The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

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.

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

I fucking miss

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

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

ever pull off. Maybe we are Batman and Catwoman after all.” I focus on the task and not the inner war

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

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

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

play cool and pull all ounces of my mind out of the gutter where she is concerned. I need to focus on her

sexy Arrick. That sounds like I’m a rabid stray” She answers flatly, a dead

God, you’re beautiful.

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

your head

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

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

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

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

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

am a shithead; a drunk

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;

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