Tom sighed moodily, nudged a shell with his foot and glanced at his watch; he swore he could see the hands stop and shudder backwards.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath. He heard himself sigh again and swore, “Fuck, I sound like a bloody sixteen year old girl.”

Bending, he scooped up a small stone feeling its smooth contours with the pad of his thumb before heaving it out to sea with a deep grunt. He hated being alone, now more than ever as his mind kept returning to the very place it shouldn’t; returning to wide hazel eyes that watched his every move. He'd woken early this morning with just that image swirling through his dreams.

Tom felt disgusted when not minutes later he again caught himself mid-sigh as he contemplated the fact that Paris seemed completely unfazed by their encounter, in fact if anything she seemed to have forgotten it entirely; which, when he thought about it, offended him greatly. He was far from forgettable; well that’s what women told him. A self-depreciating grin flickered over his lips and was gone, replaced once more with a sullen scowl.

Scrubbing his hand through his hair, Tom’s thoughts turned to the bed he’d crawled out of at some ungodly hour this morning. His lips pulled into a grimace as he tried to remember her name…Charlotte? Didn’t really matter, he thought, she was interchangeable; a warm body to lose himself in.

He glanced at his watch for what felt like the fifth time in as many minutes. ‘Where is she?’ he grumbled under his breath. With a grunt he angrily kicked a small rock out onto the sand and watched moodily as a flock of seagulls swooped and haggled, before flying off in disgust.

“Oi. Knucklehead!”

Tom glanced up and felt a surge of relief, his mood lightening as he heard Paris’s familiar voice over the screeching gulls. Eyes slitting against the sun’s glare, Tom watched as she sauntered slowly towards him, a dark silhouette with voluptuous hips swaying.

“Hey you,” she called out again, her hand lifting in a quick wave, fingers waggling. “I’ve got ice-cream.” Her lips were spread wide in a happy grin and a smudge of chocolate fudge rode the tip of her slightly upturned nose. “You want some?” She laughed. “What am I saying, of course you do, here.”

Paris scooped up a healthy spoonful of chocolate ice-cream slathered in fudge and nuts and wove it temptingly under Tom’s nose, yanking it out of his reach several times before laughingly relenting and almost shoving it up his left nostril as she enthusiastically force fed him.

“Yum, right?” she queried.

Tom spluttered as he yanked his head backwards, only narrowly avoiding having his eyeball removed with a plastic spoon as her waving hand whipped through the air. Her whole body twirled in a tight circle as she laughed happily.

“Such a gorgeous day, don’t you think, Tom?”

As Tom searched the heavens, one eyebrow winged skywards as he watched black clouds gather on the horizon. “Sure, if you don’t mind getting blown off the face of the earth. What’s got you so god damned happy today?” he grouched, his own grey mood returning with her obvious happiness.

Paris grinned as she spun off the board walk and over the road to the row of small, brick town houses. Dancing up the front steps she glanced back over her shoulder as she fiddled with her key in the lock; banging her hip several times against the sticking wood to loosen her door she smiled. “He said yes.”

Tom idly watched Paris’s curvy rear, the hypnotic action of her hips distracting him. “Who said what?”

Paris breezed through the door, skipping backwards down the hall as she hummed, “Jason. Jason said he’d take me to Brad and Lucy’s wedding. I’m so excited,” a low giggle escaped smiling lips. “Now I don’t have to go alone and watch you dry hump, girl of the week, on the dance floor whilst I sit with great Aunt Petunia.”

Tom snorted, “Great Aunt, who?”

“Oh you know, there’s always some oldie that needs propping up. Unfortunately that’s normally the job I get stuck with while you’re of flirting with the hotties. Well not this time, Sonny Jim! I have me a hot date!”

“I haven’t got a date, hot or otherwise,” Tom muttered, sheepishly. “And what do you mean, hotties? You’re a hottie.”

Paris’ sarcastic snort and eye roll had Tom actually taking the time to really look at his friend. Her long legs morphed into a beautiful lush bottom. Yes, her hips were wider than some but her waist nipped in waspishly to create a beautiful sweeping curve. His eyes continued to travel upwards to small palm sized handfuls of flesh. Tom felt as if hovered at the precipice of a new discovery; his brain ground like a rusty motor as his mind shifted gears and he viewed what was once his best friend in a whole new light, “Well fuck me,” he murmured under his breath, “look who went and grew up.”

