Zander
Emma keeps rubbing her legs against me and I keep telling her to stop, but she just laughs. I really feel like physically attacking her. Maybe she just needs a good beating. She really has no shame.
I could hardly eat, and I hated wasting Liz’s cooking. I just wanted this f*****g meal to be over. “Would you like a drink,” she asks, looking over at the bar. “Em, sure. Whiskey neat please,” I say, and she smiles and gets up and saunters over to the bar. I watch her very closely, but pretend that I am eating, by scraping my fork and knife on the plate.
I can't see exactly what she is doing because her back is to me. But by her movements, I could see she had taken something out of her breast area. It's amazing she could fit something in that tight dress she is wearing. It's like the
