by LP Lovell
“You done?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t have the clap. I almost always bag it up…” He starts.
“Almost…”
“Always with the rough looking ones.” He argues.
“Well, that makes it okay then. I’m sure all the pretty ones are definitely clean. In fact, they are probably more likely to have it than the rough ones, because no-one wants to fuck the rough ones. Except you, because you have no standards.” I smile as he frowns as though only now comprehending this possibility.
“I have standards.” He defends.
“I’ve seen the girls you fuck…” I trail off.
A smug smile spreads across his face. “Fucked you didn’t I?”
“That was the high point of your life, never to be repeated again.” My voice is slow and lazy. I’m so relaxed I can’t speak properly!
He leans forward, bending over me and getting in my face. “It was a high point sweetness, but never say never.” I can feel his breath on my lips, and my heart suddenly leaps to life. The light hearted joking of only seconds ago is suddenly gone, replaced by this tension, but it’s not a bad tension.
“So if you don’t have the clap then why did you turn away a perfectly good fuck?” I whisper.
His eyes dance mischievously. He always seems to have this look in his eye, like you never quite know what he’s going to do next, but you know it will be exciting. If I could describe him in one word, that would be it exciting…or maybe disgusting…or whore. Okay, yeah, I can’t do one word. He grabs my legs and lifts them so he can sit down, before putting them back on his lap.
“Because I’m hanging out with you, obviously.” He trails his finger absentmindedly up my shin, and my pulse quickens.
What is it about him that makes my heart hammer in my chest? I have this visceral reaction to him, a pull that I can’t put into words. He makes me feel alive, he always has. It’s as though he makes everything seem more colourful, more interesting. When I’m around him, it’s just a little easier to breathe and life is a little bit brighter.
He’s still smiling at me, and it makes my stomach flutter. He’s so pretty. I just want to touch him.
Before I know it, I’m scrambling to my knees next to him, without ever consciously having chosen to do so. I reach out and touch his face, running my fingers over the stubble of his cheek, through his hair.
He smiles, and it’s so beautiful. I trace my thumb across his bottom lip. He wraps his hand around my wrist, and grabs me by my chin.
“Molly.” He laughs, staring into my eyes. “Shit, you are so out of it.”
I frown. “I’m not.” My tongue feels thick in my mouth. “I just want to touch you.” I say.
He releases me, and lifts one eyebrow. “Then touch away, sweetness.”
CHAPTER NINE
HUGO
Note to self. Molly has no fucking tolerance to weed. No sooner have the words left my lips, than she takes it very literally. She crawls across my lap, and swings one leg over both of mine. Her long legs straddle my hips, her skirt hiking up in the process, exposing the tops of her lace stockings. Fuck! I close my eyes and bite the inside of my cheek, just trying to think of something that isn’t Molly…with her long legs…and her hot underwear…straddling me. Damn it. I’m stoned, but not enough to take advantage of her.
I squint one eye open. I can’t help it, a guy only has so much restraint, and I am so far from chivalrous it’s not even funny. Holy shit, she’s so hot. Her hands stroke over my chest, a huge smile on her full lips. She runs her index finger over my lips, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to suck that finger into my mouth.
“Molly, you…” She tilts her head to the side, and bites down on her bottom lip.
“Do you want me Hugo?” She says with a teasing grin.
I swallow. “So much. Too much.” I tell her. Too much, that’s the problem. I can take or leave almost any girl, because there will always be another to replace her, but Molly, well she’s just not replaceable. And it’s that little fact that scares the living shit out of me.
Her blue eyes flicker up to meet mine. She runs her nails across my jaw, scratching gently down my throat.
“I thought you always get what you want…” She spreads her thighs a little wider, and her skirt inches up just a little more. Another couple of inches and I’ll be able to see the scrap of black lace that I know will be covering her pussy. If there’s one thing I know about Molly, it’s that her underwear is always matching, and always hot as hell. She could lure a man straight in to hell with her lingerie selection. The combination of drink and drugs has brought out the dirty girl she tries so vehemently to keep buried. This Molly is my favourite, but not when I’m supposed to be her friend, the friend who doesn’t fuck her. Shit.
