“Of course not,” he replies, pushing off from the counter and walking toward me. “I just want to know where your head is at.”
My chin quivers as the guilt settles deep in my gut. “I’m so sorry. It was stupid. I’m so stupid.” My words are spilling out faster and faster.
“Hey! Hey! Stop that,” he demands, pulling me into his arms. “You’re not stupid. You’re human.”
His fingers brush my hair back from my face, his touch grounding me in the moment.
"You're not mad?" I ask, my voice trembling.
Vince exhales slowly, his thumbs brushing my cheeks as he studies my face. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t think so. No.”
The weight of what just happened presses down on me like a physical force. Ollie's kiss still lingers on my lips, warm and electric, and I can't decide if I should feel guilty or exhilarated.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper.
“You deserve more,” he corrects, and kisses my forehead. “And right now, you’re going to show me how much you liked it,” he says, slipping his hand under my skirt. “Show me how much you liked the taste of my best friend.”
Oh, fuck.
I bite my lip, torn between guilt and shame, but there is a comfort in knowing he’s about to feel just how much I like the way his best friend tastes.
FOUR
VINCE
I’m going to hell.
The road to hell is paved with inappropriate boners, or however the saying goes, and I am on a first-class one-way ticket to H-E-double-hockey-sticks. My seat on the southbound is solidified as a man who watched his best friend kiss his girlfriend and didn’t hate it.
I feel like hating it would be an appropriate response, but as hard as I try to convince myself that I hated it, the truth is pressing against my boxers, mocking my attempt to shape this into anything other than what it is.
I liked it.
Any pansexual deviant would enjoy watching two insanely attractive women going at it, but it’s not just the kiss that has me feeling so conflicted. It’s the way Ollie leaned into it, kissing Kat like she was the air she needed to breathe. Like she was desperate for it.Like she thought about it.
Kat isn't my first partner to bring up how often we hang out with Ollie. Sheisthe first to get wet at the thought of her, though.
So. Fucking. Wet.
Last night, my intentions were less than gentlemanly, initially seeking out the hate fuck of a lifetime, but seeing how turned on Kat got from one kiss only made me want to give her everythingshe’s ever asked for. I will serve her Ollie’s pussy on a gold fucking platter. Garnish and all.
Every relationship I’ve ever had crumbled into jealousy and pettiness about Ollie. Not that I blame my partners for wanting more of my attention, but I guess I never felt strongly enough about anybody to fight for any of them to stay, not until Kat.
From the moment we met, I hoped Kat would be the one to stick around. The one who wouldn’t see Ollie as competition. The one who wouldn’t ask me to choose. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect Kat to gravitatetowardOllie. To want to be around Ollie, seemingly as much as I do.
My cock enthusiastically agrees with this turn of events as I watch Kat shuffle around the kitchen with more pep in her step than I’ve ever seen.
She’s wearing one of my old band t-shirts and pastel pink cotton shorts that barely cover her ass. Her red curls are piled messily on top of her head, and she’s humming to herself as she pours sausage gravy over two plates of biscuits.
She turns, with both plates in hand, and catches me staring. A slow, knowing smile spreads across her lips, and my heart stutters.
She sets the plates down on the table, takes her seat, then leans against the edge, crossing her arms under her chest. The movement pushes her tits up, the thin fabric of my old t-shirt straining against them. I can just barely make out the outline of her nipples through the material.
"You're staring," she says, her voice teasing.
"Just admiring what’s mine.”
She rolls her eyes, “You’re ridiculous,” but the smile doesn’t move from her lips. She picks up her fork and cuts into her biscuit, her eyes flicker to the stairs before refocusing on her plate.
