“Your ass drives me crazy, Margo,” I hear him growl through gritted teeth, groaning as he grinds into me even further, even deeper, hitting a spot that’s so good, so right, so caught between ecstasy and pain that I almost see stars behind the blindfold. He smacks my ass again, bringing his fingers around my hip to press against my clit until I’m dizzy from the sensations.
I start to moan louder, wailing with every inch he gives me, moaning at the hot pulses of electricity that his fingers stroke from my clit, almost crying with the overload of pleasure, his cock almost more than my body can handle. I bury my face deeper into the bed, still blindfolded, arms stretched out forward, ass up and slamming back against Owen’s cock, against the hard muscles of his hips, against his own rhythm, both of us pushing to get his thrusts deeper and deeper.
“Your pussy’s so good,” Owen rumbles as he pulls out and flips me onto my back, his hands pushing my knees up and spreading me wide open. I feel his tongue lap at my opening, circling my clit, sucking the sensitive nub into his mouth.
“Owen!” I yelp. He sucks harder and then softer, alternating the pressure of his lips on me until I’m dragging my fingers through his hair, thrusting against his face. I’m getting close and he must sense it, because he moves away from me and slams his cock into my pussy again, reclaiming me with every hard stroke. “Fuck me,” I whimper.
“That’s a good girl,” he growls, tugging off the blindfold. I blink into the harsh light, my eyes locking on Owen’s as I wrap my legs around his waist, tilting my hips up to let him in so deep that each thrust seems to open up new valves of snapping delight, hitting new levels of pleasure.
“I’m coming,” I tell him, starting to turn my head away.
“Not yet.” He grabs my jaw and tilts my face toward him until our eyes are locked again. “Look at me when you come, Margo. Look at me. Come for me.”
His commands only heighten the sensations I’m feeling, and my mouth falls open in a helpless, high-pitched moan.
“That’s it…scream for me.”
His cock thuds and spears inside of me so hard my ears ring, until I can’t close my mouth for the squealing and panting, can’t hold the rolling ball of fire in my pussy anymore, and I feel my orgasm shatter me.
I don’t know how long I come for, but time seems to stand still as I grip Owen’s shoulders as hard as I can and ride out the bursts of pleasure, the release washing over me in waves, my body suddenly light as a feather, floating in space. I close my eyes and hear Owen let out a deep groan as his thrusts slow and deepen, and then he rolls onto the bed beside me.
For a few minutes we just lie there, and I stare at the ceiling and catch my breath as the weight of my body trickles back. I smile and groan, rubbing myself into the sheets as the last of the afterglow ebbs away.
I turn onto my side and see Owen on his back, chest rising and falling slowly, his angular profile pointed at the ceiling, lips parted. The remains of a smile on his face. I rest my hand lightly on his bicep and close my eyes.
Half-waking, soft pillow under my head and sheets wrapped around me, I feel a massive sense of relief pass through my body. Relief that none of that actually happened. That the bar, the drinks, the sex—was just some weird dream. For a few seconds I smile at how bad it would actually be—however good it might feel in my dreams—to not just irrevocably fuck up a friendship of eight years, but to ruin my career by sleeping with the guy who shares a desk space with me, a guy whose actual job it is to seduce women and then walk away and write about it. I almost smile when I think about how amazingly bad it would be.
Then I hear a male groan and feel somebody shift their weight on the bed beside me, and all that relief flushes away, replaced by a shuddering, cold dread.
I open my eyes and he’s there. Owen. Still naked, his big, muscular body face-down on the bed. It takes all my willpower to not scream, willpower I wish I’d had earlier. Owen shuffles again and I go so still I can feel my heart thumping, sirens in my head so loud I’m worried they’ll wake him up. What did we do?
Still holding my breath, I move off the bed, every rustle of fabric seeming as loud as a cymbal crash in the silence of the room. I grab my leggings and top from the floor—only because they’re there, because I’m in such a hurry to leave I would probably go naked right now—and creep toward the door as if the floor is laced with mines.
My head’s still spinning when I get outside, memories of what we’ve just done flooding back like some horror film I don’t want to watch. I walk back to Maddie’s bar to get my car while my heart sinks with every step. It’s not that I’m a prude, or a stranger to one-night stands—although to be fair, it has been awhile. And it’s definitely not that fucking Owen wasn’t incredible. Because it was, without a doubt, the best sex of my life thus far.
No. None of those things are the problem. The problem is the eight years of friendship between us, eight years that we’ve just compromised. Eight years of loyalty, of support, of having each other’s backs. Eight awesome, solid, harmonious years…all of it has come crashing down now, completely screwed up, sold for cheap. I’m in shock.
It’s not like we haven’t had close calls before. Drunken nights where we somehow ended up with only each other and a few more bottles of beer. Crashing out in each other’s dorms, sitting out on the Hollywood Hills telling each other secrets deep into the night. There have been times when Owen looked so good all I could think about was tearing his clothes off and sucking his cock. Times I’ve caught him eyeing my legs and you could see the sex fantasies playing out in his eyes. But each time we resisted, and each resistance was like a confirmation that our friendship was worth more than just a cheap fuck. Confirmation that we appreciated each other on some deeper, more important, more meaningful level. Scared that once we crossed that line we could never go back, that we’d lose so much more than we gained.
And yet here I am, getting into my car with no panties because they’re still on the floor of his apartment. Still incapable of believing it wasn’t some weird dream, unable to accept it.
Why now? Maybe it was the breakup, or the job stress, or the viral video, or maybe I’m just not used to drinking that much anymore. It doesn’t matter. Excuses don’t help. Not when you cross a line this big.
But maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe our friendship isn’t on the line, and everything between us will stay totally normal. All we have to do is act like it never happened, and if anyone can pull that off, it’s Owen and me. All I need to do is make myself forget the last few hours, forget the way his cock felt inside me, forget the way he made me look him in the eye when I came, and hope that Owen decides to do the same.
That should be easy enough. Right?
5
Owen
Something’s wrong.