She yanks my shirt up, dragging her nails over my stomach. I groan and clench my fingers into fists, fighting the urge to touch her so hard. She leans forward, and brushes her lips across my jaw, before scraping her teeth down my throat. God fucking damn. I can’t take this. I have to touch her. I run my hands from her knees, all the way up, until I’m pushing her skirt up, and grasping her hips. As predicted, her underwear has me almost exploding in my jeans. Her stockings are clipped to a black lace garter belt, the straps cutting into her skin slightly. Her pussy is covered in a black lace thong. My fingers twitch on her hips, dying to dive underneath that thin piece of material.
Her fingers work their way into my hair, pulling at the roots until my eyes meet hers. Her face is close to mine, her breath touching my lips until I can practically taste her on my tongue. Everything about her has me rock hard and near fucking desperate. I can’t think straight around her, I’ve never been able to. It’s just her. I feel like I can’t fucking breathe, as what very little conscience I have tells me I need to stop. The problem is, that small voice is fighting against the much, much larger part of me that is screaming at me to fuck her, to take her, to claim her in every fucking way. Wait. What the hell? Claim her? Shit.
She flashes me a look, a look I know very well. I’ve seen it on the face of hundreds of horny women. My cock instantly tries to break free of my jeans, and it’s not comfortable. I reach up and pull her hair free of its pony tail. Her long blonde hair, falls around her shoulders. I trail my fingers across her throat, and her eyes flutter closed. There are so many reasons why I should attempt to actually find some moral compass right now, but I can’t think of any of them. All I can see is her long legs wrapped around my waist whilst I fuck her. The way her face looks when she comes. I can almost feel, the way her pussy feels wrapped around my dick. The way her tongue feels in my mouth. I haven’t fucked Molly in a long time, and I’ve fucked a lot of girls since, but I remember everything about her, and nothing about them. She’s my guilty pleasure, my weakness, my addiction. And like a fucking addict, I want a hit. Months of cold turkey haven’t helped. I want her so fucking badly, I’d sell my left nut for it right now.
Now, I’d love to tell you that some moral battle in being waged in my mind right now, but that would be a lie. My mind is out of the office and all calls are being diverted to my cock.
I grab a handful of her hair and slam my lips over hers. She doesn’t hesitate. She kisses me hard. Her tongue fights against mine, and I smile as I bite her bottom lip.
“So damn feisty, sweetness.” She pulls back, her eyes blazing. Her hair is wild, her expression hungry. She rears up onto her knees, and I have to tilt my head back to look at her.
A smile pulls at my lips as I run my hands up the backs of her thighs, tracing the garter straps until I’m cupping her firm arse. I move one hand to her front, and cup her between her legs, tracing the damp lace of her underwear. My cock jerks as she shamelessly rolls her hips towards me.
“So fucking wet for me.” I growl, burying my face in her chest.
“I’m always fucking wet for you.” She breathes. I love it when she talks dirty.
Ah, fuck this. I grab the scrap of
lace covering her pussy and yank until the material rips. Her nails dig into my shoulders, raking over my skin.
I grip her waist and pick her up, slamming her back down on the coffee table. Her breath hitches violently. I don’t do careful, and she doesn’t want careful, no matter what she tells herself.
I press my hard cock against her bare pussy, only a layer of denim between us. She moans, her lips parting as her eyes close. I nip her bottom lip and her fingers dig into my back. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to dive into her pussy right now.
CHAPTER TEN
MOLLY
Oh dear fucking god. I can barely breathe as Hugo’s lips trail across my jaw and down my throat. I can’t think, I can’t see anything but him, can’t feel anything but his lips on my body, his hands touching me, holding me possessively. He dominates me with one look.
He rears up over me, watching me like a predator. His hands grasp my shirt and yank it apart. The buttons pop off, scattering everywhere and bouncing off the coffee table. I bite my lip and try to clench my thighs together, meeting his hard muscular thighs.
A cocky smile pulls at his lips as he leans over me, tracing his lips over my stomach. I tremble underneath him.
