Amélie rose unsteadily to her feet, the wine having a more pronounced effect on her balance than she cared to admit. She leaned heavily to the side, her torso tilting towards Julien's personal space, her breasts swaying precariously close to his face. Her emerald eyes, glazed with drink and desire, met his gaze, a wicked glint sparkling within their depths.
"Julien," she purred, her voice a low, slurred murmur. "Are you... are you jerking off under the table? Here? Now?" A slow, catlike smile curved her glistening lips as she watched him squirm under her knowing gaze. "How deliciously... naughty of you."
Julien's face flushed a deep, ruddy hue, his cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and unchecked arousal. "Amélie," he said, his voice a low, strained whisper. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." Despite his words, he couldn't stop his hips from twitching, his hand still palming the rigid, aching length of his cock through the fabric of his trousers.
Amélie leaned in closer, her breath hot and wine-scented as it fanned across Julien's face. "Oh, but I do," she murmured, her voice a husky purr. "I know exactly what I'm saying... and what I want." She paused, her tongue darting out to wet her lips even more, a deliberate, teasing gesture. "And if that's the case... would you mind terribly if I helped you? I'm ever so... eager to lend a hand, and if not a hand, then perhaps..."
As she spoke, Amélie shifted her weight, her pussy brushing against the edge of the table through her dress, a fleeting, tantalizing contact that made her gasp, a low, breathy moan escaping her lips. The sound sent a jolt of white-hot desire straight to Julien's groin, his cock throbbing and pulsing with a desperate, aching need.
"Non, non," Julien thought, his mind a whirlwind of lust and disbelief. "She's drunk, she's barely coherent, and yet she's still throwing herself at me, offering to help me jerk off like some cheap whore." Despite his reservations, he felt his cock throb at the thought, a desperate, aching length that begged to be freed from the confines of his trousers.
Julien surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, the sudden movement startling them both. He reached for Amélie's hand, his long, calloused fingers curling around her slender ones, a look of grim determination etched onto his handsome face.
"Amélie," he said, his voice a low, urgent growl. "You're way too drunk for this. Come on, I'm taking you home." He tugged at her hand, urging her to get away from the table, to leave the charged atmosphere of the bistro behind.
Amélie blinked up at him, a look of momentary confusion flashing in her eyes before a slow, sultry smile curved her lips. "Home?" she repeated, a hint of mocking amusement in her tone. "But Julien, I don't want to go home. Not yet."
Amélie didn't say anything more, instead choosing to let her actions speak louder than any words. She pressed her lithe, curvaceous body flush against Julien's muscular frame, the soft swell of her breasts pillowing against his chest, the dip of her waist nestling against his hips. Julien's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding wildly as he felt the scorching heat of her through the thin fabric of her dress.
Slowly, almost teasingly, Amélie tilted her head back, her chin lifting to expose the slender column of her throat. Her lips parted, a glistening pink and wet, a silent invitation that spoke volumes more than any lewd words ever could. Julien's gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkening with a hunger that bordered on feral as he stared at the tantalizing sight of her lips, slightly open and inviting.
Her tongue, the slick, pink ribbon, flicked out to wet her lower lip, a deliberate, provocative gesture that made Julien's cock jerk and throb in the confines of his trousers. The air between them crackled with a palpable tension, a charge of sexual energy that was almost visible in its intensity. Julien's hand tightened around Amélie's, his fingers curling possessively around her slender digits as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control over his wayward thoughts and desperate, aching desire.
Julien stood there, his heart pounding, his body thrumming with a desperate, aching need as he felt Amélie's lithe, curvaceous body melt against his. Just as he was wondering how to extricate them from this increasingly charged and precarious situation, he felt the soft, gentle weight of her head suddenly lolled forward, coming to rest softly against his chest, her cheek pillowing against the firm, muscular expanse.
Julien glanced down, a rueful smile tugging at his lips as he took in the sight of Amélie's slack, slightly open face, her long lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks. He couldn't help but chuckle, a low, amused rumble that vibrated through his chest, as he realized that the wine had finally caught up with her, pulling her under into a deep, drunken slumber.
"C'est pas vrai," Julien thought, a note of wry disbelief in his mental voice. "After all that teasing, all those brazen come-ons, she's passed out cold. I knew she was too drunk to mean any of it." Despite his exasperation, there was a note of gentle amusement in his voice, a soft, almost tender lilt that spoke of a growing fondness for the beautiful, if stubborn, woman in his arms.
Julien's gaze drifted over Amélie's sleeping face, taking in the delicate, almost ethereal beauty of her features, the long, sooty lashes that cast shadows on her flushed cheeks, the soft, parted lips that invited him to lean down and steal a kiss. His heart clenched, a sudden, sharp pang of longing and desire that caught him off guard in its intensity.
"She's stunning," Julien thought, his mind a haze of reluctant awe and unwilling arousal. "Even passed out drunk, she's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." His hand came up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on the silken strands, marveling at their softness, their delicate beauty. "I can't believe she's here, in my arms, offering herself to me like a sacrifice to a god. And fuck, I want nothing more than to take her up on that offer, to lay her out on this table and worship every inch of her until she's screaming my name and begging for more."
But he resisted, knowing that to do so would be to cross a line from which there would be no turning back. Instead, he simply tightened his arm around her waist, his hand splaying across the small of her back to keep her steady and supported as she dozed.
Julien tightened his grip around Amélie's waist, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked down at her slumbering face. "Allez, sleepyhead," he taunted gently, a note of amused exasperation in his voice. "Let's get you home before you drool all over my suit." With that, he scooped her up into his strong, muscular arms, cradling her against his chest as he carried her towards the exit of the bistro.
Amélie's head lolled against his shoulder, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck to keep herself steady. She let out a soft, drunken murmur, her lips brushing against the skin of his throat, a fleeting, teasing caress that made Julien's cock twitch and pulse in the confines of his trousers. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the sudden surge of lust that raced through his veins at the feel of her warm, pliant body pressed so intimately against his own.
Julien carried Amélie out of the bistro and towards his sleek, black sports car parked in the lot. He opened the door to the backseat, the leather interior cool and inviting in the warm Parisian night. Gently, he laid Amélie down on the plush, butter-soft leather, her dress riding up to expose the creamy skin of her thighs. Julien's breath caught in his throat as he took in the erotic sight of her spread out before him, a fallen goddess awaiting his worship.
As he straightened up, a sudden realization hit him - he had no idea where Amélie lived. "Merde," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "How could I be so stupid? I didn't even think to ask her for her address." He glanced down at Amélie's purse, hanging off her shoulders.
"I'm sorry for this, Amélie," Julien apologized, feeling a pang of guilt even as he reached for her purse. "But I'm afraid it's necessary." He unzipped the bag and rummaged inside, his fingers closing around the cool, smooth surface of Amélie's mobile phone. He pulled it out, the sleek device glinting under the lot's dim lights. "I know this is an invasion of your privacy, Amélie, but I need to get you home safely." Julien muttered, his thumb hovering over the screen.
He tried the birthday he knew - March 12th, the day she was born. To his shock and disbelief, the screen unlocked instantly, revealing a myriad of colorful icons and apps. "Je suis désolé, Amélie," Julien chuckled, shaking his head in amazement. "I can't believe you still use your birthday as your password. You really need to be more careful." Despite his words, a smirk tugged at his lips as he navigated to her contacts. "But I suppose it's lucky for me that you aren't."