Page 15 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
I stroke myself slowly at first. Not chasing anything. Justfeeling. Letting the ache settle into something familiar. My mind keeps painting her—Maya, in that dress, walking toward me across the patio.
The image in my mind shifts and she’s here with me in my apartment, slipping it off her shoulders in my imagination, that quiet confidence never leaving her eyes.
I bite my lip. My hips lift slightly off the couch as I stroke myself harder.
She’s naked in front of me, her soft breasts bare, her nipples pink and eager for my mouth. I reach out for her, running my hands up her sides, savoring the softness of her skin. Her eyes close and she lets out a soft moan.
“Ethan,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”
I pull her down so that she’s straddling my lap and she glides her hand down to wrap around my length. My fist tightens and I grunt as I stroke and stroke and pleasure pulses through me.
God, I can’t help it—my body chasing the feeling of hers. My hand tightens. My breathing goes shallow. I’m not trying to stretch this out. I need release. Closure.Something.
Fantasy Maya watches me as she runs her hand up and down my shaft, biting that full lip of hers, and I can’t stop myself. I cup the back of her head and pull her in for a deep, slow kiss. Our tongues tangle and she presses herself against me, her breasts squishing against my chest.
It feels so goddamn good, but I can already tell it’s not going to be enough.
I want her with me for real. Want her hands on me, her lips pressed against mine. The fantasy is good, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.
The only thing that could truly satisfy me is Maya—flesh and blood, warm and eager.
When I come, it’s sharp and quiet and lonely.
No relief. Just the silence afterward. The too-still air. The smear of regret lingering like fingerprints across my chest.
I stare up at the ceiling, heart thudding, and whisper, “Get out of my head.”
But I know she won’t. Not tonight.
Not any time soon.
***
The next morning is chaos—and not the charming, we-forgot-the-orange-juice kind of chaos. This is full-on, Type-A meltdown, runaway-train-with-rosé-in-hand chaos.
The grand ballroom of the hotel, usually pristine with soft cream walls and sparkling crystal chandeliers, looks like it’s been hit by a confetti tornado. A pastel macaron tower lies in ruins on the dessert table, crushed and smeared across the silver trays. A faint sticky scent of almond and sugar hangs in the air.
In the corner, someone’s quietly crying, a muffled sob that gets lost beneath the chatter and clinking glassware. Perched beside a gilded stand, the harpist clutches her instrument nervously.
“The energy here is… very hostile,” she murmurs to no one in particular, her fingers twitching as if she might bolt any second.
Danielle is right in the eye of the storm, standing center stage like a deer caught in headlights. She’s gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles shine white, the screen’s glow illuminating her pale face. A furious flush creeps up her neck, painting her cheeks a bright pink. Her eyes dart around, blinking rapidly, as if she’s debating whether to scream or faint.
Across the room, Simone—or Celine? Something vaguely French and unmistakably furious—is throwing the kind of tantrum only wedding planners know how to pull off.
“Icannotwork like this!” she shrieks, voice slicing through the chaos like a whip crack. With dramatic flair, she hurls her clipboard onto the nearest table, knocking over a champagne flute that shatters into sparkling shards. “You ask for miracles and then ignore the plan! I am done!Fini!”
Without waiting for a response, she storms out, tossing her hair with such theatrical precision it could’ve been choreographed for a soap opera.
Danielle lets out a choked noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I’m going to die,” she whispers, voice cracking. “I’m literally going to die in this linen robe. How can I pull this wedding together without a planner?”
Before I can even move, before anyone can,shesteps forward.
Maya.
Her heels click on the marble, and the whole room seems to hold its breath.
“No one panic,” she says evenly, loud enough to cut through the white noise. “We’re not going to let this little setback get in our way.”
