Chapter 2
TWO
OLLIE
It turns out, being in a relationship did, in fact, curb my cravings for my best friend's girlfriend. Similarly, not being in a relationship brings it all bubbling up until I’m left choking on every regret that led to Vince asking Kat out first.
I’m happy for him. I am. Vince deserves someone who looks at him the way Kat does–like he’s the sun and she’s the moon, basking in his warmth–but that doesn’t stop the way my stomach somersaults when her thigh rubs against mine as we're basically snuggling in the hammock on the deck of Vince’s newly inherited cabin.
Breathing around Kat Newton has always been difficult, but right now, with her strawberry blonde curls spilling over my shoulder, I’m hyperaware of every inch of her body pressing against mine, and it’s fucking suffocating.
Every point of contact between us is torture.
I know I should get up. I should put some space between us. But I don’t. I can’t.
From the moment we got to the cabin, Kat has been bouncing around, snapping pictures of everything, including me.
I should hate it. God, I try to. But the more she laughs, the harder it is to keep myself in check around her.
As Vince’s best friend, I need to maintain enough distance to keep myself from exploding and my morality intact.
As a bisexual woman with a pansexual best friend, I’m proud that this has never been an issue in our friendship, and I’m desperate to keep it that way.
I refuse to come between my best friend and the girl of his dreams, even if she’s also the girl of my dreams. Though with her body crowding mine, so close, so natural, it already feels like I have.
Fuck. I should’ve stayed home. I should have put up more of a fight.
Now, I’m sitting here, in this too-perfect cabin, with too-perfect Kat stretched out beside me in a slinky black dress that barely covers her thighs.
The deep V neckline plunges recklessly, framing the smooth skin of her cleavage.
She smells like strawberry and vanilla, a fucking lethal combination that wraps around me tighter than any blanket.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Kat asks, her head finding a comfortable spot on my shoulder.
Fuuuck, this feels nice.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I manage to rasp out, my voice tighter than I’d like.
I stare at the canopy of pine trees above, trying to anchor myself to anything but the weight of her body.
Behind us, the screen door slams on its hinges, and Vince appears next to us on the deck.
He’s dressed in a pair of dark blue slacks and an almost sheer cream-colored button-up, the faint outlines of the tattoos covering most of his body peek ever so slightly through the linen fabric.
The top two buttons are left undone, showcasing his honeycomb neck tattoo that leads down to his chest. It took four sessions of him squirming like a little bitch under my needle, but he did it, and it looks incredible.
“Our reservation is in an hour,” he says, utterly oblivious to the war zone inside my head. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
“Jesus, do you guys coordinate attacks, or are you both just dead set on me ruining your dinner?”
“Shut up. You're not ruining anything,” Kat whines, shifting her weight against me as she attempts to climb out of the hammock.
The movement sends a fresh wave of her scent right into my stupid, traitorous brain.
Vince holds his hand out, and she takes his offer of stability and swings her legs over the edge, digging a hand into my thigh as she pushes herself up.
Any other moment, I would relish in the feeling of her hand on my bare thigh, but my focus is hijacked by the hem of her skirt, catching on the knitted fabric of the hammock, pulling it up her ass as she scrambles to her feet.
Her bare ass.
“Jesus, Kat. Are you not wearing panties?” The words tear out of me, raw and completely unfiltered. Heat floods my face, a violent, shameful wave.
My vision narrows as she hikes up the back of her skirt, flashing me the delicate black lace of her thong, buried between the cheeks of the most perfect, heart-stopping ass that has my every coherent thought evaporating into the pine-scented air.
I can’t speak. I can’t move. The imprint of that lace is seared into the backs of my fucking eyelids.
Kat giggles, casually tugging her skirt down, not a trace of shame on her face. She throws me a wink, and the normalcy of it is a physical ache–as if she hadn't just short-circuited my entire nervous system.
Vince chuckles next to her, shaking his head like he knows something I don’t. I don’t bother asking because, honestly, I don’t think I want to know. I’d rather believe that he is blissfully unaware of the massive crush I have on his girlfriend and leave it at that.
"Do not let her out of your sight.”
“Not for a second,” Vince replies.
Kat waves, wiggling just her fingers, then saunters closer to Vince, draping herself over him like a fucking cat in heat. I can't tear my eyes away from how her dress hugs her curves, the way her high heels make her legs look like they go on for miles.
I force a swallow, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wants out. Like it wants her.
I sink back into the hammock, watching Vince’s hand settle on the small of her back.
“Don’t burn the place down, and I’ll bring you back a cheesecake,” Vince calls out, but I’m too far gone to respond.
The ghost of Kat’s warmth sears my skin where she was pressed against me, and my pussy demands the kind of attention I can’t give it out here.
Once the sound of the car fades down the driveway, I roll out of the hammock, not caring how stupid I look, and climb to my feet.
The screen door groans as I shove it open and stalk inside.
The cabin is too quiet without them; every creak of the old wood is a deafening reminder of my own stupid heart pounding in my chest. I head straight for the kitchen and yank open cabinet after cabinet until I find the bottle of terrible whisky sitting there like a promise.
