Page 6 of Rafferty's Rules
‘I get that all the time.Allthe time.’
‘That’s... thas a terrible thing to say,’ she cautions, a cute frown marring her brow.
‘I know. Blame my mum. She tells me how handsome I am every night when she tucks me into bed.’
‘Oh, you’re a funny one. You sure don’ look like a momma’s boy.’
‘True story.’ And by that, I mean, probably not. Especially if a certain person can’t keep her mouth shut at Byron’s wedding.Fuck, I’m not gonna think about that right now.
‘Stop making me laugh. You’re givin’ me hiccups!
‘Come on, where we gonna take you?’ I ask, steering us back to the matter in hand.
‘You can take me to bed before you lose meforeverrr!’ With that, she jumps up, throwing her arms around my neck and her legs around my thighs. It’s not that she’s particularly big or heavy but more the stealth of her attack that has me staggering backwards a little. As I wrap my arms around her slim back, she takes this as an invitation to begin peppering kisses across my cheeks and neck with those warm, pillowy lips. What I said about my dick? It might not be true as her soft sighing breath tickles my ear, her tempting lips trail along my jaw where, if she knew me better, she’d know the graze of teeth makes me weak.
We all have our Achilles’ heel.
My heart rate seems to triple and not just because I can feel her hot centre at my waist or the round fullness of her tits pressed against my chest. Or even because I’m breathing in the scent of her floral perfume. No, it triples, quadruples even, at the moment she lifts her head, her melted chocolate gaze intent on mine. She brings her hands to my cheeks, her wine-sweet breath whispering across my lips. As she tilts her head a touch, her lips meet mine in a tentative brush. One brush becomes two, and before I can do what any decent man would do, she presses her soft lips against mine.
‘Kiss me.’ Her words are a whisper but carry the weight of a heart-rending plea. ‘Please, I need you to kiss me.’
And God, do I want to. I want to kiss every freckle on her face before working my way down. But kissing a drunken stranger is all kinds of fucked up and wrong. Yet I probably will.There’s no harm in a kiss,I tell myself. Just one...
‘I see how it is.’
I halt—freeze—coming back to the moment instantly at the greaseball’s surly words. I’m standing outside of a brothel with a drunken tourist in my arms. How fucking desperate am I?
‘You still here?’ I grunt. Setting her to her feet, the girl sighs in resignation, pressing the side of her body to mine.
As a precursor to his next words, he spits on the footpath. Fucking charmer. ‘You two look pretty cosy, but what about me?’
‘What about you.’ It’s not a question because that would suggest I give a fuck.
‘That bitch cost me my session with Candy,’ he says, watching as I bring her closer. ‘But I can see that’s not your concern,’ he adds slimily.
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘Well, you’re still gonna get yours, aren’t ya?’
The filthy fuck. What kind of scum fucks a woman off her face? Probably the kind who has to pay to get laid in the first place; the kind who wears cheap suits and has no septum, I’m guessing, by the way he keeps sniffing and wiping his nose. A filthy fucking coke-head. With a sudden gut-churning thought, I back the girl up against a nearby lamppost to examine her eyes in the pool of sickly light. Her pupils are huge, but that could mean anything.Like she wanted to kiss me.But it could also mean she’s off her face on drugs.
Leaving her leaning there like an abandoned bike, I stride back to the greaseball, rage suddenly balled in my fists.
‘What have you given her?’
‘What?’
‘What gear has she had?’
‘I dunno what you’re talkin’ about?’ he bleats as I wrap my fists in his lapels.
A worse thought crosses my mind. ‘Did you slip something into her drink?’
‘No!’
‘Tell me what shit you’ve given her!’ I shake him hard enough to dislodge his combover. ‘Cheaper than paying for two prostitutes, was it?’
‘I didn’t give her anything! I swear! I-I met her at the door and just took her in with me.’