“You’re sexy as fuck when you’re like this, sweetness.” I can’t respond, I can’t breathe. My fingers wind into his hair as my hips grind up against him, trying to find some kind of friction. Anything. I just need something. “So fucking wild for me.” He growls, his hot breathe touching my skin in a sensual caress.
I’m pulling at the strands of his hair in desperation as my body starts to take over, writhing under his touch. He roughly shoves my skirt up further over my hips, before his hands move to the insides of my thighs, his palms gliding over the sensitive skin.
“So fucking beautiful.” He groans as he stares at my pussy, biting his bottom lip. He kneels between my thighs, and then his mouth is on me, and I…oh my god. I swear he’s trying to kill me. My eyes flutter closed as my head falls back and a long moan slips from my lips.
“Fucking watch me, Molly.” He rumbles, his breath blowing over my wet pussy. I lean up on my elbows, and my eyes meet his, between my legs. “Watch me fuck you with my tongue.” I’ve never been a dirty talker, but damn his words always do something to me. A small smirk kicks up the side of his mouth, before he very literally fucks me with his tongue. Feeling it is one thing, but watching it at the same time, it’s erotic in the most intimate way.
His eyes hold mine as his tongue flicks over my clit. I clench my fists and feel my nails bite into the skin of my palm. His tongue moves over me, in me, teasing me until I’m squirming and rolling my hips up toward his face as a stream of expletives leave my lips.
He laughs against me, and the vibrations drive me wild. I’m so bloody close. I need to come, more than I need my next breath. This is what he does to me, what he always does. He imbeds himself into my physical being until I’m desperate, dependent and downright fucking shameless.
“Just fucking make me come already!” I snarl.
He lifts his face away from me and cocks an eyebrow, a smug grin on his face. “Ask nicely.” Oh, I’m going to kill him. “Beg me to make you come Molly.” His voice is a husky rasp that washes over my fraught senses.
I have no shame at this point, so I do. I beg him. “Make me come.” I groan.
He thrusts two fingers inside me, and my hips buck off the table. Then, he leans forward and flicks his tongue over my clit. Everything starts to explode. My fingers are clawing manically at my own hair, as he pounds his fingers into me. He’s brutal and unforgiving, and I love it. I come so hard, I see stars as I scream his name.
I drag my eyes open and immediately squint against the bright morning light. My head is pounding, and my mouth feels like a camels arsehole. It takes me a few moments to become aware of my surroundings. Hugo’s house. I remember coming back here, and drinking, and then…fuck, smoking pot? After that it’s all blank. I certainly don’t know how I got to his bed.
I sit up slowly, fighting back the churning in my stomach. Gary is laying on the end of the bed snoring quietly, and Hugo is next to me. It’s then that I notice my state of undress. My shirt is ripped and dangling from my shoulders, exposing my bra. My skirt is pushed up my thighs, and rucked up around my hips, and I don’t have any underwear on. Fuck! I rack my brain trying desperately to remember glimpses from last night, and when I finally do start to remember, I wish I hadn’t. I hold my hand to my head. Okay, I just…I need to leave. I glance to my right, where Hugo is sleeping, breathing heavily.
I tiptoe out of the bed and into his walk in wardrobe, taking one of his shirts from a draw before I leave the bedroom and go to the bathroom down the hall.
I look like I’ve been thoroughly fucked. My hair is a bloody mess, and my dishevelled clothes are unsalvageable. I take off the tattered shirt and drop it in the small bin. Hugo’s shirt smells of his wash powder, and I take a deep breath of the material. My mind is racing through a thousand emotions right now, but mainly I feel guilty and ashamed. I feel guilty that I slept with Hugo, and ashamed that I allowed myself to go there with him again after I said I never would. I feel guilty that I slept with him, when I’m seeing Alex, and I feel ashamed that I couldn’t control myself around him…again, and that could mean the end of our friendship, because we can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this! We’re friends, but I can’t seem to restrain myself around him! He’s like crack to my hormones. I like to pretend I’m impervious to him, but clearly I’m not.
