking him for looking out for Amanda’s purse as I helped her walk out of the bar.
“These are myfuck me heels, you know,” she whispered conspiratorially to me as we stood there on the side of the street, waiting for a taxi.
I choked on my own spit at that. I cast a quick glance at the heels in question. Indeed, they made her legs look like they went on for days and pulled her look together. It also conjured images in my brain of those same legs wrapped around my hips as I thrust vigorously into her warm depths. Like in my hot dream of Amanda...
Too bad, those “fuck-me” heels, as she referred to them, weren’t exactly good for balance.
“This feels really nice, though,” she murmured, snuggling closer to my side.
I could think of something much nicer,I thought to myself.And it’s all thanks to your “fuck-me” heels.
I felt really nice, too, holding her like this as I flagged down a taxi to take her home, if my hardening member was any indication of that.
But she’s drunk!I chastised myself mentally.And although she looks utterly delicious tonight, I shouldn’t be taking advantage of a vulnerable woman.
I guided her into the backseat and gave the driver instructions to Amanda’s home.
A short while later, I felt a warm weight press into my side, a soft fluttering sound emanating from her. She had fallen asleep and let out an adorable little snore. Even drunk out of her mind, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I had seen my fair share of them in Europe.
I pulled her closer and held her as the taxi meandered down the streets to her home.
