My Husband's Best Friend Is Obsessed With Me

NADIA

“Oh, right there! Fuck me harder, faster!” the words spill in a breathless, girlish gasp.

I let out a quiet laugh, wondering what kind of pressure Felix was under to be watching p**n in his office.

He came home late last night, and we didn’t get a chance to talk. I was buried in a document that couldn’t wait. I needed to clear my desk if I wanted to make time for our fourth wedding anniversary today.

Wait!!

Was he watching p**n to gear up for tonight?

The thought makes me smile, heat stirring low in my stomach. It’s been too long. I shiver as memories of the way we used to tear into each other rush back, my body responding before I can stop it.

It’s been months. God, maybe years since he really touched me. The idea of him taking me tonight makes my chest tighten and my skin prickle. I can already feel the press of his body over mine, the roughness of his hands dragging over my breasts, the heat of his mouth between my thighs.

I shiver, breath catching as flashes of our old nights crowd in. When he’d pin me down on the bed and fuck me until I screamed, when we couldn’t get enough and when we left the sheets soaked and our bodies aching.

My nipples harden as images flash in my mind, and I squeeze my legs tighter, aching for him the way I used to.

If he’s watching p**n for inspiration, fine. Let him as long as tonight, I’m the one he loses control with.

I adjust my blouse to show off some cleavages, something to remind him what awaits him tonight after our dinner date.

A slow grin curves my lips, the kind that will burn in his memory long after I leave his office. My palm closes around the door handle, and I twist it deliberately, savoring the moment before stepping through.

“Oh fuck! You feel so good!”

A deep chuckle, heartwrenchingly familiar hits my eardrums. The man is bent over the woman on the desk, moving inside her with the same rhythm that used to unravel me.

I blink hard, swiping at my eyes as if that will somehow erase the nightmare in front of me. But no, everything is crystal clear.

My heart slams against my ribs. Am I hallucinating? My lips part around a whisper. “Felix.”

He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t even falter. If anything, his thrusts grow harder, driving into the redhead with a force that makes the papers scatter with each jolt, a coffee mug teetering dangerously close to the edge.

His hands clutch her waist like a vise, veins standing out on his tanned forearms as he slams into her repeatedly.

The woman's nails scrape across the polished surface, her cries echoing off the office walls and drilling straight into me. The sound makes my chest tighten, my breath catches, and I can’t look away even though every second feels like a blow.

I glance at the ring on my finger, then at the man I’ve been married to for four years. His name claws its way out of my tightening throat, again and again, like a wound that won’t close. I can’t stop wishing I’d followed my instinct and gone to lunch with Laura.

“I'm so close. Don't stop!”

I clench my hand into a fist, every muscle in my arm tight with the urge to strike him. But I don’t. I force my fingers open, my palm damp with sweat, and spin on my heels.

My steps are quick, almost frantic, carrying me out of his office and down the hall. I don’t stop. I don’t look back. By the time I reach my car, my hands are trembling so badly I can barely get the door open.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

I sniffle, nod without turning towards the voice, and tug the car door open before sliding inside.

Through the window, I catch him still standing there. He looks no older than his mid-thirties, tall with a lean build that fills out the white shirt clinging to his frame.

It looks tailored to his frame, sitting clean across his shoulders and chest, not a crease out of place. Everything about him speaks of control, of someone who doesn’t let life catch him off guard.

He’s a sharp contrast to me. Immaculate in his tailored shirt while I sit there rumpled, red-eyed, and falling apart.

What guts me most are his eyes. Wide, steady, filled with the kind of concern you don’t expect from a stranger. There’s no judgment in them, no impatience. Just a quiet weight, as if he already knows I’m breaking but wants to give me the space to decide whether to shatter in front of him.

His brows pinch together, the frown etched deep, and he doesn’t look away.

Minutes drag. He lingers there, rooted to the spot, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for me but knows better.

His gaze holds me captive even as I start the engine, even as the car vibrates beneath me and when I finally pull out, he’s still watching, still frowning, until the distance swallows him whole in my rearview mirror.

