I never meant for it to happen with Emma, but after twelve years of being her best friend I finally stopped pretending the tension wasn’t there. We’d met in freshman year of college, bonded over bad cafeteria food and worse dates, and somehow stayed close through jobs, moves, and other relationships. She was the one I called when shit went sideways, the one who showed up with whiskey and zero judgment. But lately the hugs lasted longer, her texts got flirty at midnight, and I caught myself staring at the way her jeans hugged her ass every time she bent over to grab something from the fridge.
Last Friday she came over after work, still in her office clothes, skirt a little too tight and blouse unbuttoned just enough to show the edge of a black lace bra. We split a bottle of wine on the couch like always, legs touching, her bare foot resting against my calf. The movie we put on was background noise. She laughed at something dumb and leaned into me, her breast pressing against my arm, and I felt my cock twitch hard enough that I had to shift.
“Fuck, I’m so wound up,” she said, turning to face me. “I haven’t gotten laid in months and my vibrator’s starting to feel like a roommate.”
I swallowed. “You could always tell me these things, you know.”
She smiled, slow and knowing. “I just did.”
The air changed. I set my glass down, cupped the back of her neck, and kissed her.
She tasted like red wine and spearmint gum. Her tongue slid against mine immediately, hungry, and she climbed into my lap without breaking the kiss. I felt the heat of her pussy through her panties and my jeans. My hands went under her skirt, gripping her ass, pulling her tighter against the hard ridge of my cock.
“Jesus, you’re already soaked,” I muttered against her mouth.
She rocked her hips once, grinding. “I’ve been wet since I walked in. Every time you hugged me goodbye these past few months I went home and fucked myself thinking about this.”
I stood up with her still wrapped around me and carried her to my bedroom. Clothes came off fast. Her bra hit the floor and I sucked one dark nipple into my mouth while my fingers pushed her panties aside and sank two knuckles deep into her cunt. She was dripping, tight, clenching around my fingers as she moaned my name.
“Get on the bed,” I told her. She lay back, legs spread, and I stripped the rest of the way. My cock stood straight out, the head already slick. Emma reached for it, stroking me with both hands, thumb circling the crown.
“I want to taste you first,” she said, and pulled me forward until my dick slid between her lips. She took me deep on the first try, throat relaxing, eyes watering but never looking away. I fucked her mouth slow, holding her hair, watching spit run down her chin onto her tits. When I was close I pulled out, flipped her onto her stomach, and buried my face between her cheeks. I licked her from clit to asshole, tongue pushing inside both holes until she was shaking and begging.
“Fuck me. Please. I need your cock.”
I lined up and drove in hard. She was so wet I bottomed out in one thrust. We both groaned. I fucked her like I’d been waiting years, hips snapping, balls slapping against her. She reached back and spread herself wider so I could watch my cock disappear into her stretched pussy. Every time I pulled out she clenched, trying to keep me inside.
I flipped her again, hooked her knees over my shoulders, and pounded deeper. Her tits bounced with every thrust. She came first, back arching, cunt pulsing around me so tight I almost lost it. I kept going, chasing my own orgasm, until I pulled out and painted her stomach and tits with thick ropes of cum.
We lay there breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. Emma dragged two fingers through the mess on her chest and sucked them clean, eyes locked on mine.
“Round two in ten minutes,” she said. “And this time I want you in my ass.”
I laughed, already getting hard again. Twelve years of friendship, and we’d finally figured out the best part.
