What I.F.? Emily R

 ”Thiss will be my lazz marrtini,” Emily slurred, before taking another gulp of her martini. You couldn’t believe your good fortune-stranded at an isolated resort with the beautiful model, who BEFORE dinner had gotten wasted on martinis. 

“Ok, Em,” you told your companion, silently thinking, “but not your last drink.” 

As if on cue, the waiter brought dinner-steak and potatoes, and cabernet. Quickly Emily finished her martini, and took a large sip of her wine. “Ummmm, i'm a carnivore. I really liyke t' eat meed, ann i love a ssrong caberned,” she declared once the waiter left, leaving the bottle.

You watched in awe as the drunk model cut and began to eat her stake. With each drunken movement, her gorgeous tits jiggling under the thin fabric of her black dress. You almost expected them to pop out, but they didn't. With each bite of food, Emily would wash it down with a gulp of wine. 

You wondered what the night might yet bring.

Emily’s fork wobbled as she speared another chunk of steak, her movements growing clumsier with each sip of cabernet. Her cheeks were flushed, a rosy glow spreading across her flawless skin, and her eyes sparkled with a hazy mix of mischief and intoxication. “Thiss… thiss is *so* good,” she mumbled, her words tumbling over each other as she chewed, a dribble of red wine staining her lower lip. She giggled, swiping at it with the back of her hand, smearing it slightly before licking her fingers with exaggerated care.

You took a slow sip of your coke, trying to keep your composure as you watched her. The way her dress clung to her curves, the way her breasts swayed with every unsteady gesture—it was almost too much. The resort’s dim lighting cast soft shadows across her cleavage, and you found your gaze lingering longer than it should. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care.

“More wine?” you asked, lifting the bottle with a teasing smile, already knowing the answer.

“Yesss,” she purred, holding out her glass with a lopsided grin. “You’re tryin’ t’ get me *wasssted*, aren’t you?” Her tone was playful, but there was a glint in her eye that suggested she wasn’t entirely joking. You poured generously, the deep red liquid glinting in the candlelight as it filled her glass nearly to the brim.

“Me? Never,” you replied, leaning back in your chair, your voice smooth but laced with just enough suggestion to keep her guessing. She laughed, a throaty, uninhibited sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

Emily took another long gulp, her throat working as she swallowed, and set the glass down with a clumsy clink. “Oops,” she giggled, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. The motion pushed her chest forward, the neckline of her dress dipping dangerously low. You held your breath, half-expecting the fabric to give up its fight, but it held—just barely. She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she did, because her lips curled into a sly smile as she caught your eye.

“You’re starin’,” she slurred, pointing a wobbly finger at you. “Naughty, naughty.” She wagged the finger for emphasis, then burst into another fit of giggles, nearly knocking over her glass. You reached out to steady it, your hand brushing against hers. Her skin was warm, soft, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder as she studied you with drunken curiosity.

“Whaddya thinkin’ ‘bout?” she asked, her voice low and teasing, though her words were starting to blur together. She leaned even closer, her perfume—a mix of jasmine and something sweeter—washing over you. “C’mon, tell me.”

You smirked, taking a moment to choose your words carefully. “I’m thinking… you’re gonna need some help getting back to your room if you keep this up.”

She laughed again, louder this time, drawing a few glances from the other diners in the nearly empty restaurant. “Pshh, I’m *fine*,” she insisted, but as if to prove otherwise, she misjudged her next bite, the fork slipping from her fingers and clattering onto her plate. “Whoops!” she exclaimed, dissolving into giggles again. She reached for her wine, took another gulp, and then pointed at you with a mock-serious expression. “You’re gonna hafta carry me, y’know. Like a… a knight in shinin’ armor.”

The image of carrying her, her body pressed against yours, flashed through your mind, and you felt a surge of heat. “Careful what you wish for, Em,” you said, your voice low, testing the waters.

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, the drunken haze seemed to clear, replaced by something sharper, more intentional. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head in a way that made her dress strain against her curves. “Maybe I *want* you to,” she murmured, her voice softer now, almost a challenge.

You raised an eyebrow, your pulse quickening. The night was taking a turn, and the air between you felt charged, electric. Emily reached for the wine bottle herself this time, pouring another glass with a reckless splash that sent a few drops spilling onto the tablecloth. “To… to adventure,” she toasted, raising her glass unsteadily. “And to… whatever happens next.”

You clinked your glass against hers, your eyes locked on hers as you both drank. The cabernet was bold, heavy, but it was nothing compared to the heat building between you. Emily’s laughter faded into a quieter, more intimate smile, and as she set her glass down, her hand brushed against yours again—this time lingering just a moment too long.