His eyes flickered over a face that he thought he knew like his own and was stunned at hints of beauty. ‘How’d I miss that,’ he wondered. Wide, thickly lashed hazel eyes. Long chestnut hair in a pony tail with small wispy curls that caressed high cheek bones and a dusting of freckles that graced a slightly upturned nose. Pretty but not loudly so; a soft gentle beauty that erupted into stunning when she smiled. As she was doing right then; Tom caught his breath as he watched her cock her head to one side, eyes twinkling and lips parted in a lopsided grin.

"What? Have I got ice-cream on my face?" She giggled, "That'd be right, probably walked around town with it smeared all over me." Paris snorted softly as she tried to see herself in the hazy reflection of the window. "I do too!" Paris swung back indignant, rubbing the tip of her nose. "Why didn't you say something?" Paris huffed, a small smile flirting at the edges of her lips.

Unaware that she was being sized up in a whole new way, Paris continued, “So, Thomas Hall, is without a date? Mark it down in the calendar ladies; I don’t think this has happened since you were, what, sixteen?”

Tom grunted as he followed her dancing form down the hall, wincing as she narrowly avoided stepping on the cat’s tail. Tom dropped to one knee scooping, Smiggles up in one large hand, smoothing the agitated cat with long, slow strokes.

“Why not?” Paris stopped mid twirl, propping her hip against the wall as she slipped the spoon between her lips, her tongue licked a morsel of fudge from the plastic as her eyes dropped to Smiggles. The normally antisocial cat rumbled like a hotted up roadster, her eyes closed in bliss as Tom’s fingers trailed down her arched spine. Paris shook her head; apparently even females of the feline persuasion were susceptible to the man's charismatic charm.

Tom shrugged, “I don’t know. No one’s caught my interest?”

With a quick smirk, Paris answered back, “More like you’ve run out of girls. I’m pretty sure you’ve hit just about every available woman in town.” She wiggled her eyebrows saucily, “And some not so available.”

Uncomfortable, Tom just shrugged. “ I don’t know, Paris, they’re just…” His voice trailed off uncertainly. “I don’t know…boring?”

“Don’t worry, Stud. I believe that Lucy’s cousin, Ashley, she’s going to be one of the bridesmaids at the wedding, is single and I’ve been told she has a lovely sense of humour.”

Tom searched Paris’s serene face for a trace of sarcasm, but she blithely stared him down as her small, pink tongue repeatedly lapped at the dollop of ice-cream that clung to the tip of the spoon.

“Great, just what I need,” muttered Tom, placing a comatose Smiggles onto the couch. When his hands were cat free he made little quotation marks in the air, “A great sense of humour. I bet her tits are like fried eggs and what curves she has, resemble a surf board. Whatever happened to hips an’ arse! What is it with women and being skinny? Nothing worse than knockin’ ugly bits with a bag of bones. A man likes some cushioning. Ya’ know?”

Paris’ eyes widened and her breath rasped on a choking breath as she listened to Tom malign the poor absent Ashley. She tried biting the insides of her cheeks to stop from laughing at the petulant look on her friends face, but her snorted laugh couldn’t be contained.

Ignoring his bad mood Paris ruffled his hair with her fingertips. “Don’t sulk, Tommykins. I’ll tell you what, give me 5 minutes. I’ll jump in the shower and then I’ll take you down to Scarlet’s. My shout. What do you say?”

“Scarlets?” Tom’s hopeful expression resembled that of an overexcited golden retriever. “Excellent. I challenge you to a ‘chicken wing’ eat off, loser pays!”

Paris scampered up the stairs, legs flying as she took them two at a time. She laughed as Tom called out, “And that includes chocolate mousse. That’s covered too, right? And beer, can’t forget the beeeer.”

Paris smile widened, she never could resist a happy Thomas.

::~:::~::

Paris staggered under the heavy weight of a very drunk Thomas.

