Arrick’s POV

~ Sophie in THAT dress ~

I’m sitting on the couch, waiting for Sophs to hurry up and get dressed so we can leave already. I have no idea what possessed me to down two straight vodka’s while waiting on her, but I’m lightheaded and slightly off keel with the effects and regret it now. I figured a shot or two would relax me for tonight, but all it seems to have done is send me out of whack and my head is all over the place.

My body is overly warm and tingly, crazily so, considering I’m a seasoned drinker and it shouldn’t affect me this way. Although, I guess over the last couple of years, I haven’t really drunk like I did, and tend to stop after a couple of beers. I can thank Natasha for my tolerance going to shit, her incessant nagging whenever I got drunk made it that I tended to stop after a couple, and now I am suffering the consequences.

We’re going out to celebrate Colin’s birthday, downtown and Sophie is taking an age to pick a dress. I tried to help but seeing her in sexy dresses is still a weird grey area for me, which rattled my nerves enough to think vodka was the answer. It stirs up a whole lot of conflicting emotions and I am trying to not let this day veer beyond chilled and platonic. Drinking was obviously not the answer, seeing as now I am sat here anticipating seeing her in one of those sexy dresses like some nervous, first date, asshole, and not being myself at all. Practically sweating in my shirt awaiting her.

It was a good day today, with us acting like none of this has ever changed, and I think we needed it. Things have been strained, confused and I’ve been on the edge of my tether for weeks over how I feel about her. Today I got to cast it all off for a few hours, and just remember what it’s like to have me, and her, uncomplicated, relaxed, and enjoying being together. I miss the times like that. The easiness before love, sex, and ex-girlfriends got in the way and turned everything upside down.

Sophie walks out, catching my eye and I’m literally blown away with the way the purple pink dress, I helped choose, is molded to her body in all the right places. It’s tailored, fitted, and tight. So tight it leaves pretty much no room for imagination, even though she hasn’t much skin on show and I can’t deny, she has my body stirring crazily hot. So much so, I almost forget to breathe and have to tear my eyes from how much it’s pushing her cleavage up and together, and her hips look ripe for clinging onto. It’s a fuckable outfit for sure.

Alcohol was the worst idea ever. I forgot how much of a horny bastard I get when I drink spirits and it’s another reason I quit partaking around Tasha, seeing as her lack of sex drive made it more of an agony than a perk in the last two years.

“You look stunning.” I blurt out, unable to stop running my eyes over every inch of the sex on legs before me. My pants suddenly tight, and my heart rate through the roof. Instantly a little too overheated and nervy and haul on my jacket, in a bid to get myself under control and drag my head out of a place I know I shouldn’t be going. I know how wrong this is, in so many ways; to literally want to pull Sophie into my arms and peel that dress back off her.

I can’t believe my head has even gone to the gutter, because of one dress, but I so badly need sex right now. I can’t even remember the last time I screwed Tasha, not that it was memorable, and a guy has needs. Sex with Natasha is about as satisfying as masturbating. It does very little for me and doesn’t curb the urges I have for proper, all out, crazily passionate bang session.

I miss good sex. I miss even meaningless, hard and hot sex with random hook ups. I’m crazily turned on and horny, and I need to get my shit together before I make an idiot of myself and make Sophs uncomfortable. She holds her jacket out to me and I pull it with me as I move behind her to help her get it on, put her in front of me to avoid checking out her breasts some more and instantly regret my new view. Sophie’s ass in this dress gets the final reaction I was struggling to control, and I get a raging hard on and internally groan.

Fuuuuuuuuck.

I struggle to calm my jets, adjust my pants and pull her jacket up her arms before she has any clue that I have a massive boner, because right now, she looks like the best kind of sin and I have to stop my head from putting her over the couch and doing things to her I haven’t gotten to do to any woman in years. Natasha is a bed only, missionary, and on a weekend kind of deal.

Man, I fucking miss fucking so bad.