What happened next was up to you, but one thing was clear: the night was far from over, and Emily, drunk and uninhibited, was ready for whatever came next.

Emily’s fingers lingered on yours, her touch light but deliberate, sending a jolt through you. Her eyes, glassy from the wine, held yours with an intensity that made the room feel smaller, the air thicker. She leaned forward again, her lips parting slightly as she spoke, her voice a husky whisper. “Y’know, I don’t usually get *this* drunk,” she confessed, her words slurring into a soft giggle. “But… I kinda like it. Feels… free.”

You smiled, leaning in just enough to close the distance between you, your voice low. “Free looks good on you, Em.”

Her cheeks flushed deeper, and she bit her lip, a move that was equal parts coy and reckless. “You’re trouble,” she murmured, but the way her gaze lingered on your mouth suggested she didn’t mind one bit. She reached for her glass again, but her coordination was shot, and the wine sloshed dangerously. You caught her wrist gently, steadying her, and her eyes flicked up to meet yours, a spark of something wild igniting in them.

“Careful,” you said, your thumb brushing lightly against the inside of her wrist. Her pulse was racing under your touch, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her head, her hair spilling over her shoulder like a dark waterfall, and gave you a lopsided grin.

“Maybe I don’t wanna be careful,” she slurred, her voice daring. She tugged her wrist free but only to lean closer, her knee brushing against yours under the table. The contact was electric, and you felt the heat of it radiate through you. Her dress had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of thigh, and you had to force yourself to focus on her face—though that wasn’t much easier, with her lips so close and her eyes half-lidded with drunken desire.

The waiter passed by, discreetly clearing plates, but Emily barely noticed. She was too busy staring at you, her fingers toying with the stem of her wine glass. “So,” she said, drawing out the word, “whaddya wanna do now? ‘Cause I’m not ready t’ go to bed yet.” The way she said it, slow and suggestive, left no doubt about her intentions.

You leaned back, letting the moment stretch, savoring the way her gaze followed you. “Well,” you said, keeping your tone casual but laced with intent, “there’s a bar on the other side of the resort. They’ve got a dance floor, live music… could be fun to see how you move out there.”

Emily’s face lit up, and she clapped her hands together, nearly knocking over her glass again. “Yesss! Dancing! I *love* dancing.” She stood abruptly, wobbling on her heels, and you were quick to rise, steadying her with a hand on her waist. Her body pressed against yours for a moment, soft and warm, and she looked up at you with a grin that was all trouble. “You’re gonna have t’ keep up with me, though.”

You chuckled, guiding her toward the exit, your hand lingering on her lower back as she swayed slightly with each step. “I think I can manage.”

The hall was warm and fragrant as you stepped outside, the distant sound of music drifting from the bar. Emily grabbed your arm, her fingers digging in with playful urgency. “C’mon, c’mon!” she urged, half-stumbling, half-dancing her way down the path. Her dress swished around her thighs, and every few steps, she’d spin or sway, giggling as she nearly lost her balance. You caught her each time, your hands finding her waist, her hips, each touch sparking something hotter between you.

By the time you reached the bar, the music was loud, a sultry mix of jazz and Latin beats, and the dance floor was alive with couples moving under dim, colorful lights. Emily didn’t hesitate—she grabbed your hand and pulled you into the crowd, her body already moving to the rhythm. Her drunken coordination made her movements loose, uninhibited, and impossibly sensual. She spun toward you, her hands sliding up your chest as she pressed herself close, her hips swaying against yours.

“You’re not bad at this,” she teased, her breath warm against your ear as she leaned in. Her perfume enveloped you, and the way her body moved—fluid, reckless, and just a little sloppy—drove you wild. Her hands roamed, one slipping to the back of your neck, the other resting on your shoulder as she ground against you, her lips curving into a wicked smile.

“You’re gonna make it hard to behave, Em,” you murmured, your hands settling on her hips, guiding her movements as the music pulsed around you.

She laughed, low and throaty, and pressed herself even closer, her lips brushing your jaw as she whispered, “Who said I want you to behave?”

The night was a blur of heat, music, and her—Emily, drunk and daring, leading you deeper into a dance that felt like it was heading somewhere much more dangerous. And you were more than happy to follow.

You guided Emily off the dance floor, her hand still clutching yours, her laughter ringing out as she stumbled slightly, her body warm and pliant against you. The bar was a sleek, open-air setup with fairy lights strung above, casting a soft glow over her flushed face. She leaned against the counter, her dress riding up just enough to draw your eye before you forced yourself to focus.

