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.