His arm was flung over her shoulder and their hips bumped occasionally as she maneuvered them down the street. A taxi slowed and Paris contemplated shoving her friend into the back seat and sending him home, but one look at his blurry eyes and dopey grin and she knew that he’d be passed out within minutes and probably find himself dumped into the gutter shortly thereafter. With a resigned sigh she waved the driver on.

A fresh gust of salt laden air lifted the damp hair from the back of her neck as they rounded the corner onto her street. The boardwalk that traversed the beach front was empty, not a soul disturbing the soft swish of waves lapping the shoreline.

"Parrrrish?”

Paris’ stomach lurched as Tom’s alcohol fuelled breath huffed down her neck. “Yes, Tom?” she gulped fresh air into her lungs as she answered.

“I wanna goes danshing,” he slurred.

“Not sure that’s such a great idea, big fella. You’re not so light on your feet tonight.”

“No’s I’m nots, see.” Tom gripped Paris’ wrist and flung her in a wide arc, almost tossing them both into a nearby bush as he attempted to bend her into a low dip over his forearm. “I can tipsh toes through the tulipsh.” He hiccuped and gazed blearily down her top.

“Yes, I can see that, light as a feather. Fred Astaire, eat your heart out,” she giggled, patting the palm of her hand on his chest. “Now let me up, twinkle toes, before we both end up on our butts in the bushes.”

“Hell woman. Your tits are senshational. When did dis happen, Toots? ” A large finger gently traced the full curve of Paris’s breast, ending the caress with his fingertip atop her erect nipple.

Slapping his hand away, Paris pulled herself upright. “Good grief, you must be plastered.” Paris pulled her top back into place. “I’ve had these for a while now, about ten years at a rough guess. Come on, not much further.” With a good natured grin she slipped her shoulder under his and staggered the last few meters down the footpath. As they reached her front door she wedged Tom’s body up against the door frame; her curvy hip locked him into place, preventing him from sliding into a heap at her feet.

As she jiggled the key in the lock, a large hand snaked over her shoulder and cupped the soft flesh of her breast. Two fingers rolled and pinched her sensitive nipple, sending bolts of pleasure zipping through her system. Paris almost groaned as she pictured the way Tom’s mouth had looked locked around Tiffany’s nipple and in her mind’s eye, replaced it with her own coral tipped peak. His slurred, ”Fuck, babygirl, these are perfect,” rudely brought her crashing back to earth.

For a split second Paris had foolishly let her day dream loose, but with a single word it all came crashing around her. Her lip curled in disgust, "Don't you dare call me your, 'Babygirl', Thomas. I'm not one of your cheap fucks."

While her lip curled in rage, Paris could do nothing about her pain as it wedge itself squarely beneath her breast. Blinking back the moisture that seared against the back of her eyelids, Paris took a deep breath and slowly let her dream slip away. It wasn't Tom's fault; she was the one responsible for her own ridiculous fantasies.

For a brief moment she toyed with the idea of elbowing him in the gut and leaving him to freeze on her front doorstep. “If I didn’t know that you’re going to be so hung over tomorrow that you wish you could die, I’d make you pay for that.”

With a final angry twist of her key, Paris got her door open and managed to guide a stumbling Tom into her study, where he collapsed onto the bed and immediately commenced snoring.

Feeling a smidgen of pity, Paris dumped a glass of water and a pain killer on the bed side table, “You’re going to need this in the morning,” she smirked, satisfaction curving her lips into a smug smile.

::~:::~::

A shaft of sunlight bore through his eyelids and into his skull like a laser beam; the excruciating pain exploded into a fiery ball as he cracked one eye open.

“Jesus.” He slammed the offending lid shut again.

Tom groaned and the sound reverberated through his brain like a banshee on crack.

“Oh, fuckkk.” His voice cracked on a horse whisper and his hands gripped the sides of his skull in the vain hope that it would prevent his head imploding with every breath; to no avail, his head throbbed like a bitch.

Prizing one eye open again he almost whimpered like a little girl when he saw the glass of water and little white pill. Paris. He’d kiss her feet for this. Collapsing back into the pillows, his mouth foul, Tom wondered what the hell had happened. Little flashes of the evening began to filter through the haze as the drugs slowly did their job.

Paris laughing as they’d sat at the bar. Her face radiant as she spoke of Jason; the fucking wanker.