“Another drink?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you signaled the bartender.

Emily’s eyes sparkled with drunken mischief. “Oh, yesss,” she slurred, propping her chin on her hand, nearly missing the counter. “Somethin’… strong. Surprise me.” She winked, or tried to, her coordination making it more of a slow blink that had you chuckling.

You turned to the bartender. “Two tequila sunrises,” you said, choosing something vibrant to match her energy. The bartender nodded, sliding the drinks over moments later—bright orange and red, with a cherry bobbing in each. You pushed one toward Emily, who clapped her hands like a kid getting a present.

“Oooh, pretty!” she exclaimed, grabbing the glass and taking a big sip before you could even toast. Her lips wrapped around the straw, and she made a pleased hum, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Thiss is *so* good,” she mumbled, swaying slightly to the music still pulsing in the background.

“You’re gonna feel this one tomorrow, Em,” you teased, leaning closer so she could hear you over the music.

She grinned, leaning in too, her shoulder brushing yours. “Worth it,” she said, her voice low and playful. She took another long pull, the drink disappearing fast, and licked a drop of tequila from her lips, her gaze locking onto yours. “You keep buyin’ me drinks, I might owe you somethin’,” she added, her tone teasing but with an edge that sent a thrill through you.

“Careful,” you said, your voice dropping, “I might hold you to that.”

She laughed, tossing her hair back, her body swaying closer until her thigh pressed against yours. “Maybe I *want* you to,” she murmured, her fingers brushing your arm as she reached for her drink again. The night was spinning faster, the alcohol loosening her even more, and every look, every touch, was pushing you both toward something inevitable.

You grinned at Emily’s enthusiastic reaction to the tequila sunrise, her lips still wrapped around the straw as she drained the first glass with alarming speed. “Whoa, slow down there, champ,” you teased, sliding the second tequila sunrise toward her. “This one’s for you too. I’m sticking to water for now—someone’s gotta keep you out of trouble.”

Emily’s eyes widened, sparkling with delight as she grabbed the second glass. “Two? For *me*?” she slurred, her voice a mix of glee and disbelief. “You’re tryin’ t’ spoil me!” She giggled, leaning closer, her shoulder brushing against yours as she took a sip, her lips stained red from the grenadine. A drop slid down her chin, and she swiped at it with a clumsy finger, laughing harder when she missed.

“Spoil you? Maybe,” you said, leaning back against the bar, your eyes tracing the way her dress clung to her curves as she swayed to the music. “Or maybe I just wanna see how much more fun you get with another drink in you.”

She smirked, her gaze heavy-lidded and playful as she sipped again, slower this time, savoring the sweet burn of tequila. “Oh, I’m *plenty* fun already,” she purred, her free hand grazing your arm, lingering just long enough to send a spark through you. “But this…” She held up the glass, the cherry bobbing in the vibrant liquid. “This is gonna make me *dangerous*.”

“Dangerous, huh?” you replied, your voice low, matching her teasing tone. “I think I can handle that.”

She laughed, a throaty sound that cut through the bar’s music, and leaned in closer, her breath warm and tinged with tequila. “We’ll see ‘bout that,” she murmured, her fingers brushing your knee under the bar, a fleeting but deliberate touch. She drained half the second drink in one go, then spun the cherry stem between her fingers, popping the fruit into her mouth with a grin that was all trouble.

The alcohol was hitting her hard now—her movements were looser, her giggles more frequent, and the way she looked at you, eyes glinting with reckless intent, made it clear the night was spiraling somewhere wild. “C’mon,” she said suddenly, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the dance floor again. “I wanna dance some more… with *you*.”

Her grip was warm and unsteady, and as she pulled you into the crowd, her body pressed against yours, moving with the kind of abandon only a double dose of tequila could inspire. The night was hers, and you were along for the ride—wherever it led.

Emily’s body swayed against yours on the dance floor, the pulsing Latin beat wrapping around you both as her tequila-fueled energy took over. Her hands slid up your chest, fingers curling into your shirt as she moved closer, her hips grinding to the rhythm with reckless abandon. The double tequila sunrises had stripped away the last of her inhibitions, and her laughter was a sultry hum against the music. Her face was inches from yours, her breath hot and sweet with grenadine and liquor, her eyes half-lidded but locked on you with unmistakable intent.