Regret juice.
I twist the cap off and take a long burning pull straight from the bottle. It’s awful. It’s perfect.
The vision of Kat’s black lace thong tucked into the smooth curve of her ass plays on a loop. Building the ache between my legs.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to the empty room, the words swallowed by the silence.
I drain another mouthful, the liquor now a warm familiar enemy in my gut, and set it down hard on the counter, not bothering to cap it yet.
I march to my room with horny determination.
My duffel bag sits on the floor near the bed.
A dark green lump of who I was less than 24 hours ago.
I crouch down and yank the zipper open, the sound harsh in the quiet room.
I pull out a crumpled black T-shirt and pajama pants with illustrations of raccoon faces littering the green fabric.
Reaching back in for underwear, my fingers brush against something firm. Something…
"Shit," I whisper. I completely forgot I’d packed these.
I hesitate for a moment before pulling out the cotton bag stuffed with a brand-new purple dildo, 10 inches, complete with a harness strap, and a black balaclava. A second mask is a hard-plastic model with a head strap—a white skull printed on the front.
Holding them in my hands now feels pathetic. I’d packed them for some stupid, kinky, fun in the woods with Justin. Now, they’re just a reminder of how badly I misjudge everything. How they always leave, and it’s always my fault. I could have tried harder. I could have fought harder for him to stay.
I wonder what Kat would think. How perfect the dark purple dildo would look as it slides into her pink…fuck fuck fuck.
This is dangerous. This is beyond dangerous.
I need to scrub the image of that black lace from behind my eyes. I need to wash the feel of her off of me, even though I want to drown in it.
Dropping the bag into my duffel, I rise to my feet and rush to the large en-suite bathroom. I twist the faucets until the water streaming into the clawfoot tub is steaming, then plug the drain.
My hands trembling with frantic energy, I strip off my clothes, tossing them under the vanity. I have never in my life felt this charged. This pent up. This out of control of my own body.
I step into the tub and sink into the scalding water, letting it swallow me whole. The sting from the heat does nothing to quiet the images in my head, and my fingers find my clit immediately, rubbing rough, desperate circles.
As fucked up as it is, I can’t help but imagine Kat as I touch myself, her skirt hiked up over her ass again, only this time she’s looking right at me, a smile stretched across her beautiful lips.
“Do you like what you see, Ollie?” she asks, hooking a finger under the thin lace and pulling it to the side, revealing her perfect pink pussy to my eager eyes.
My fingers move faster, rougher, as I imagine burying my face in her cunt, my tongue driving into her, fucking her with it. Making her scream.
I switch hands, slipping my used fingers in my mouth, tasting my own flavors, pretending it’s hers.
The water sloshes around me, splashing over the edge of the tub as I lose myself in the fantasy. I imagine Kat’s hands on me, her lips against mine, her tongue sliding into my mouth. I imagine her fingers replacing mine, pushing inside me, stretching me open.
I’m so wet, so fucking desperate, that my own touch barely registers. I need more.
“Good girl, Kat, make her fucking squirm,” Vince’s voice materializes in the fantasy as if he’s standing right behind me, a solid, warm presence. “Show Ollie how bad we want her.”
I moan, my hips bucking, my body trembling, my pussy having a fucking mind of its own. I push three fingers in.
I’m so close. So, fucking close.
“Look at you,” Kat moans in my head. “So needy for us.”
Us? US?
What the fuck is happening? And why does it feel so fucking good?
“She’s so close. Don’t hold back. She likes being used,” Vince coaches, his voice low and rough in my ear. “Don’t you, Ollie? Now that Justin is out of the picture, we have you here all to ourselves. To use you as we fucking please.”
The shock of his presence in my private sin is electric, and the fantasy of his approval is catastrophic.
“I know how much you want her, Ollie. Show her. Show Kat how much you want her.”
“Let me feel you, Ollie,” Phantom Kat moans. “Please! Cum for me, baby. Let go for me.”
The command shatters me.
My orgasm detonates, a brutal, convulsing wave that whites out my vision and arches my back out of the water.
“THERE SHE IS!” Vince cheers.
I scream, a raw, unfiltered sound ripped from my chest, as pleasure hammers through me in relentless pulses. For several seconds, I am nothing but sensation, drowning in it until I collapse back into the tub, breathing in shattered gasps.
Vince’s voice, so real and commanding in my head, now feels like a violation. I hadn’t thought of him like that for years. Since the crushes were so intense, I couldn’t help myself.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I press the backs of my hands over my eyes, trying to erase the impression of his approving gaze from my eyelids.
A fresh, traitorous heat pulses between my legs, a direct contradiction to the sick twist of horror in my stomach.
My body, betraying a lifetime of carefully constructed boundaries, can still feel the phantom pressure of his hands on my skin.
This is so much more fucked up than just wanting Kat. This was wanting them both, together, and them wanting me back.
I sink into the water, submerging my entire body, hoping to burn off the shame.
The crossing of a line that I’ll never be able to uncross.