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Nope. Not happening. Pushing this urge away to take her, I force my eyes back on the road.
My cabin comes into view, and I'm able to let out the breath I've been holding in. Throwing the car into park, the girl suddenly sits up straight, her eyes wide open as she yawns.
“Are we here?”
“Yup, this is my place.” Tugging on my jeans, I try to adjust my dick.
“It's pretty dark out here,” she says as she opens her door and jumps to the ground, still on pretty unsteady feet.
“Well, we are out in the middle of the woods, plus my power is out right now.” She follows me as I walk to the door. Flipping through my keys, I find the right one and open the door.
The girl walks right past me as the door swings open, making a straight line for the fridge. She tears open the door and sticks her head inside like she lives here. It’s like I have my own little sexy Goldilocks.
Closing the door behind me, I light the lantern on the table beside me, and walk to the island in the center of the kitchen, setting it down.
She's mumbling to herself as she rummages around, and I can make out only a word or two at a time. “Where. . . This might. . . mumble mumble. No, not. . . mumble mumble. Ah, here we go.”
With a block of cheese in her hand, she starts to pull open cupboards. “Cup? Where are your cups?”
“Upper right,” I say, pointing.
She grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water from the sink. “Salt?”
“On the stove.” Quirking an eyebrow, I have no idea what she's doing.
Her body shifts, twisting to the stove with both the cheese and water. Setting the cup down, she starts to pour salt into the water. After six or seven shakes, she downs the entire glass and follows it with a big bite of cheese.
What the hell?
Chuckling to myself, I continue to watch the strangest thing I've ever seen. And yet, I can't help but smile, weird as it is, I'm genuinely laughing and smiling, and that hasn't happened in years.
It feels good to be laughing like this. The smile on my face is real, it's not forced or fake or half-assed to make people feel comfortable or just to fit in. I’m watching this strange girl in my kitchen, I don’t know anything about her, and it’s so absurd I can’t help but let the laugh just bubble out of me.
She fills the cup again and downs it, then bites the cheese, fills it again and eats more cheese. She does this three times before letting out a loud gush of air, then puts the cup in the sink and the cheese back in the fridge. She leans against the counter and gets a serious look on her face.
“There, that's better. Want to make out now?” Launching herself at me, I catch her by the elbows and hold her at arm’s length.
“Whoa, slow down there.”
She's drunk, really, really drunk. It wouldn't be right to do this, not with her like this. No matter how much my cock is begging to be inside her, to feel her heat, to suck on her tits and taste her pussy, I just can't stoop to that level.
I won't do that to her. I won't let her wake up feeling ashamed and taken advantage of. I'm not that guy. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror if I knew I’d been with her when she wasn’t completely sober. No matter how fantastic is could be, and looking at her body, I know it would be a night to remember. But no. I’d never cross that line.
Taking a long step back to put some distance between us, she takes a big step in, her lids lowering seductively.
“What do you mean “slow down”? You brought me home with you, don't you want to fuck me?” Her hands fall to her hips, and as she takes another step, she wobbles, almost losing her balance. “Hm? Don't you want this anymore?”
Anymore? What is she talking about?
“Look, it's not that I don't, but you're drunk.” My hands are out and up, and I'm continuing to walk backwards as she closes in on me.
“Of course you want to fuck, all men want to fuck. Shit, men will fuck anything that moves, right?” Wriggling her hips, she smirks. “I'm moving, so come and get it.”
“No, no, no, why don't we maybe sit and relax? Hm? How about that? We can talk.”
Her hands slip up her sides and she cups her breasts. “Why don't you want to fuck me anymore? You used to, you used to want me.”
Wait. . . Who is she talking about? This conversation doesn’t seem to be about us.