Sophie smells intoxicating, and my senses are on high alert, tuned into every little piece of her in a highly aroused way. I curse out my two vodkas once again and vow to start drinking more, so this never happens again. Screw Tasha and her moaning about me getting hammered. I miss being drunk as much as I miss being able to screw my woman like a real man and if I was more tolerant, I wouldn’t almost be dry humping Sophie right now in reaction.

“Don’t look too bad yourself. Totally make Batman and Robin jealous.” She softly giggles, returning my sentiments, turning her cheek slightly and draws my eyes to the exposed neck and creamy shoulders, so close and too inviting. I need to get a major grip of myself and focus on not turning our chilled day into some sordid. Banging my best friend because I am clearly frustrated and horny as hell. I haven’t had sex in weeks, and this is possibly all this is. Half drunk, horny as shit and faced with someone who does it for me.

“Yeah, I think we are way hotter than those two, and look a hell of a lot better arm in arm than I think they could ever pull off. Maybe we are Batman and Catwoman after all.” I focus on the task and not the inner war going off inside of me. This is Sophs, my best friend, my little Sophabelle.

I slide her jacket up over her exposed skin, trying like hell not to touch her too much, in case I explode and have to change said pants. Plus, the lack of physical skin on skin is a precaution, because right now, I do not trust myself. Definitely tightly wound and crazy sex focused tonight. I’ll need to keep myself in check and try not to react or drink any more vodka.

I move in front of her, stopping to button up her jacket and hide the swell in my pants from this angle. Avoiding looking at her while I calm my passion and let Mr. Hard. soften back down, now I am covering up the inches of ‘fuck me’ dress and sexy as sin body. I breathe slowly and surely, regain that control I am famed for and hope I am doing my sterling job of keeping it all off my face.

“Oooh, I like that, she’s sexy and phraaar.” Sophie makes a cat claw motion at me and it only reminds me how crazily cute and innocent she is, cooling some more of that lothario blood. She can be so childlike sometimes and it makes me feel shitty for even thinking this way about her. I should never forget what she’s been through or who she is to me. Lusting after her is just plain wrong.

“You’re definitely that alright. You’ve always have been a little ‘phraaaar’. Ferocious kitty cat!” Trying so hard to play cool and pull all ounces of my mind out of the gutter where she is concerned. I need to focus on her being the girl that I will die to protect, in all ways. I love her, in a really wholesome way, and should always bring that to the forefront of my mind to keep this shit calm.

“That’s not sexy Arrick. That sounds like I’m a rabid stray” She answers flatly, a dead pan expression of unamused that just makes me break into a smile; absurdly adorable.

God, you’re beautiful.

“Yep... Sounds about right to me.” I grin, despite myself, at that sweet little hurt face, even harder when she slaps me in jest, and I can’t resist her. She does things to me on all sorts of levels lately, worse than she ever did, and I am eternally torn between wanting to kiss her and hug her protectively. She’s always been slap happy and kind of fiery and I wonder if she would be the same in bed. Passionate, hot and kinky, and for a moment it’s all I can think about. Translating her sassy into sex.

Stop with this shit, man, get your head off screwing your best friend!

I pull her into me by the lapels with a sharp tug, head on how much I want to explore that option, while also hating myself for it. We collide softly, her palms coming to my chest and stirring more heat and hardness in my pants that alerts me to how close I am to just kissing her, right here; blinkered for a moment that this is my Sophie, with the longing taking control. The vodka has hit me full whack, and I am screwed if this is how tonight is going to go. Maybe I should stick to water, or I might end up doing something I will eternally regret.

Sophie undermines all my control, makes my head blur out all my morals and think about crossing lines I shouldn’t be crossing. I linger for a moment, torn about how bad it would be, how wrong to just say fuck it and take her here, right now, over the couch. To throw all caution to the wind, give in to the side of me who wants her badly and not care about the outcome or the ex-girlfriend, who lately has not exactly been a deterrent when my head goes this way.

