Just Like This

Emily

I couldn’t breathe properly. Not since the moment Maira’s finger had pressed against my lips. The wine had turned my limbs heavy and my thoughts slippery, but it hadn’t blurred the line between us, not until her mouth was suddenly on mine.

Her lips were soft. Softer than I expected. She kissed me like she’d been waiting years to do it, slow and sure, tasting the inside of my lower lip before sliding her tongue against mine. I froze. My hands stayed limp at my sides because I didn’t know where they were supposed to go. This was Maira. My friend who’d seen me cry over bad dates, who’d split late night pizza with me on the floor of this very living room. And now her tongue was in my mouth and my body was answering before my brain could catch up.

A small, involuntary sound slipped out of me, embarrassingly needy. She swallowed it, hummed low in her throat, and that vibration traveled straight down my spine. Her hand remained under my blouse, cupping the underside of my breast through my bra. My nipple hardened instantly under the lace. I gasped into her kiss.

She pulled back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “You’re shaking,” she said, voice rough.

“I—” My throat closed. I’ve never. The words wouldn’t come out. I’d never kissed a woman. Never wanted to. Or at least, I’d never let myself think about wanting to. But right now my skin felt too tight and every place she touched reacted in the best way.

“I know,” she murmured. “That’s why I’m going slow.”

She kissed me again, deeper this time, and guided my hand to the back of her neck. My fingers curled into her hair automatically, like they knew what to do even if I didn’t. She made a pleased sound against my mouth and pressed closer until I felt the heat of her body all along my front.

Then she was walking me backward. My calves hit the couch and I sat, more like collapsed onto the cushions. Maira followed without breaking the kiss, straddling one of my thighs. The pressure of her weight there made my belly clench. She tugged my blouse up, I lifted my arms like a doll. Cool air hit my skin and I shivered hard. She unhooked my bra with one smooth flick of her fingers, how did she do that so easily? and let it drop to the floor.

I tried to cover myself on instinct. She caught my wrists gently, lifted them above my head, and pinned them to the back of the couch with one hand. “Stay,” she whispered. “You need this.”

I stayed. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.

Her mouth closed over my nipple and the world narrowed to that single point of wet heat. She sucked softly, tongue flicking at first, then harder until I arched off the cushions with a choked sound. Pleasure spiked so sharp it almost hurt. She switched to the other breast, giving it the same slow, devastating attention, circling, sucking, grazing with her teeth just enough to make my hips jerk upward. Every time I tried to think this is wrong, this is confusing, this is Maira, another pull of her mouth erased the thought.

My arms trembled above my head but I didn’t move them. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.

She released my wrists finally. They fell to my sides, useless. Maira kissed down my stomach, open-mouthed, her tongue dipped into my navel until I whimpered. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of my jeans. I lifted my hips without being asked, my body listened even though my mind was still spinning in circles. She pulled everything down in one motion, jeans, underwear, socks. Then I was naked and she was kneeling between my legs, looking at me like I was something precious and filthy at the same time.

I started to close my thighs. She caught my knees, spread them wider. “No hiding,” she said. Her voice was so low it vibrated through me. “I need you to trust me.”

I let my legs fall open again. My face burned. She settled between my thighs, draped my legs over her shoulders, and looked up at me one last time. I couldn’t read the expression on her face, my head rolled back instinctively.

The first touch of her tongue was so soft I almost didn’t register it. Just a slow, warm glide from the bottom of me to the top. My whole body seized. A sharp, startled cry tore out of my throat. She did it again, longer this time, parting me gently. My hips lifted on their own, chasing the pressure.

She didn’t rush. She explored me like she had all the time in the world. Slow licks, then tighter circles around my clit that made my thighs shake. Every time the pleasure built too high she eased off, kissing the crease of my thigh instead, letting me come back down just enough to keep me desperate. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. They fisted in the couch cushions, then in her hair, holding on like she was the only solid thing in the room.

My breathing turned ragged. Little sounds kept escaping me, whimpers, gasps, broken versions of her name. I couldn’t stop them.

When she finally closed her lips around my clit and sucked, my back bowed off the couch. Pleasure coiled so tight it felt violent. My hips rolled helplessly against her mouth. She hummed, the vibration ripping another sob from me, and slid two fingers inside.

They curled immediately, pressing against that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. She sucked harder at the same time, her tongue danced inside my core.

The orgasm soon hit like a wave, my inner walls clenched around her fingers in long, helpless pulses. I cried out, nothing like my usual voice. My thighs clamped around her head, she didn’t stop, just kept that perfect rhythm until every aftershock rolled through me and left me trembling, oversensitive, twitching at the lightest brush of her tongue.

Only then did she ease off. She kissed the inside of my thigh, then crawled back up my body. Her mouth tasted like me when she kissed me again, I could barely kiss back, my lips felt swollen, my limbs liquid.