Beer. Fuck, lots and lots of beer.

Tom’s stomach revolted and bile seared the back of his throat.

With a valiant effort he swallowed and lay perfectly still, praying to a nameless god that his stomach would stop heaving. Flashes came quicker now…

Paris, her face covered in BBQ sauce as she worked her way through a pile of chicken wings. The both of them laughing uncontrollably when she’d dropped a wing and it landed in the crevice of her breasts.

Jesus her breasts! When the Hell had those appeared? If he was a betting man, and he was, he’d say the perfect handful. Tom snorted as his cock twitched. Nothing, not even a raging, mother of all hangovers could wipe the image of Paris giggling; sticky fingertips smearing sauce over pale flesh as she fished out the offending chicken wing, her face flushed with laughter as she’d hurriedly used her fingers to swipe clean the sauce left behind.

Shots…of something clear and strong, when Jason - the fucking wanker, arrived. Who’d invited that arsehole anyway?

Tom thankfully let his eyes close as his mind drifted and he began to recall more of the previous evening…

Tom felt his lip curl as he watched, ‘The Wanker’ stroll through the bar. A supercilious smile was etched upon the man’s narrow lips and Tom couldn’t help but imagine the size of the stick shoved up his arse that made him walk so pompously. Taking a healthy swallow from his drink, Tom uncurled his lip and swallowed his disdain along with his mouthful of bear. “Hey mate, how’s things?” he forced himself to pleasantly ask, offering his hand in greeting. Tom’s hand hung suspended in space as the seconds ticked by uncomfortably before Jason returned the greeting, his hand slightly limp when he eventually grasped Tom’s.

“Tom,” he replied, with a brief nod of his head. Turning his attention to Paris, Jason sighed and shook his head as he took in her rosy cheeks. He almost tutted like an old woman, “I think now may be a good time to switch to water, don’t you?” He crooked a finger at the barman. “Can I get the lady a mineral water, please. Here, take this with you, she won’t be needing it.” Unceremoniously Jason plucked the half full glass of beer from Paris’ slim fingers and placed it out of her reach on the bar.

Tom’s eyes widened and he held his breath, avidly awaiting the moment when Paris would nail the stupid fucker’s balls to the wall…nothing. Her cheeks flushed slightly and she lowered her eyes as she traced her fingernail through a droplet of water on the bar.

Tom felt his hands clench; rage clawing its slippery way up his spine as he watched the easy laughter slip from Paris’ face. He barely caught the urge to plough his fist into the fuckers face and ram the phony smile down the back of his throat when he heard Jason’s snide comment whispered into her ear.

“How many of those wings have you eaten, Paris? I think a salad would have been a better choice, don’t you? I mean, the wedding is only a few weeks away and I thought we’d already discussed you losing a few kilos.” Jason gazed pointedly at the full rounded curve of Paris' bottom perched upon the bar stool. “We don’t want to have to sit you at the back for the photos, do we?”

Tom’s gaze drifted to the swell of hip encased in firm fitting, blue denim; looked fucking sensational as far as he was concerned.

Paris flushed again, wiggling in her chair as she pulled down her top to hide the beautiful swell of hip. “You’re right, Jason. Guess I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

Tom did a double take, feeling his jaw go slack. ‘Sorry? Who is this woman!’

Jason, his back to Tom, slid his shoulder into the gap between the two friends, effectively isolating Tom. Tom heard his jaw pop as he ground his teeth in frustration while he listened to Jason boast about the account he’d closed that day and the money he’d be making.

“Fucking wanker,” he slurred under his breath, as he downed the last mouthful of his beer.

“I beg your pardon?” came a cool, crisp voice from his right.

Tom swivelled on the stool, his eyeballs taking several seconds to catch up with his head and he blinked slowly. He flashed a grin at the tall, elegant blonde sitting next to him. Not bad, not bad at all, his grin went full throttle as he took in the long legs encased in sheer hose, business suit and mass of hair caught in a neat chignon at the base of her neck. Tom’s cock pulsed pleasantly.

“Sorry. Just thinking out loud, but that’s no 'scuse.” Tom plastered a repentant smile on lips that wanted to work their way up the inside of her pale thigh.