I know that makes me a shitty person and even though I do feel guilt over her, and this, it’s not as intense as it was in the beginning, and the thought of fucking Sophie is like an all-consuming black hole. I can’t deny these past weeks I have been looking at Sophie more and more in a non-platonic way, and tonight I want to know what it feels like to be with her properly. To feel her underneath me, around me, and finally release some of the crazy sexual tension building up in me from having to suffer her in dresses like this. To know if it would change us dramatically, if it would feel weird and wrong, or if it would be everything she seems to think It could be.

Sophie has blind faith that we could work; seamlessly go from almost sibling love to this and I am not longer on the side of No. I lose courage when I get dangerously close to those pouted inviting lips, and kiss her on the forehead tenderly, disappointed in myself, but I cannot override the part of me who is still fiercely trying to keep her platonic and protected. Therein lies my constant battle. I am always fighting myself to go with this.

I let my face trail hers as we pass, noses brush, eyes devour those soft lips and I get to inhale her sweetness and perfume. So god damn frustrated that I am fighting myself on this front eternally, whereas the Arry of old, and any other girl would already be rolling around on the floor naked and killing all these pent-up urges. If she wasn’t Sophie, if this wasn’t us, I would be fucking her blind right now, in any way, on any surface with no thoughts to Natasha.

Yes, I am a shithead; a drunk one.

Impulsively, and I guess, aggressively, I pull her into me, so my pelvis is pushed into her, almost in a bid to kill my erection and partly because she frustrates me intensely. I’m annoyed at me, annoyed at this and behaving like a stroppy kid who wants the candy, but cannot take it. I let her go quickly, torn, and confused; cursing my dying hard on, which has found the overriding kill switch.

“Now move, kitty cat, I have a cab waiting downstairs.” I shove her forwards in front of me, to take temptation away, and cannot help the devil side that pats her ass as she passes. Impulse overtaking reason, and a reminder that I am already drunk, and this does not bode well for her if I consume more.

No more booze!

She turns and half scowls, half questions me with a look of surprise and I really have no answer.

Yes, Sophs, I want you so badly it hurts. I want to be buried deep inside of you and have every inch of you naked against me, but sex with us would either be the most all-consuming moment of my life, which terrifies me completely. Or it will be the single biggest mistake, which destroys us, and it doesn’t bear thinking about. One thing it would never be between us, is a one-night, one-time thing, that either could ignore or come back from to platonic. Even I know that, and I wonder if that has more to do with my apprehension than everything, and everyone else.

I usher her into the elevator when it opens and automatically catch her small hand in mine, so fluidly it’s like breathing. Lacing her fingers in mine. I never used to question why I did this; held her hand at every opportunity or just had to always be touching her. Yet, it’s all I have thought about these past weeks, dissecting everything that came before and the why of how I can be this way with her, when I can’t even be this way with Natasha.

I don’t want to look back and see our whole relationship as jaded, complicated, or lose the innocence of what I thought we were. I don’t want to face the fact that six years of us, could be six years of me blind to something a hell of a lot more complicated in retrospect. It would change everything, and every memory, and it’s too vast to deal with. It’s sordid.

I swipe my card and enter the code to lock my floor from unwanted guests while I am out. Locking down the elevator to code and card access only. It’s one of the reasons I liked the elevator access only apartment at first.

“You obviously don’t get ID’d, right?” I glance at her as the thought hits me, that she’s not legal yet, even though she is no stranger to drinking, and that little thought in itself makes me rethink everything again. Always returning to the fact she is my innocent, sweet, little Sophs, as is the way with my dumb head. Sophie is still not even legal to drink, she’s still a kid. I should be the guy she trusts, always, not the asshole taking her to a club for a party. She raises a brow and looks at me as though I’m deranged.

“Not normally, no … although, I do have a pretty awesome fake if you’re worried they may not let me in.” She throws me that cheeky Sophie smile which normally would melt me to the core, but it just reminds me of the whole messy life she had these past two years and I shake it out of my head. I hate knowing all of that was down to me, this, us. That her life was two years of drinking away pain, caused by her feelings for me. I push it down hard to add to the growing list of bullshit, fucking me up tonight. Feeling uneasy, under the veil of floaty drunkenness.

