Stitches

“So finish undressing me,” I murmur, watching her.

“Um, I…” She hesitates, but loses whatever argument she has with herself in her head. Rolling her eyes, she finally says, “Fine.”

My heart kicks up a couple speeds as her hands move toward my belt. I watch her fingers as she pulls back the leather and pulls the prong from the hole. She’s careful—too careful—not to touch me as she slides the leather through the buckle, then drags it through the loops of my slacks. She leans over me and tosses the belt near the chair where the rest of my clothes are.

“Missed,” she remarks with forced lightness.

“Zero points.”

She cracks a smile, then it drops as she looks down at my pants. “I’m not sure I should take these off. Your drunken brain might get the wrong idea.”

I scoff, amused. “Probably. Don’t be offended if you encounter a hard-on.”

Moira blushes, but at least she doesn’t seem uncomfortable. “Like I said, probably shouldn’t take those off. If you want to, feel free. I can go grab a pair of Sebastian’s pajama pants for you, if you’d like. That would be much more comfortable to sleep in. You both have slim hips, so I think those would fit you just fine.”

My drunken brain tells me an okay thing to do right now is to reach for her hips and draw them closer. I’ve resisted the bad ideas up until now, but somehow this one travels through me before I can stop it, and before I know it… I do. She lets me pull her closer to my body, but she looks understandably uncertain about it.

“Griff, what are you doing?”

I know the right thing to do here is tell her to go back to Seb’s room, but that leaves me alone, and alone is the last thing I want to be right now.

I shouldn’t take advantage of her sympathy—and that’s exactly what I’m doing—but I can’t keep the words from tumbling out of my mouth. “Stay with me.”

I see resistance in her eyes. I see the very reasonable argument that she can’t stay with me because she needs to go back to her husband, my best friend, and while she feels terrible for me that my wife is a faithless cheater, she isn’t, so she isn’t going to lie here and cuddle with me while her husband sleeps alone in the next room.

Since I see that argument in her turbulent blue eyes, I add, “Please.”

It pokes a hole right in her perfectly good argument, exactly as I intend it.

Fuck, drunk me is an asshole.

But he’s a smart enough asshole, because Moira nods and stays put.

I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but Drunk Asshole Griff isn’t as worried about it. I find myself reaching over and touching her face, running the back of my hand along her smooth cheek. I can’t help being drawn to her. I’ve never been able to help it. I was drawn to her at first sight, but that’s nothing new. Moira is an incredibly beautiful woman, so it’s commonplace for men to be physically attracted to her.

I tell myself it’s normal to think about her breasts and her ass, to imagine yanking up that pale blue nightie and pinning her body beneath mine. It’s normal to imagine kissing her, to think about how soft her lips would be, what she would sound like. Is she a loud fuck, whimpering and crying out? Or is she more soft sighs and low moans? She seems like she would be soft sighs and low moans, but then I think about the naughty stories she used to tell us. Maybe she’s dirtier than I give her credit for. It’s always the quiet ones, after all. When Seb says she was busy sucking his cock before dinner, I imagine him as the aggressor, but maybe she’s hungry for it.

Fuck, now I’m hard.

Now I’m picturing Moira opening her pretty little mouth for my cock, looking up at me with those big blue eyes as I slide into her throat.

“Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

I shake my head, tempted to roll on my back so I don’t have to keep looking at her, but that might draw attention to the tent currently erected in my pants.

I gotta get my head right before I end up doing something I’ll regret.

“What movie were we going to watch tonight?” I ask, to distract myself.

Her expression lightens, since this is a safe subject. “Sabrina. It was a Hepburn night.”

“Oh, well, I’m despondent that I missed that.”

She smiles and pokes me in the arm. “Whatever, you love it. Remember when we all watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s together?”

“I’ve tried to block it out. I lost street cred that night.”