The slightly snooty expression melted and the woman returned his smile with more warmth. “Oh don’t mind me; it’s been a long day. Meetings,” she explained, with a pained look.

Tom nodded as if he cared, his mind already envisioning her bouncing on his cock.

“Then let me get you a drink to help you wind down.” Without waiting for an answer he signalled the barman for another round. “What will it be...?”

As Tom held yet another half empty glass in his hand, his eyes strayed into the mirror behind the bar, watching Paris as he offhandedly flirted with the woman next to him.

Paris was very quiet, her attention split between the bar top where her finger traced the grain in the wood and the smug face of The Wanker. It annoyed him somehow that his normally vivacious girl was sitting there sombre and reserved.

Feeling suddenly irritated with everyone around him, Tom downed his remaining beer in one mouthful. Lifting his finger towards the barman he ordered a scotch which went the same way in two swallows. A haze settled heavily onto his shoulders, wiping out all clear thought. Smiling slowly at the woman in front of him he lent forward and whispered into her ear, “There is something about you... I can’t believe how hard you have me right now.”

Tom leant back, his bleary eyes almost crossed as he tried to focus. “Dammit woman. You’re driving me crazy,” he laughed depreciatingly while carefully watching the blonde’s response. Her lashes fluttered down and the corners of her lush mouth turned up in that secretive smile that attractive woman posses. ‘Now,’ he thought, and bought her hand to the inside of his thigh, placing her palm along the hard ridge of his sex.

The blonde’s eyes widened slightly at the thick shaft and her tongue grazed her bottom lip as her pupils dilated with lust.

“I need you so much right now, can’t you feel it?” Tom pulsed his cock, deliberately making it twitch and throb in her grasp. “Come with me.” He stood up and felt his head swim before he gripped the woman’s slim hips, lifting her bodily off the stool. He smirked as he heard her gasp. Women fell for this macho shit every time; he winked as her wide gaze focused on his. With a firm grip around her wrist, Tom surged through the crowds, towing the slight woman behind him.

He knew where he was going. He’d been in this position more than a few times. His smirk faltered as his cock wilted slightly. In a moment of clarity, he realised he was just going through the motions and he was in fact rather bored with the whole evening. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Paris as she smiled, her hand resting on Jason’s forearm as she listened to him.

‘Fuck it. Fuck her. Fuck them. Fuck everything.’

Powering through the door marked ‘Private’, Tom ushered the blonde into another room beyond it. In a matter of moments he had her pressed face first into the wall, arms stretched taut above her head with her wrists caught in his fist.

His teeth scored along the tendons of her neck as his free hand traced the delicate curve of her hip and thigh, dragging her business skirt back up her legs to reveal the tops of her stockings and the pale flesh of her thighs. Rough fingers teased the satin skin exposed above the stocking tops and a whimper escaped the woman’s lips as he swirled his fingertips within her folds, rubbing and pinching at her clit.

“Wait,” she whispered, “I want to see you.

The tip of her tongue traced her top lip hungrily as she let her hands discover the breadth and width of his chest. Her eyes travelled downward as nimble fingers slipped buttons from button holes and bared the wide expanse of tanned skin to her avid gaze.

Warm wet lips followed the trail of her gaze as she dropped to her knees at his feet; hot breath scorched his belly and Tom’s head tipped backwards as that heat engulfed and seared his shaft.

“Ahh fuck that’s good, babygirl,” he whispered as his fingers made havoc through her hair and his eyes drifted closed on the image of a blue eyed blonde hungrily consuming his throbbing cock.

Wet heat rode along the hard length of him and bright lights sparked behind his closed eyes as the woman’s talented tongue wrapped around the head and sharp teeth gently nibbled on the sensitive skin just below the mushroomed dome. Images of swirling chestnut hair became confused with blonde- blue eyes morphed into darkly lashed hazel that implored him to cum, to coat her lips with his essence.

Tom clenched his fists against the urge to explode, resisted the primitive need to smear her lips and face with his sticky residue as he slowly sawed his full length down into the back of her throat; hearing her gag slightly on his meaty thickness made him feel powerful and full of control. He gripped her hair in a fist and blearily watched as his length slowly slid back and forth through her plump lips, saliva coating the tightly stretched skin of his cock. ‘Fuck’, he thought,’So fucking good.’