“I don’t even want to know where you got that.” I shake my head, irritated that she even owns one, catching sight of our reflection in the chrome doors in front of us and can’t deny how right we look together. I try and drag my attention back to her, in a bid to knock that shit on the head and focus on the topic, but it takes way too much effort. “I doubt you’ll get pulled looking like that, so try and refrain from illegal ID’s in future.” I sound sterner than I intend too, but I mean it. I hate the fact that some backstreet asshole sold my sweet girl a fake ID, so she could live wild and reckless, and put herself in dumb situations. I don’t care what her reasoning was. I hate that she lived that life for two whole years and I fucking let her. Sophie eyerolls at me, that air of ‘really, Arry?’ that she likes to hit me with when I am being overprotective and makes me feel ten years older than her once more.

“When did you get so boring? Don’t try and tell me you never had a fake, as I know for a fact you and that brother of yours were hitting it hard when you were only seventeen.” She raises a sarcastic brow, looking unimpressed with me and I feel more paternal, guardian like by the second, and I’m not sure I like that feeling anymore. It was easier when I had a set clue on how to feel about her, now it just adds to my confusion.

“It’s different for guys.” I shrug, trying to ignore the ten million other reasons that I could give, for her alone, why I don’t like it. The list of reasons that I never want my Sophs to ever go back to that, is huge, and I turn my eyes back on the chrome doors instead, shutting my mouth, and this time her long legs in sexy heels are too strong an image to not check out more intensely.

“That’s so sexist!” She softly punches me in the arm, barely enough behind it to even make any impact; her touchiness manifests in hostility sometimes, and I have always liked that about her. Weird, I know, but I am a guy who likes a bit of rough and once again I wonder if Sophie would be wild in the bedroom and open to rougher, kinkier sex.

Stop! No go! I declare this part of my brain closed for the rest of the night.

Instead focus on my little feisty girl, that I couldn’t love more if I tried. I love winding her up in every way, just to pull out a reaction. She is one of the least feminist rights girls I know, but she does like to maintain her right to do as she pleases, regardless of sex.

“Mm, hmmm.” I press my lips together, holding in the urge to smile when she looks completely enraged and aims another slap my way. “Hey! I was agreeing with you.” I catch her hand mid-air, warmed by the jokiness between us and bend in impulsively, so intent on silencing that stroppy little mouth with wickedness. I pull her in against me as I tilt my head to get really close, still torn between aching to kiss her, and trying to be a gentleman where she is always concerned.

Drink is killing me with the amorous urges, but I am still too sober to bypass the side of me who cares too much, so I end up close, but not going through with it. I do however get a buzz from being intimately close enough to go either way, all touchy and pressed together and the widening look in her eyes as pupils dilate makes me stir back to the sexual tension from before. She makes me crazy, so easily.

“Rabid kitten!” I know my tone is flirty; I can’t deny right now I am completely flirting with her, and as alien as it is to do so with Sophie, it feels kind of good too. Natural, subtly sexual, and a lot of touchy feely, is safer than full blown thoughts of sex and kissing. Maybe I should stop over analyzing this and go with the flow tonight, see where flirting takes me, relax a little and get used to this weird new dimension between us. Maybe if I get to the club and drink some more, then I will stop always pulling my brain apart with doubts and see how we go. Not against kissing her again if that’s where this is going to head, I just need less thinking, more doing.

I kiss her on the temple, after contemplating one on the mouth, letting my hand slide down her small straight back until I land on the curve of her ass and stop. I hesitate about going lower, feeling her up and seeing how far I can go with this, but something inside of me stops me. That eternal part of me that can never step beyond that line when it comes to her. Even when we kissed, I was always holding back from going one step further.

