Page 27 of War Hope
Igetinandshutthedoor."Look," I say, pointing to a sign in the front of the cab. "There's a hundredquidfineforvomitingin the taxi,soif youthink you'regoing to spew,swallowit."
Hermouth dropsopenandsheholdsup her hand, placing the other on her chest. She closes her eyes, swaying in her seat. "On my honour, I have nevervomitedfrom drinking."
I fight a smile. "Never?"
"Never!" She sounds a little like Golem with the precious.
"Well then..."
"And you’re taking me to your house."
"Excuse me?"
"Yep, I've got three flights of stairs andI'm not scabbingmy knees up crawling up the fuckers."Dear fuck."Besides, I like to cuddle when I'm drunk. I'll be thebigspoon and you'll bethe little spoon."
"We arenotcuddling,"I tell her.
She laughs, her bodygoing limp as she falls againstmyside."They always say that..."She hiccups. "You'llsee, I'm going to spoon you,Finnleyand you shan't do a thing about it."
I'm not fucking spooning her. I've gotten a little attached toHope in the same way you find yourself attached to a scabby stray cat that won't leave you alone. You feed it and pet it, but you don'tletit sleepinyour bed.Then again, the cat doesn't looklikeone of those chicks in atittymagazine.The taxi rolls to a stop in front of my flat. I pay the driver and open the door, draggingHopeacross thebackseat.
"Come on,queenie."
Hope groans something about dying before I finally get her out and somewhat to her feet. She leans against me, stumbling as we walk. "Don'tdropme." Sheclings tomy shirt andI can't help but to laugh.
"Hope,I can't drop you.I'm not carrying you."
"Well, look at me walking." And then she patsherselfon the back.
We manage to make it up the stairs and I prop her against the side of the building, holding her steady with one hand as I unlock my door. The second the door swings open, Hope's stumbling through, banging into walls on her way to thebathroom. I shut the door behind me and drop my keys on the counter. I hear her swearing, things dropping.Jesus, did she just fall into the tub?Then the toilet flushes and she comes wobbling out, not even bothering to look at me as she heads to my bedroom.
"Wait!" I shout and she flips me the bird. By the time I get to my room, she's already under the covers all snuggled up to my pillow.
"I'll just sleep on the couch," Isigh.
"What? Why? You can sleep here,too. I won't rape you," she says, laughing toherself. "Cross my heart." She hiccups and waves her hand around in a pattern I think that was meant to be a cross.
I can't even remember the last time I shared a bed with anyone. Normally I'd say I don't trust myself,but I'm drunk. Drunk enough to sleeplikethe dead.
"Come on,Finnley.Climbin." She pats the bed, a drunk smile spreading over her pink lips. Her red hair is sprawled across my pillow and the duvet is pooling around her waist. She's still fully dressed, but that black dress leaves very little to the imagination. All I can see is her cleavage straining against the tight material, her milky skin rising witheverybreath. I dragmy hand over the back of my neck and scrapemyteethover mybottomlip.
I know I should walk my arse back out to the living room and sleep on the sofa, but I find myself sitting on the edge of the bed and then lying backon the pillow.
"Yousleepin allyourclothes?" she asks between hiccups.
I glance at her. She has got to be kidding. "I think it's best we keep our clothes on," I mumble. This is why I live the life I do, controlled, mapped out, the same shit every day. This...this feelscomplicatedand strange, like something that could blow up in my face atanymoment.
"You can sleep in your clothes, Mother Theresa," she says, sitting up and shimmying her dress over her hips. She pauses to hiccup, then continues lifting the material inchbyinch. It shouldn’t be sexy because she’s sloppy drunk and her movements are all jerky, but the second the dress pulls over her tits in that pink lace bra, my dick stands toattention. Huffing, she slumps over with her face still hidden behind the tight material. She sits back up and throws her arms in the air. Her boobs jiggle in her bra and my dick twitches again.
“Help. Me.” she groans.