Before you could say a word, she closed the gap. Her lips crashed into yours, soft but insistent, tasting of tequila and cherry. The kiss was messy, urgent, her drunken enthusiasm making it all the more electric. She pressed herself closer, her curves molding against you, one hand tangling in your hair as she deepened the kiss, her tongue teasing yours with a boldness that sent heat coursing through you. The crowd around you faded, the music a distant pulse compared to the rush of her mouth on yours.

She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her lips swollen and glistening, a lopsided grin spreading across her face. “Whoops,” she slurred, her voice thick with mischief, though her eyes betrayed no hint of regret. “Couldn’t help it. You’re too… *tempting*.” She giggled, swaying slightly, her hands still clutching your shirt to keep herself steady.

“Tempting, huh?” you murmured, your voice low, hands settling on her hips to steady her—or maybe to keep her close. “You’re one to talk, Em.”

Her grin widened, and she leaned in again, her lips brushing yours lightly this time, teasing, as if testing how far she could push you. “Mmm, you liked that, didn’t you?” she whispered, her breath tickling your ear as she pressed her body even tighter against yours. Her dress had slipped higher on her thighs, and the way she moved—fluid, sloppy, and utterly uninhibited—made it clear she was lost in the moment, the tequila amplifying every desire.

The music shifted to a slower, sultrier beat, and Emily’s movements adjusted, her arms looping around your neck as she swayed against you, her lips hovering dangerously close to yours again. “Keep dancin’ with me,” she murmured, her voice a drunken purr, “or I might kiss you again.” Her fingers played with the collar of your shirt, and the look in her eyes—hazy but hungry—promised she wasn’t bluffing.

You tightened your grip on her hips, guiding her movements as the dance floor pulsed around you. “I’m not sure that’s a threat,” you said, your tone teasing but laced with heat, your lips brushing the corner of her mouth as you spoke.

She laughed, a low, throaty sound, and tilted her head, catching your lips again in a quick, fiery kiss before pulling back with a playful smirk. “Told ya… dangerous,” she slurred, her body still moving against yours, every touch and glance pushing the night further into uncharted territory. The question wasn’t whether she’d kiss you again—it was what would happen when she did.

Emily’s latest kiss lingered on your lips, the taste of tequila and cherry sparking a fire that matched the heat of her body pressed against yours. The dance floor throbbed with the slow, sensual rhythm of the music, and she moved with it, her arms still draped around your neck, her fingers lazily tracing circles at the base of your skull. Her eyes, glassy and heavy with intoxication, held yours with a mix of playfulness and raw desire. The tequila had obliterated any filter she might’ve had, and every sway of her hips, every brush of her skin, felt like an invitation.

“You’re *good* at this,” she slurred, her voice low and breathy as she leaned in, her lips grazing your jaw before hovering near your ear. “Dancin’… kissin’…” She giggled, her breath hot against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “Makes me wonder what else you’re good at.”

Your hands tightened on her hips, pulling her just a fraction closer, enough to feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her dress. “Keep talking like that, Em, and you might find out,” you murmured, your voice thick with suggestion, testing how far her drunken boldness would take her.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, her lips curling into a wicked, lopsided smile. “Oh, I *like* a challenge,” she said, her words stumbling but her intent crystal clear. Before you could respond, she kissed you again—this time slower, deeper, her tongue teasing yours with a deliberate sensuality that made your pulse race. Her hands slid down your chest, fingers splaying possessively, and she pressed herself so close you could feel every curve, every shudder as she swayed to the music.

The kiss broke when she stumbled slightly, her heels betraying her, and you caught her with a steadying arm around her waist. She laughed, loud and carefree, her head tipping back as she clung to you. “Okay, okay, maybe I’m *a lil* drunk,” she admitted, her voice bubbling with amusement. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at you, her cheeks flushed, her lips still wet from the kiss. “But you’re still dancin’ with me, right?”

“Wouldn’t dream of stopping,” you said, guiding her back into the rhythm, your hands firm on her hips as she moved against you. Her dress was riding higher now, the hem teasing the tops of her thighs, and every sway of her body felt like a deliberate provocation. She spun in your arms, her back pressing against your chest, her head tilting to rest against your shoulder as she ground against you, slow and deliberate. Her perfume enveloped you, intoxicating in its own right, and her hand reached back, fingers brushing your neck as she murmured something incoherent but unmistakably suggestive.

“Em, you’re gonna start something you can’t finish,” you warned, your voice low in her ear, your hands sliding just a bit lower on her hips, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric.

She turned her head, her lips brushing your cheek as she whispered, “Who says I can’t finish?” Her tone was teasing, but the way her body arched against yours, the way her fingers tightened on your neck, told you she meant every word. Another kiss followed, this one quick but hungry, her teeth grazing your lower lip as she pulled away with a grin that promised trouble.