Sophie leans into my body unexpectedly, sagging against me and despite it igniting the horniness again, it also ignites the part of me that wants to take care of her. The deep ingrained part who wants to shield her from sordid mess and horny men, even if it’s me, and I have to curb the urge to sigh at how easily she just cooled my libido. Like a bucket of cold water dousing out the flames of passion, even though I can tell that was not her intention. Sophie is a major head fuck in every way.

She snuggles up against me, a good height for doing so in those crazily high shoes, and I really do find myself torn between two really hard places, as I cuddle her in snugly. I look down at that angelic face, innocent eyes, and flawless beauty, so much trust and belief that I would never hurt her, and it kills me in one fell swoop. How can one girl make me crazy with longing at the same time as killing my fire for her, with overwhelming guilt, and a need to not let this happen? My eyes roam to the mouth I want to kiss more than anything in the world, but I just can’t. I’m in protector mode and she is too pure, too sweet, to even contemplate defiling.

“Asshole.” She spits back sassily, reminding me of all the millions of memories that we have together, how often we have been this way. Playful and relaxed, real best friends.

You don’t cross a line with your best friend. Especially one who needed you to not be like every other guy in the world. Especially when you held her sobbing in your arms, when she let out all the sordid shit that her father ever did to her. But then, your best friend shouldn’t be giving you the undying need to slide up her dress and fuck her up against an elevator wall, and deny it all I want, I can’t keep my head from straying there over and over tonight.

That dress has knocked me for six on her, the sultry make up and sleek hair. The way she keeps pouting at me, all eyes and seductive mouth, and I am getting strong vibes that she wants me to kiss her too. She is hardly acting like the demure sweet kid I am used to right now, every movement and mannerism, every touch between us in the last few minutes. Sophie is almost giving me free reign to take her, and I can’t ignore it. My Casanova radar is still fully functioning, from years of playing the field, and I know strong come ons when I get them, probably why I’m malfunctioning on all levels. I already know how she feels about me, so this would be like taking complete advantage of her.

“What happened to Massive Douchebag, I liked that one, it has a sexy ring to it.” I nudge her suggestively with my hip, so she is knocked away slightly, biting on my lip to curb the urge to drag her back and follow through with sliding my hands up those thighs under her short coat, and figure hugging dress. Sophies eyes go straight to my mouth and it’s like a jolt to my crotch, burning my dick into another impending erection I have no control over. I thank god for wearing my longer jacket and hiding my misdemeanors from her. For the first time in life I thank my dad for giving me his poker face, and skills at never really letting people know what’s going on in my head from sight alone. It’s the only thing saving us from each other.

Fuck, I want her.

“You are all of the above and much, much, more.” She frowns at me, I can’t tell if it’s because she’s being playful, or because I haven’t followed through on all her little sexy signals to kiss her. The air is static with the tension between us, and whether she is aware she is doing it or not, Sophie is giving me the come to bed eyes crazily bad, in this moment. My body stirs to fever pitch and I slap her ass to propel her out of the elevator a little more aggressively that I meant too. It’s a knee jerk reaction to create distance before I start humping her into a corner and throw all caution to the wind. I haven’t been this hormonal since puberty, and it’s unnerving as hell.

She yelps as I let go of her hand and watch her totter on high shoes onto the polished floor, worried for a second she might fall, as I tense in readiness to catch her. She doesn’t and straightens to a normal graceful saunter ahead of me that brings my eyes back to her ass. I need to put distance between us, before I rip open her dress and just let go of any doubts. At this rate, and this head mess she brings out in me, I am going to end up exhausted before we get out.

I follow her out of the elevator and catch up with her from behind, sliding my hand back around hers as we pass Frank, the desk security near the door. Even when I want distance, I can’t override the urge to touch her and somehow end up attached to her once more. I nod his way with a smile, raring to get out with my favorite girl, to let off some of this steam and maybe not be alone for much longer, while I’m this weak. All this crazy sexual tension aside, I really need a night kicking back and hanging out with my friends to mellow. It’s been a stressful few weeks, and I miss the times I used to take Sophie along, just us and them to have a good time without all this confusion. She’s always been so easy to hang out with and I never had a bad night when she was my date in the past. Well, not date, companion, side kick, partner in crime.

