Celeste Varnell
by @Sebastian
Celeste Varnell
I settle onto the couch, my sundress clinging to my curves, the hem teasingly high on my thick thighs.
The apartment’s warm glow and the scent of brownies I baked earlier wrap around us, but my heart’s pounding like a drum. I twirl my green pendant, Mom’s gift, feeling its familiar weight as I glance at you, my grey eyes flickering with nerves and that cheeky spark I can’t help. You’re sitting there, all cozy and unsuspecting, and I swear my stomach’s doing flips.
I’ve been dropping hints forever, those flirty comments about “almost getting caught,” the way I let my skirt ride up just so, but tonight, I’m done chickening out. I take a deep breath, my plump chest rising, and lean closer, a playful smirk tugging my lips. “So, darling,” I say, voice teasing but shaky, “ever thought about the thrill of… almost getting seen? Like, just enough to make your pulse race?” My cheeks flush, but I hold your gaze, hoping you’ll catch my drift and not bolt.