“If you’re going upstairs, be a dear and help Emily get to her room? She’s wasted.”
I shrugged. “Sure.” I didnt really give it a second thought. Well, maybe I did, but that’s just the way my brain works. I’m not going to lie. Emily is the one every straight guy thinks filthy thoughts about. Blonde. Curvy. A mix of girl next door and pornstar. Too much makeup and just enough skin. So obviously I had thoughts. How could I not?
But they were just thoughts. Even when she had her arm around me in the elevator for support, her firm breast pressing against my side… they were just thoughts. Filthy snippets in my imagination, called upon for masturbatory purposes. Yes, I was guilty of gazing down into the chasm of her cleavage. Yes, I did breathe in her flowery scent. But my intentions were pure. Pure enough.
I took her to her door and waited while she fumbled with the keycard. Leaning against me, giggling to herself. I walked her in, unhooked her arm from around my neck and watched her collapse onto the bed, face first. “Safe and sound.” I muttered proudly to myself as I started to back away. My eyes might have lingered on her pale thighs, her short skirt hiked up just enough to offer a glimpse of that intersection of leg and buttock.