Before Natasha, Sophie was almost my constant companion and I loved my life back then. No worries, no stress or torn up head with two women vying for my heart. Life was so much easier.

“Have a good night, Mr. Carrero, Miss. Huntsberger.” Frank nods our way and holds out a candy for Sophs. She effortlessly wraps people around her little finger, it’s one of her most mesmerizing gifts and it seems my doorman isn’t any different. I watch her skip towards him proudly, heart swelling with the knowledge that despite her childhood, she has an infectiousness about her that people swarm to. She’s loveable, easy to like, and that smile could win anyone around, even my father who doesn’t just take to anyone so easily. She makes a little squeal noise of excitement, happy childishness, to accept her gift from him.

I watch her appreciatively, marvel at how warm she always makes me feel inside when she is being this way, and it adds another notch to the conflicting shit in my head.

“Thank you, Mr. Frankie, always a pleasure. Tell Mrs. Frankie. I said hi.” She giggles cutely, all her mannerisms are dainty and elegant, and I marvel at once upon a time, when she was all clumsy tomboy and two left feet. She has changed a lot in six years, and I am only just starting to see how much. She ended up as the swan, although she was never an ugly duckling, just an uncoordinated cygnet.

“Strawberry whirl. Your favorite. Been keeping you one for a few days now.” He throws her a paternal smile, adoration on show, and I tug at the back of her jacket to hurry her along. Eager to get to our destination and down a few more drinks to let fate do as it pleases. I’m tired of always battling with my own head and suddenly, I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to get fucked up drunk, and do whatever feels right, even if that is cornering my best friend in a nightclub and making good on how horny she makes me feel. My mind is made up and I won’t be deviating from the plan of going to the club and drinking my doubts away.

“You too, Frank, we shouldn’t be too late. This one has a curfew.” I nod at the back of her head, pulling her with me as I head to the door, so she follows closely. Curfew isn’t exactly true. However long it takes to get drunk and see where this goes, is more likely. I will carry her back here in an hour if that’s all it takes to want to be naked with her.

Glancing back to make sure she is coming, I almost stop breathing when I watch her slide the confectionary on a stick, into her mouth. I swear my mind goes to the one place I never in a million years imagined I would visualize Sophs, and again have to battle the shoot up in body heat and blood temp, and tear my gaze from that teasing mouth before I self-combust or groan out loud. My pants are getting a good stretch out tonight, from the amount of times I have been hard and had to talk myself down again. I wonder how much damage my dick can incur from several hard ons in a row that never get relief.

I clear my throat uncomfortably, chastising myself for imagining her with those lips around a part of my anatomy that I am having a tough time controlling. Inward steady breaths and visualizing naked men to cool myself down again. One quick way to combat an erection, is to imagine my best mate Nate, naked and ready to go, that always does the trick. I have never doubted my sexuality at all, and any man ready to impale something with a hard on, gets me soft in quick time.

We get out onto the street and the doorman, holding the door for us, motions to the yellow cab sitting patiently on the curb I asked him to have waiting for us. I lead her out to the open the door for her, unable to resist whipping that lollipop out of her mouth as she gets in and sticking it in my own with an evil smile. Teasing Sophs is still the highlight of my life and I doubt it will ever grow old. I love her reactions and the ability I have to do it any time I want. I suck it a little and it tastes of strawberries and her, well the memory I have of kissing her and the stirrings in my groin only get stronger. I curse myself and have to redraw on my naked Nate, to once again bring it back down.

The memory of how she tastes haunts me already, but this reminds me of how sweet she is. How much I want to taste her over and over and it only strengthens this plan I have forming, of getting fully drunk and seeing where this goes. Tired of all this shit.