The blondes fingers had migrated to her slit and Tom watched in fascination as her fingers became slick and drenched in her desire. The need to bury his cock right there between those pale white thighs roared through his blood like a freight train.

Slipping from her grasping lips Tom smiled smugly as he watched his cock bob and rock in front of her eager mouth, a mouth that was still open and willing, desperate to be filled. He teased her by placing the head of his cock on her tongue and rocked gently back and forth. Her lips locked around his head, sucking and trying to draw his length back to the hot recess of her throat.

A rumbled laugh echoed from Tom’s chest and he slowly shook his head, “Ive got a need to sink myself inside you, Babygirl.”

Tom carefully drew the woman to her feet and pressed her face first against the wall. He began to trace her svelte curves and imagined fuller hips and breasts that just filled the palm of his hands. He saw dark hair that swirled down her back, that he could tangle his fists in. He imagined hazel eyes and full lips that begged for him to take...’Whoa! What? Where did that come from?’

Tom physically reared back from the slim woman who restlessly rubbed her thighs together in need; in a frustrated move he dragged both hands through his hair, leaving it standing on end.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, her head tipped to the side offering the heat of her mouth.

Tom felt empty; the thought of kissing this woman, jesus, he couldn’t even remember asking her name, left him cold. His cock still throbbed with need, but in his gut he felt hollowed out and pathetic.

He moaned in disgust, but the woman took it as need and thrust out her arse, rocking against and teasing his swollen length. Tom wanted this over with; grasping a fist full of hair he thrust the woman over a pile of boxes, hoisted her skirt up over her hip and caressed the pale flesh. It wasn’t her fault, and he felt no small measure of guilt as yanked her black G-string to the side and trailed his thumb over her slick entrance.

Dipping his thumb within her sweltering slit he slowly traced the wetness up and over her swollen bud, rolling the little button until it pulsed its way clear of its hood. With a delicate touch he brushed a nail over the bundle of nerves till the woman’s knees buckled and her harsh breathing froze on a whispered moan of pleasure. He bought his cock head to the fluttering entrance of her sex and traced the drenched opening a couple of times before thrusting home roughly.

The blonde squealed in surprise and then arched in pleasure as he sawed his cock deep within her. Tom closed his eyes, shutting out the woman and concentrated on the pleasure only, erasing all thoughts by sinking into the sensation of her tight cunt clasped around his cock and the amazing feeling of his flesh gliding within her honeyed sheath.

He continued to thrust, alternating between deep and hard and shallow and teasing until he felt her convulse beneath him once more, and then he emptied himself over her back, watching as his cock jettisoned thick ropes of cum over the gentle curve of her spine.

Tom touched her hip. “You okay?” he whispered.

Wanting to escape the claustrophobic cubicle, Tom shuffled his way back towards the door, his hand running absently through his hair.

“Oh yes,” she murmured. “More than all right,” she sighed as she pushed herself upright. Blonde hair had escaped the restrictive bun and tumbled attractively around her face, and yet, Tom could feel nothing but the burning desperation to escape. “Would you like to…” her gentle voice trailed off as she finally got her hair tucked behind her ear and a clear view of Tom’s face. “I guess not,” her voice chilled slightly and a veil came down over her pretty, blue eyes as she comprehended Tom’s withdrawal.

With a grace and poise that guttered Tom, the woman slowly righted her clothing and quickly walked toward the door. ”Don’t worry, I can find my own way out. Good Bye.”

She stiffened as Tom’s fingers brushed her shoulder and twitched away from him. "Don't!" she whispered, brokenly. Without another glance in his direction she walked quietly out the door, the staccato click of her heels fading as she hurried away.

“Fuck.” Tom punctuated the word with a fist to the wall.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need a drink.”

::~:::~::

Tom groaned, rolled over and pulled the covers up over his head, he couldn’t remember all that much after making his way back to the bar, just stumbling down the road with Paris and something about dancing and boobs.

Tom’s head thumped and his mouth was as foul. His one wish was that he could die and just end the pain. Without another thought he slipped into oblivion on a pitiful groan.

::~:::~::