She gathered me against her chest, one hand stroking my hair, the other tracing idle patterns on my bare back. I pressed my face into the crook of her neck and tried to remember how to breathe normally. My heart was still slamming. My skin felt too hot and too sensitive everywhere she’d touched.

We stayed like that for what felt like forever, sweaty, tangled, quiet except for our breathing.

I felt myself giving in to the tiredness when three sharp knocks echoed through the apartment.

The knock seemed to clear the daze that had taken over. My eyes flew open. “Jack.” I was still in my apartment. Fuck! I just had sex with my best friend in my apartment.

Panic flooded me so fast my head spun. I scrambled upright, my legs were jelly, I almost fell off the couch. Maira was already moving, she grabbed my blouse and bra from the floor, tossed them at me, then yanked her own shirt back on. She finger combed her hair, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. In seconds she looked almost normal, except for the faint flush on her cheeks and the wet shine still on her lips.

The knock continued, increasing the tension. I clutched the blouse to my chest, swaying on my feet. My thighs were slick, I could feel it. My whole body still hummed with aftershocks.

Maira stepped close. She pressed one last soft kiss to my mouth, gentle this time, almost sweet, then winked.“I’m here if you need anything,” she whispered. “Anything at all.”

She walked through the kitchen door without a sound, leaving me standing naked in the middle of my living room, heart in my throat, skin still tingling everywhere she’d been.

I forced my legs to move. Pulled the blouse on with shaking hands, didn’t bother with the bra. Buttoned two wrong buttons and didn’t care. My hair was a mess, I could feel it sticking to my damp neck. Every step reminded me how swollen and sensitive I still was between my legs.

Another knock.

“Coming,” I called. My voice cracked.

I stumbled to the door on wobbly legs, took one deep breath that did nothing to steady me, and opened it, expecting to see Jack, but almost lost my balance when I realized whom it was. Andrea.

The same dark hair, the same red lipstick that had left a faint mark on Jack’s collar the first time I suspected they were having an affair. She stood on my doorstep in a cream coat that probably cost more than my rent, looking calm, almost sympathetic. My stomach dropped so hard I thought I might be sick.

“Emily,” she said softly, like we were old acquaintances bumping into each other at a coffee shop. “Can I come in? Just for a minute.”

My hand tightened on the doorframe. “I have no idea what Jack told you,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be. “Maybe he said I’m crazy. Hysterical. Whatever. But I’m not stupid.”

Andrea’s expression didn’t change. I wanted to wipe the snug look off her face.“It’s fine. I’m not here to fight. I just… I need to say something.”

I should have slammed the door. I should have screamed. Instead I shut the door and stepped outside with my arms crossed over my chest, because some stupid part of me wanted to hear it. Wanted to know how bad it really was.

“I’m here to ask you to leave Jack,” she said simply.

The words landed like a slap. I blinked, waiting for the rest of the sentence that would make this make sense.

“He’s in love with me,” she continued. “We’ve been together for two years now. Today is our second anniversary. We just want to be happy. That’s all.”

Two years.

Today.

My mouth went dry. Our wedding anniversary was today too. “So he asked to be with you, on the same day as our anniversary?”

Andrea tilted her head. “Not exactly asked. It just… happened. That first year, on your anniversary actually. You were sick. Fell ill out of nowhere. Jack was devastated, he’d planned so much for you. He was stressed, lonely. He needed someone to look after him. And all you did was…” She trailed off, shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Fall ill.”

I felt like a bucket of ice had been emptied on me. Two years ago. I wasn’t ill, I’d had a miscarriage. Eight weeks. I’d bled for days, then lain in bed for weeks after, too weak to stand, too broken to talk about it. Jack had brought me soup, kissed my forehead, told me we’d try again. He’d never once said he was lonely. Never once mentioned needing someone else to look after him.

I wiped at my eyes before the tears could fall properly. I wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.

Andrea stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume, something expensive and floral. “I know you see me as the bad person here,” she mused. “The home wrecker. The villain. But I’m not. I’m just in love. And I’m happy. For your own sake, Emily… it would be best if you let him go. He doesn’t love you anymore. He hasn’t for a long time.”

My chest burned. Rage, grief, humiliation, all of it came crashing. I opened my mouth, closed it, then forced the words out. “Get out.”

She didn’t flinch.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” I said louder, voice cracking on the last word.

“I hope you set him free.”She turned and walked away.

I don’t know what made me call out. I was acting on impulse. “Andrea.”

She paused, then turned slowly.

I wiped my face again, angry at the tears that just wouldn’t stop, angrier that she’d seen them. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I’m not leaving Jack.”

She raised one perfect eyebrow.

I forced a smile. It felt like broken glass in my mouth. “At least,” I said, “not yet.”

She studied me for a long second. Then she gave a small, almost amused nod. “We’ll see,” she said confidently.