“Hey! That’s mine.” Sophie frowns at me, not amused and I smile back. I close her door on her and skirt the back of the cab, to get in the other side, smirking at her cute little frowning face as I slide in beside her. The cab already smells of her perfume and it’s pretty heady in closed confines. Petulant little miss. Sexy little minx. Sophie whips the candy out of my mouth, with a little screwed up nose look, and sticks it back in her own. No cares about the fact we just shared saliva and it makes me wish we could actually do that instead of sharing a lollipop. She looks kissable as hell right now and if I wasn’t trying to be the good guy eternally, I would have my tongue in her mouth instead of her lollipop.

“I have herpes.” I nudge her, flirting again, because I can’t help myself and yank my door shut. I lean forward and give the cab driver the nightclub address we are going too, overly aware of her sitting so close to me and sink back to let this warm fuzzy feeling from the vodka flow over me again.

“Yum! Add it to the ever-growing list of weird stuff Arrick Carrero has given me over the years.” Sophie eyes me up, mocking me sassily.

“You’re welcome.” I wink at her, eyes moving back to that mouth as she goes back to sucking on that candy, and I swear I feel it in my pants. I know this is getting out of control and I need to calm this shit down, because I’m acting like some prepubescent teen with the serious horn. If I don’t put an end to this, I will end up dry humping her on the seat while groping the life out of her and smothering her half to death with my tongue down her throat. I have honestly never felt this crazy wound up in a long time.

Even if my mind is set, I can still be classy about my route to getting shit faced and fucking her.

If I fuck her! Steady on, Arry. Where the hell are all your morals right now?

I go to staring out of the window and give myself a seriously needed pep talk, and lecture. How this shouldn’t be happening, that my head needs to stay on track and cut this bullshit out where she is concerned. As hard as it is, or my dick may be, I cannot allow myself to turn into this much of an asshole, and I need to remind myself again.

Natasha!!! The girl I am so easy to dismiss nowadays, might actually be there tonight!

Something I haven’t taken a moment to even think about. We have the same circle of friends, and I need to remember, that even though we broke up, I told her I needed time to sort my head out and there is still a chance for us. I haven’t been acting that way tonight and I should be fucking ashamed of myself instead of hatching plans to fuck another girl. I am literally dragging both along, while committing to neither and this isn’t who I am at all. I reach for Sophie impulsively, not really gauging where I lay my hand as I feel warm, soft body, under my palm, and cup what feels like her leg. I want to touch her; it gives me a sense of calm and completion like nothing else does. More so since this craziness between us started, and if I could focus on nothing for the rest of the night, it would help a lot.

I have a tidal wave of guilt eating at my insides now I have brought Tash to the forefront of my mind, and surprisingly, or maybe not, the urge to fuck anyone, dies with her face appearing in my head. The irony of Natasha killing my sexual urge is not lost on me.

I get lost in my own thoughts, about her, us, all of us, this crap, as I watch the streets and lights swim by, trying so hard to bring my focus out of this mess, and back on not being a complete horny asshole tonight. Screw my plan to see where this goes. I need to stay sober and make a decision about where my life is heading and end this. I have no clue why I am having so much more of a problem with it tonight... well, maybe I do. Ever since Sophie walked out wearing that dress, it’s all I can think about.

Sophie has grown into a woman that can turn heads easily. Every curve and line makes men want her, and that face was made to mesmerize and disarm any red hot-blooded male. I’m no different, and I should be protecting her from jack asses like me, rather than joining them in wanting to screw her.

The cab slams to a halt suddenly, shocking both of us out of our silence and I tense my hand on her leg in a bid to brace her as I feel her slide forward in her seat, thanks to that satin dress on leather. Sophie bodily crashes forward, stopped by my arm in front of her as I go rigid to act as a barrier for her instinctively, and its only when she gasps weirdly, that I look down and realize my hand on her body, is not on leg and dress. I have my hand between her thighs and that heat and smooth lace I can feel pressed hard into my palm, is where my skin and fingers are molded perfectly to the apex between her legs. I almost groan as our eyes meet rapidly, both mortified at the intimate, unexpected contact.