I wash my mouth out with mouthwash quickly and drag my hair into a pony tail. I just need to get out of here right now. I can’t face him. I need time to wallow in my own slutiness.
I manage to find my bag and shoes and creep out of the flat without waking Hugo up. Now I need to go home and get rid of this hangover, which seems much worse for the whole weed smoking thing, than usual. Then, I need to work out what the hell I’m doing with Hugo, because last night sure as shit went past friendship.
I push the door of the flat open and dump by bag on the table by the door. George is sat on the sofa cross legged, and wide eyed as he shovels spoonful’s of coco pops into his mouth. He eyes my t-shirt, or rather Hugo’s t-shirt in that ‘I know what you did last night’ way of his. The tension in the room is palpable, and George looks like he’s settled in for a good show. Standing across the room, leaning against the breakfast bar, is Alex.
My stomach clenches hard, because I realise how I must look right now, dressed in Hugo’s shirt. Shit.
“Hey, Alex. What are you doing here?” I struggle to keep the smile on my face, as my temples throb.
He narrows his eyes at me, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks angry. He’s normally so perfectly poised, it’s almost a relief to see that he can let go, even if it’s not in a good way.
“I thought I’d take you for lunch, but I didn’t realise you already had plans.” Okay, that was definitely a dig. Wait, lunch? I check the clock on the wall, it’s eleven thirty. Fuck this looks so bad right now.
“I’m just getting in from last night. It ended up being a bit of a heavy one.” I explain. That familiar feeling of shame washes over me, and my knees feel like buckling under the weight of it. I’m a horrible person. I can barely bring myself to even look him in the eye. How do I even explain this? What do I say? Is there even anything I can say? He won’t want anything to do with me anymore. No-one wants to date a slut, and that’s exactly what I am.
“I can see that.” He says coldly. Shit.
“Where did you go hooker?” George asks. I know he’s trying to ease the tension, but that’s not helping, seeing as I feel like a dirty hooker right now. I don’t even have underwear on for Christ sake. I bite my lip as memories flash through my mind like a film on fast forward. Hugo ripping my knickers to shreds, kissing me, fucking me with his mouth… I can feel a flush creeping up my neck. Shit.
“I had to go and meet my dad for dinner.�
�� I say, trying to keep my voice level. His eyes meet mine, full of understanding. George knows all too well what a prick my father is. Not only is he a patronising dick, but he’s also homophobic, and very disapproving of George. Fuck him.
“Oh.” George whispers. “One bottle of vodka or two?”
I shrug. “Just one.”
“Huh, you look like you had two.” One and a joint.
I flick him the bird and he cackles.
I look at Alex again. “We need to talk.” He says.
I gesture with my arm towards my room, and he steps into the hallway. I don’t want to do this right now, but what choice do I have?
I take a deep breath and go to follow him. “Good luck, sweetie.” George whisper shouts as I leave the room. I muster a small smile and go to have what will inevitably be an awkward conversation.
I close my bedroom door and turn to face Alex. I lean back against the door, not really wanting to step any further into the room. I’m gripped in a panic, and the anxiety over rides my hang over. My senses go on high alert. I hate confrontation, and I know that’s exactly what this is going to be, just from the look on his face.
“You have to know how this looks.” He gestures to me as he paces in front of my bed. “You socialise with him a lot, and now you turn up wearing his shirt, and looking like you haven’t slept all night.” He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for my explanation.
His golden eyes hold my gaze in a way that has me wanting to turn and run from the room. Guilt is eating at me. Do I tell Alex? If I do, I will lose him, without a doubt. Shit, I don’t know what to do here. I mean, Alex and I are just dating right, which means that really, my drunken one night stand isn’t any of his business yet. Oh, who am I kidding? Shit. I don’t want to tell him because I like him. I don’t want to tell him because right now I feel like one of Hugo’s dirty whores, and Alex makes me feel valued and wanted. I want to feel wanted. I don’t want him to walk away just because I had some drunken fumble with Hugo. I know that lying to him is wrong, but for my own selfish reasons I just can’t confess what happened between Hugo and I. I was drunk, I made a mistake. It won’t happen again. End of.