Felix doesn't come home. I sleep on the couch waiting still, hoping he'd get back and I'll ask him the series of questions pounding in my head.

I finally crawl into bed at 5 a.m. and switch off the alarm so I can sleep in. But a loud bang wakes me up earlier than I want. With a sigh, still groggy, I roll out of bed and head for the door.

Sleep vanishes when I see my husband in the kitchen. His tie hangs loose, his shirt is creased, and his face is pale with exhaustion.

I pour a glass of water and hand it to him. He drinks slowly, as if each swallow takes effort.

“Rough night?” I ask.

He nods. “I went out with the boys. My best friend’s in town, so we went to the club downtown.”

“Oh. When did he get in?”

Felix pauses mid-breath and looks at me as if the question is out of place, his gaze sharp, almost defensive. The silence stretches, and for the first time tonight, I feel the weight of something unsaid pressing between us.

"Really? You want to stand here and talk about Jordan?"

I cross my arms, rubbing one elbow absently. Of course I don’t want to talk about Jordan. I want to talk about us. I want to ask why he’s shutting me out, why he’s acting like I’m the enemy, like I haven’t been fighting for this marriage every single damn day.

"You just got home, and it's—"

“There you go again.” Felix cuts me off, voice low but sharp. “Trying to pretend everything’s fine. Aren’t you tired?”

I pause. My chest tightens, but I don’t let it show. "We made vows, Felix. Just because you’ve decided to forget them doesn’t mean I have."

He turns back to the sink, rinses the glass, then dries it methodically before placing it on the rack. The silence stretches as he wipes his hands on a towel. When he finally turns to face me, there’s something cold and final in his expression.

"The only thing keeping me in this marriage is the fact that my mother would be devastated if we separated. I don’t care about some damn vows, Nadia."

I inhale sharply. My lips tremble, but I press them together. I won't cry in front of him, not again. Not after two years of pretending this was just a rough patch.

"I’ve done everything I know how to do," I whisper, barely trusting my voice. “Felix, have I ever been a terrible wife to you? Ever?”

He swallows. I watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he avoids my eyes. “…No.”

“Then what did I do?” My voice breaks on the question. I grip the edge of the counter, steadying myself. “What did I do to deserve this?”

I take a breath, deep and shaking. “You keep late nights. You barely touch me anymore. You don’t ask how I am and today, of all days, I walk in on you…with your secretary. On our anniversary.”

He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t apologize, he hust shrugs faintly.

“I didn’t know you were coming to the office.”

My jaw drops. “What? That’s your excuse? You’re my husband, Felix. I can show up at your workplace whenever I damn well please.”

He steps closer… too close. He reaches out and cups my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Aren’t you tired of chasing someone who doesn’t want you?” he says softly. “You’re beautiful, Nadia. Any man would be lucky just to get a smile from you.”

I blink, confused. My mind scrambles to catch up. "What are you trying to say?"

He leans in, pressing his forehead gently to mine. His breath mingles with mine, warm and familiar. My heart leaps at the contact. I close my eyes, tilt my head slightly, just in case. Just in case he wants to kiss me. Just in case there's something left to save.

“Felix…” My voice cracks again. “You’re not… suggesting a divorce, right?”

He pulls back slightly, frowning. “No. My mother, remember?”

Right. Beatrice. She’d have a breakdown. She still calls me "her daughter" even when Felix isn't around.

“We can fix this,” I say quickly. “Counselling, maybe or a trip, just the two of us. I know a therapist and I have contacts, I could—”

“An open marriage.”

He says it so quietly I almost don’t hear him.

I stare at him.

“What?”

“I said—” He looks me dead in the eyes. “We could try an open marriage.”

I recoil as if slapped. My body jerks backward, breath caught in my throat.

“Felix.”

He brushes past me, shoulder grazing mine, deliberate, but just enough to make it seem accidental.

At the door, he glances back, eyes unreadable.

“I’ve already started,” he says, quiet and final. “So don’t try to talk me out of it.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll send you the rules tomorrow.”