I yank my hand away fast, not sure how else I should react in this moment, and it no longer feels like it did minutes ago, when I was telling myself I wanted to fuck her. This hits me in the gut like a freight train that I just groped my little Sophie. The girl who endured so much sordid shit and abuse through her entire life and it makes me feel sick to my stomach that I even did that to her. It’s wrong on so many fucking levels and sobers me up in a nanosecond.

Nothing brings back a hit of reality than actually taking a step out of fantasy and making shit real. Sophie wriggles in her seat to haul her dress back down where it hitched up and get back into position. I keep my eyes anywhere but her, as heat flames through me and I chastise myself for literally doing the absolute worst to her that I could do tonight. Groping her, even if I didn’t mean it, without her permission, is no better than what that asshole made her endure for years, or any of the pricks I saved her from in nightclubs for the last two.

“Sorry.” I have no clue what else to say to her. She trusts me to never cross this line and I literally had my hand between her legs and cupped her in a way that only a lover should ever do. I glare out of the window, beating myself up, pissed as hell that I crossed this line without even trying too. She isn’t that girl to me, and this makes that painfully clear once again, maybe once and for all, that I cannot go there.

Sophie wriggles about the seat a little more and I look her way, armed with a speech to settle the shame, or weirdness she is probably feeling. Except I am rendered silent when I see that rosy blush on her cheeks, the half-smile, and naughty look in her eyes; of the cat who got the cream, and it hits me like a lead ton weight, that she actually liked it. She looks happy.

It has the same effect as her pushing her own hand in my pants, and I tense to curb the reaction it gives me, all thoughts from seconds ago doing a complete U-turn on the power of that one expression on her. She controls me like a puppet, and I am only starting to see how easily she can. I know I’m throwing her a loaded look, self-control going to hell, and dick back to being hard, head completely on fucking her in this moment once again and try to reel it back a little. She has no idea the power she holds, and I wonder if alcohol is probably the worst idea when I am around her.

I went to shit after those two drinks, and my head has been places I never allow normally, all over the shop. Sophie throws me a sweet, yet cheeky smile, that seems to say, ‘it was nothing’ and I am completely torn suddenly, mood nose diving at a rate of noughts. I want to beat shit out of the guys who have pulled this move on her, that makes her think it’s no big deal, with a rage that seriously threatens to engulf me inside and out.

I hold it in, hating that this is nothing to her, and try to calm the inward war with rationality. Chastising myself, that might not even be what she means, and wondering how I can get so crazy mad, with only a look of indifference about this.

Is this jealousy? Is that what this is?

I take a moment to pull my head together, and it dawns on me that this might not be that at all. This might be because she trusts me, and knows it was accidental, and I already know she doesn’t abhor my touch. I sigh inwardly, trying to calm the fury and overwhelming sickness in my gut, cool my temper and mind, sliding my hand to find hers and encase it in my fingers in a bid to calm myself down on every level. No one stills me like she does, and as I entwine our fingers, I find that sense of quiet and calm amidst the storm that Sophie always gives me, and push all the other shit out of my head as I see the nightclub looming up ahead.

Deep breaths, clearing my mind and looking for calm. That inner rage is still dwindling inside my stomach like a glowing fire, but her soft warm hand encased in mine brings me that sense of peace and rationality, the need to turn protector and carer and I glance her way momentarily. The sweetness and purity that is my girl only serves to bring me down further. Her innocent little look and smile has me relaxing once more, and I remind myself that no assholes would ever do that to her and make her so blasé about it.

What that asshole did to her, that made her more sensitive than the average girl, would never allow her to be blasé about any sexual contact, and I am seriously overthinking this. I am Jealous, and it’s making me irrational.

She trusts me, she knows me, and she just put that down to a little mishap that she maybe didn’t hate. She already made it clear that she wants more between us, so her reaction isn’t exactly a shock. That’s all that was, nothing more. Me being overly sensitive because I’m jealous when it comes to her and other guys, and now I am back to square one, with how messy my feelings for her are.