The music pulsed on, the crowd a blur around you, but all you could focus on was Emily—her drunken laughter, her bold touches, the way her kisses were growing more frequent, more reckless. The night was a tightrope, and every step was pulling you both closer to a point of no return. You could feel it in the way she looked at you, in the way her body responded to yours. The only question was how much further she’d push—and how much further you’d let her.

Emily’s laughter echoed through the warm night air as you guided her off the dance floor, her hand gripping yours tightly to keep from stumbling. Her kisses still burned on your lips, each one bolder than the last, and the way her body pressed against yours left no doubt about the direction the night was heading. She was a beautiful mess—drunk, uninhibited, and radiating a reckless energy that was impossible to resist.

You steered her toward the bar, her steps wobbly but enthusiastic as she leaned into you, her arm looping through yours. “Where we goin’?” she slurred, her voice thick with tequila and mischief, her eyes glinting under the fairy lights.

“Getting you something special,” you said, flashing her a grin as you caught the bartender’s attention. “A bottle of your best tequila,” you told him, nodding toward Emily, who clapped her hands with a delighted squeal.

“A *bottle*?” she exclaimed, her lopsided smile widening as she swayed against you. “You’re tryin’ t’ *ruin* me, aren’t you?” Her tone was teasing, but the way her fingers trailed down your arm suggested she was more than okay with the idea.

“Ruin? Nah,” you replied, leaning closer, your voice low. “Just keeping the party going.” The bartender handed over a sleek bottle of Patrón, and you tucked it under your arm, slipping him a generous tip before turning back to Emily. “C’mon, let’s take this somewhere more… private.”

Her eyes lit up, and she bit her lip, a spark of anticipation flashing across her face. “My room?” she suggested, her voice a sultry purr as she tugged at your hand, already leading the way before you could answer. “It’s got a *great* view… and a minibar.” She giggled, nearly tripping over her heels, and you caught her around the waist, pulling her close. Her body melted against yours, warm and soft, and she tilted her head to brush a quick, teasing kiss across your jaw.

The walk to her room was a blur of her drunken giggles and wandering hands. She kept stopping to spin or lean against you, her lips finding yours in fleeting, hungry kisses that made your blood race. By the time you reached her door, she was fumbling with the keycard, laughing as it slipped from her fingers. You picked it up, swiped it, and pushed the door open, guiding her inside.

The room was luxurious—floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the moonlit ocean, a plush king-sized bed, and a small balcony where the warm breeze carried the scent of salt and jasmine. Emily kicked off her heels, stumbling slightly as she made a beeline for the bed, flopping onto it with a dramatic sigh. “This is *nice*,” she mumbled, stretching out, her dress riding up to reveal more of her thighs. She propped herself up on her elbows, her hair a dark cascade around her shoulders, and fixed you with a look that was equal parts playful and provocative. “You gonna open that bottle or what?”

You chuckled, setting the tequila on the nightstand and grabbing two glasses from the minibar. “Demanding, aren’t you?” you teased, pouring a generous shot for her and a smaller one for yourself. You handed her the glass, and she sat up, her movements slow and slightly uncoordinated as she took it, her fingers brushing yours deliberately.

“To… us,” she said, raising her glass with a grin before downing the shot in one go, wincing slightly at the burn. “Oh, *wow*,” she gasped, laughing as she set the glass down with a clink. “That’s… strong.” Her eyes locked onto yours, and she patted the bed beside her, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “C’mere. Sit.”

You obliged, sitting close enough that your thigh pressed against hers, the heat of her body radiating through you. She reached for the bottle, pouring herself another shot with a shaky hand, some of the tequila splashing onto her fingers. She giggled, licking it off with exaggerated slowness, her eyes never leaving yours. “You’re starin’ again,” she slurred, leaning closer, her lips hovering inches from yours. “Like what you see?”

“More than you know,” you murmured, your hand finding her waist, your thumb brushing the curve of her hip. She shivered at the touch, and before you could say more, she closed the distance, kissing you with a heat that was all tequila and desire. Her hands roamed, one sliding up your chest, the other gripping your shoulder as she pressed herself closer, her tongue teasing yours with a boldness that made your head spin.

She pulled back, breathless, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed. “You’re trouble,” she whispered, echoing her earlier words, but the way she looked at you—hazy, hungry, and completely unguarded—told you she was ready to dive headfirst into whatever trouble you both could make. The tequila bottle sat on the nightstand, half-forgotten, as the night stretched out before you, charged with the promise of more.