Sighing, I grab the dress and yank it the rest of the way over her head, smearing her lipstick.
“For fuck’s sake,” she mumbles as she falls back on the bed.
“You want a shirt?” I ask, but she just waves me off, half attempting to flip me the bird.
I allow myself one more peek at her perky tits before I turn the lamp off and rollover on my stomach to hide my raging hard on.Now I’m no better than fucking Kyan.
I watch theheadlights fromthe intermittentcarbounceoff thewooden headboard.Hope's breathing heavy next to me, the smell of vodka permeating the air. This feelsweird. It feelsreally fuckingweird having her nextto me. She shifts and I don't move a muscle. She lets out a little groan and rolls over, hooking her leg over mine. Fuck me. Her arm snakes around my waist, her fingers trailing along my side. I glance over and she's still out. I roll over to my back and attempt to shift away from her, but she just tightens her hold on me. Her leg brushes against my already hard dick.Groaning, Irollmy eyes.This is just fucking great. The harder it gets, the more uncomfortable it is. It ends up slipping out of the hole in myboxersand rubbing against the damn zipper and I hiss in a breath.
She shifts again and I freeze as her hands slip beneath the hem of my shirt, her fingers playing over my stomach. Every muscle tenses under her touch and then she scratches her nails over my chest. My breath hitches and chill bumps work over my skin. And my dick gets even harder.
She snuggles her face against my arm. I liehere, completely rigid with her warm breath washing over my bicep.My dick is aching and her thigh is so fucking close, barely an inch away from mycock.I need her leg off me. I go to move it and my fingers spread out over her warm, soft skin. I close my eyes and swallow hard, allowing my hand to inch up her thigh for just a second. Fuck, she feels good.Shewigglesagainst me and I slowly moveher leg away from me, and thenshe rolls back overonto her side, facing away from me.I release abreath but my body remains tense.I can't go to sleep like this, I'll wake up fucking her.
Carefully, I roll out of bed and stumble through the dark into the bathroom.Iquietly close the door behind me and flip the lights on. I should feel ashamed, but I don't.It doesn't take muchtoget aguy'sdick hard and a halfnakedredhead in a man'sbed isdefinitelyenoughtodo it.I dropmy jeans andboxersto the floor and lean against the sink,thecoldtile bitinginto my skin. Ifist my cockin myhand and close myeyes and, I'll admit,Ithink aboutHope and hersmooth legsandher pretty lips.Guilt drowns me. I haven't touched a woman since Kiera, but every time I've beat one off, it's to the memory of her. I always picture what Kiera looked like beneath me, the way she'd throw her head back in pleasure, but now that image that’s so fucking engrained in my mind is blurring and distorting. All I see is red haircascadingaround pale shoulders. Full lips parting on a breathy moan.Iimaginewhat it would be like to have Hope’s thighs clamp around me with her moaning andsquirming underneath me.I wonder whatshetasteslike,feels like.I frantically chase myrelease,my body jerkingwhenthe heatseers through me and Igive into the fantasy, the feeling.Opening my eyes, I stare at the floor, panting. I givemyself a secondto come down from themomentary highbeforeIgraba handtoweland wipethecome from the floor,balling thetowel upand tossing it inthehamperbeforeIgo backto bed.
When Icrawl inbeside her and thatfemininesmell of hershitsme,the guilt sets in.I just went into my bathroomandbeat one out overHopeMcGrath.Over afriend...over my stray cat. Shit.I adjust myself on the bed and, like a fucking magnet, she's right up against me again. She tosses her leg over meandmoves tolay her head onmy chest. Sheinhalesand sighs,andallI can dois lie herewondering when in the hell Istarted looking at herlike someoneIwanted to fuckinstead of someonethatis tolerable at best.Inch by inch, she’s worming her way in and there are things about me I don’t want her to know. Things about me she’ll never understand. But for right now, I’m just going to lie here and pretend that this could work. Because at this moment, it feels right. She gives me hope…ironically enough.
