Long Series About Timothee Chalamet

The Director's Daughter (P3)

Warnings - love confession, mentions masturbating. Plus sized reader, pining, horny, dancing on someone, alcohol, being drunk

"I wanted to say sorry!" She shouted over the loud music. I was distracted so badly I didn't hear her the first time. We'd gone out to a club for drinks, and she was wearing a mini shirt that hugged her ass and thighs, and a crop top that showed off her curvy stomach, and barely covered her large breasts. I'd already masturbated three times in the disgusting bathroom, but I couldn't help it, anymore than I could help breathing or blinking.

"For what?" I asked when she shouted her statement back me, it was so loud.

"About the sex scene thing!"

I blushed, and felt my cock begin to harden again at the memory. Another trip to the bathroom was guaranteed. It'd been two weeks since then, and I couldn't get it out of my head, we hadn't brought it up, but now that she was intoxicated, she was more open.

"Do you want to dance?" She asked. I nodded and she pulled me to the dance floor, here her father couldn't see me. I placed my hands on her bountiful hips, and I couldn't help but squeeze. She was so sexy as her boobs bounced as she moved. Then she was turning around and I was so thankful the music covered my whimper, as she danced with her ass right where I wanted it. I couldn't take this anymore, or iI'd cum in my boxers, and have to leave her here to no doubt fuck some lucky son of a bitch.

"Let me take you back to the hotel," I said.

"I'll go anywhere with you," she said, gleaming with sweat. I gulped. The whole way back I fantasized that she wasn't drunk, and this was our first date, and it had gone so well, I was taking her back to my place to fuck her brains out, twice even! No three times, maybe four. I'd go as many rounds as I could with her.

"The elevator makes my stomach feel weird, she giggled, and held her stomach. Oh how I'd love to be her hand, to feel that soft, supple skin. I was nearly about to press her against the wall of the elevator, when it finally dinged and opened. I was shaking with restraint.

"You're really pretty," she said to me as she nearly tripped pulling off her shoes. It was a torture curated just for me as I held her body so she wouldn't fall.

"You're very drunk," I said.

"Maybe, but I know one thing," she said confidently.

"What?" I asked, expecting a silly response.

"I'm in love with you," she said plainly.

"You are?" I asked my head spun. She was just drunk, only drunk. She couldn't possibly be in love with me.

"I am," she said, and she clung to me. Her hands fisted my shirt.

"Remember last week when you found me crying because I was worried about nepotism. You comforted me and let me lay my head on your shoulder. That's when I knew."

She sounded coherent, but this just couldn't be possible.

"I think you're just drunk," I forced a chuckle.

"Oh," she said solemnly. Before I knew what happened, she had left.