Ruined (17 page)

Hugo smiles. “No. You’re drunk.”

I nod, and it feels like the room spins. “I’m drunk.” I agree. There’s a pause. “I didn’t know you disowned your parents.” I start.

He shrugs. “Nothing to know.”

“Hugo!” I shove his shoulder, and he sighs, throwing his head back against the sofa.

“My parents think that because they birthed and raised me they own me, and can control my life. You should know by now I can’t be controlled.” He flashes me that beautiful smile and my heart slams against my ribs. “Apparently I’m a disappointment, but I’d like to point out, a very rich disappointment.”

“You and me both, except I’m not rich. It doesn’t work quite as well.” I huff a laugh.

“Don’t sulk, sweetness. The only disappointing thing about you is your tits.” He smirks as he dodges my fist.

“Arsehole.” I grumble, downing the rest of the petrol in my glass. 

A sly smile creeps across his lips and he narrows his eyes at me. “Tell me, have you ever done any drugs?”

I wrinkle my nose. “One time in Ibiza, Lilly bought these pills off a guy. I passed out.”

He laughs, tilting his head to the side. “Sounds like Lilly.” His head is thrown back, his legs outstretched and propped on the coffee table. My feet are on his lap, and his fingers are wrapped around one ankle in the way he seems so fond of. His touch is warm and far too familiar.

“Well, one of bouncers confiscated some weed off a dealer outside the club last weekend.” He turns to face me, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“You want to get stoned?” I giggle. “What are you, like sixteen?”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

I shrug, because why not? Wait, no, I don’t do drugs. Or maybe I’ve just never had the chance. “Sure. Okay.” Oh god.

He chuckles as he lifts my legs and gets up. A few minutes later he comes back with a rolled joint and a lighter. He places it against his lips as he rolls the lighter flint, holding the flame to the end. I watch as it catches, the end glowing a bright red. I’m entranced by the movement of his lips as they purse around the joint. Fuck, he looks sexy doing that. He takes it between his thumb and forefinger and hands it to me.

I stare at it dubiously for a second before placing it to my lips and sucking back a lungful of thick smoke. I went through a brief phase of rebellious smoking in my teens, so I manage not to cough.

He watches me closely, his eyes tracing my every movement. When I exhale a few seconds later, he smiles. “Atta girl. You’re a rebel at heart.”

“I’m not a rebel.” I laugh drunkenly. “I’m the good girl remember. The sensible one. The one who gets walked all over.”

He watches me as he takes a long drag of the joint. “You’re a good person, and you are without doubt, one of the best people I know, but you aren’t a doormat. There’s a difference babe.” He looks away as he blows out a long stream of smoke.

“I let my dad treat me like total shit.” I laugh, because the combination of weed and booze are making my head spin. I pick up my glass, which has somehow filled itself again. “Hell, I let you treat me like shit didn’t I?” He says nothing. “Apparently I have daddy issues.” I laugh again, because this situation is so ridiculous. I should call Lilly. She would talk me out of this downward spiral. I don’t though, instead I neck half the glass.

“I didn’t mean to treat you badly.” He says quietly. I glance up and find him watching me closely. His eyes are slightly bloodshot. I shrug it off, because seriously, who cares?

“Doesn’t matter now. It’s good, I’m good.” I take the joint from him and press it to my lips, inhaling deeply and holding it until my lungs start screaming for air. I release my breath slowly and shimmy down on the sofa, leaning my head back on the arm, and stretching my legs across Hugo, until by bum is pressed against his right thigh.

The door buzzer sounds, and I glance at Hugo quickly. Shit, it’s a Friday night. I’m probably interrupting his plans, and by plans I mean sex.

“Ignore it.” He says, waving it off and taking the joint from me. 

The door buzzer goes off again, and again. I laugh, as a pleasant numb feeling starts to wash over my entire body.

“Someone really really wants in your pants.” I giggle. “Or, maybe it’s someone’s husband coming to kick your arse.”

He grins as he blows out a stream of smoke. “Wouldn’t be the first time sweetness.”

“Ugh, just answer it already. If he knocks you out I promise to defend your honour. Pinky swear.” I hold out my little finger, and he rolls his eyes before linking his little finger with mine. The fact that he just pinky swore has me cracking up.

He gets up, leaving me to my fit of hysterics.

I hear him pick up the receiver and snap at whoever it is. “What?” He barks. Pleasant.

“Hugo. What took you so long? It’s freezing out here.” A female voice whines.

“Who the fuck is this?” He grumbles.

“It’s me, Maddy. You said the other day to come by any time.” She purrs. Oh, sex, she is definitely the sex, not the punching.

“Now isn’t a good time.” He says. What the fuck? Did he just turn down a fuck?! Why would he do that? Is he ill? Oh my god, what if he has the clap? I laugh.

“But I came all the way here to see you.” The voice whines.

“Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are. I’m busy.” He’s so grouchy, oh my god, he must have the clap. That’s the only possible explanation here.

“But…”

“Just fuck off okay.” He slams the receiver against the wall.

I close my eyes and smile as my head swims in a pleasant fog of numbness. This is a happy place. I can totally see why stoners always seem so chilled out. I open my eyes and find Hugo standing over me, watching me with a stupid grin on his face. He looks so cute.

“You have the clap!” I say pointing at him.

His eyebrows shoot up.  “Uh…” He shoves his hand down the waistband of his jeans, groping himself. “Nope, still there. Why, may I ask, do you think I have the clap?”

“Well, you turned down sex. Have you ever done that? I didn’t think it was physically possible. And you’re grumpy.” I point out, “Like, ‘my dick might fall off and I haven’t been laid in all of 1 hour’ grumpy.” He folds his arms over his chest as his lips twitch in amusement. “Plus, why wouldn’t I think you have the clap? You’re…you!”

“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.