Crush

When they got back to his apartment she bumped into him and almost fell over as he showed her around the living room. As always she was mortified by her clumsiness.

“Sorry I can’t see that well without my glasses,” she mumbled, looking down at her feet.

She couldn’t look him in the eyes. Her crush was overpowering. She swooned just being in his presence. The fact that she was in his apartment was making her dizzy.

“Well put them on then,” he said the same teasing tone he had used all evening with her.

“My best friend said I look prettier with them off,” she said, fishing them out of her bag.

He took the glasses from her sweaty hands and cleaned them off with the end of his dress shirt. Something in the intimacy of that act made her heart beat even faster.

He slipped them on her. As he did, his hand brushed her cheek. She wondered if her burning cheeks felt as hot to him as they did to her.

“See, you look even cuter with them on,” he said, his crooked smile widening.

His fingers brushed her cheek again and then his thumb on her chin and finally his hand on her chest, unbuttoning her blouse.

“And even prettier like that,” he said, unbuttoning one then two then three buttons of her blouse, exposing the top of her bra and the deep valley of her cleavage.

Her breath caught.

“I really like you,” she whispered.

His eyes weren’t on hers, but on her breasts, as his fingers traced the lace of her bra.

“I really like your tits,” he said, mostly to himself.

She felt angry and used and very wet.

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