My Best Friend's Girlfriend

I’m Jake, twenty-eight, single as hell and not exactly proud of how often my hand has been my only company lately. My best friend Mike has been with Kayla for six months now, and every time the three of us grab drinks or crash on my couch for a movie, I catch myself staring at her like a starving man. She’s twenty-four, all long dark hair and that confident little smirk that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to a guy. Mike barely touches her anymore—she told me that herself, more than once, leaning in close while he was in the bathroom or grabbing another round. “He just rolls over and scrolls on his phone,” she whispered one night, her thigh pressed against mine under the table. “I need someone who actually wants to fuck me, Jake. Someone who looks at me the way you do when you think I’m not watching.”

That was the first time the air got thick enough to choke on. I laughed it off, mumbled something about Mike being tired from work, but my cock twitched hard in my jeans. She knew. The next time we hung out she wore this low-cut top that kept slipping, and when Mike went to take a call she reached over, brushed her fingers along my forearm, and said, “I’m so fucking horny all the time. It’s driving me crazy.” Her voice was soft, almost casual, but her eyes locked on mine and didn’t look away. I wanted to shove her against the wall right there, hike up her skirt, and show her what it felt like to be wanted. Instead I swallowed hard and changed the subject, because Mike is my boy and crossing that line felt like lighting a match in a room full of gasoline.

The tension just kept building. Every hangout turned into this slow torture. She’d sit close enough that her bare knee nudged mine, complain how Mike hadn’t gone down on her in weeks, how she woke up aching and wet with nowhere to put it. I’d nod, pretend to be the good friend offering advice, while my mind flooded with images of her on her knees, those full lips stretched around my cock, her perfect tits bouncing while I fucked her from behind. She caught me adjusting myself more than once and just smiled that wicked little smile, like she was keeping score.

Then Mike left town for a long weekend—some work conference three states away. He texted me to keep an eye on things, joke around about not letting Kayla get too lonely. I didn’t answer that part. Around ten that night my doorbell rang. I opened it and there she was, standing under the porch light in a tiny white sundress that barely covered the tops of her thighs. No bra—her nipples were already hard little points pushing against the thin fabric. Her hair was down, loose and a little messy, like she’d been running her hands through it.

“Hey,” she said, voice low. “Can I come in?”

I stepped aside. The second the door shut she turned to face me, close enough that I could smell her perfume mixed with something warmer, skin-level. “Mike’s gone till Monday,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about you every night this week. Fantasizing. Touching myself and pretending it’s your hands.”

My mouth went dry. “Kayla—”

“Don’t.” She closed the last inch between us, pressed her body flush against mine. Soft tits mashed to my chest, the heat of her pussy noticeable even through the dress and my sweats. “I know you want this too. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

I wasn’t wrong. My hands found her waist on their own, fingers digging into the thin cotton. “You’re not wrong,” I said, voice rough. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for months. Every time you talk about how he doesn’t touch you I want to bend you over and make you come until you forget his name.”

She made a soft, needy sound and rolled her hips, grinding that hot little cunt against the hard ridge of my cock. “Then do it. Please. I’ve been so empty.”

That was it. I crushed my mouth to hers. She opened for me immediately, tongue sliding against mine, tasting like mint and pure hunger. Her hands shoved up under my shirt, nails scraping my abs as I walked her backward toward the couch. The sundress was nothing—I yanked one strap down and her left breast spilled free, full and heavy, nipple tight and dark. I broke the kiss just long enough to latch onto it, sucking hard, teeth grazing while she arched and moaned my name.

“Fuck, Jake—yes—”

I spun her, bent her over the back of the couch, and flipped the tiny skirt up. No panties. Just smooth, bare pussy already glistening, lips puffy and parted. I groaned, dropped to my knees, and dragged my tongue straight up her slit. She tasted sweet and salty and perfect. I speared her with two fingers while I licked her clit, and she pushed back against my face like she was starving for it.

“I’ve wanted your cock so bad,” she gasped, looking over her shoulder, eyes glassy. “Every time we hung out I got wet thinking about you filling me up instead of him.”

I stood, shoved my sweats down, and freed my cock—thick, hard, already leaking. I rubbed the head up and down her wet folds, coating myself, teasing her entrance. She whined and tried to push back onto it.