Chapter 6
Sarah’s wedding is beautiful.
Short ceremony, the kind that leaves people smiling and teary in equal measure. The reception fills a barn strung with fairy lights, everything gold. Long tables, mismatched chairs, flowers in mason jars. Exactly the wedding Sarah always said she wanted.
Dominic’s thigh is against mine at our table, under the tablecloth. Neither of us moves it. Every shift makes the contact more deliberate. My cock’s been half-hard since the ceremony.
Food, toasts, someone’s uncle running long. I laugh when everyone laughs. But I’m split, the room, and the man beside me. His hand inches from mine on the table. His breath warm against my ear over some joke about the best man’s tie. His knee pressing harder every time he catches me looking.
A slow song starts. Chairs scrape back around us.
“Dance with me.” Not a question.
I take his hand. His hands settle on my waist, mine on his shoulders. We move in a small circle, bodies brushing with every step. The world narrows to this, his hands, his heat, the way he’s looking at me like I’m the only other person in the room.
I can feel him through his suit pants. He can feel me too. No hiding it anymore.
“Bathroom,” he murmurs.
I nod.
We slip away, not to the bathroom, through a side door, down a hallway, into a coatroom. Small, dim, full of other people’s jackets. The door clicks shut. The music fades to a distant throb.
Dominic leans against the wall, chest rising and falling. The single bulb overhead throws deep shadows. He’s beautiful like this, rumpled and flushed, composure gone.
I drop to my knees.
The floor is hard, unyielding concrete under my dress pants.
I don’t care. My hands are already at his belt, fumbling with the buckle, the button, the zipper.
His cock springs free, already hard, already slick at the tip.
The sight of it makes my mouth water. I’ve never done this before.
Not with anyone. But I’ve thought about it. God, I’ve thought about it.
I wrap my hand around the base and guide him to my lips.
The first touch is strange, soft skin and heat and the taste of salt.
I lick the head, tentative, and Dominic makes a sound above me, a strangled groan that he muffles with his own fist. The knowledge that I’m the one drawing that sound from him goes straight to my own cock.
I take him deeper. My jaw stretches, my eyes water. It’s awkward, messy, nothing like the smooth choreography I imagined. But Dominic’s hips rock forward, and his fingers find my hair, and the weight of him on my tongue is the most real thing I’ve ever felt.
I learn by feel. The way his breath catches when I flatten my tongue along the underside. The way his thighs tense when I hollow my cheeks. The way he murmurs my name, low and broken, like a prayer he’s ashamed to make. I grip the back of his leg, feel the muscle jumping under my palm.
The door is closed. The party is thirty feet away. Anyone could walk in. The risk sharpens everything, makes every sensation brighter, more urgent. I take him as deep as I can, and his hips snap forward, and his fist presses harder against his mouth.
“Marcus.” His voice is a wreck. “I’m close.”
I don’t stop. I double down, working him with lips and tongue and one hand wrapped around the base. His body goes rigid. A sound tears from him, half-groan, half-sob, and he comes in hot pulses down my throat. I swallow, sputtering, and keep swallowing until there’s nothing left.
He slumps against the wall, chest heaving. I press a kiss to the inside of his thigh, just above the knee, and he shudders.
We straighten up. He tucks himself away. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. The dim light hides the flush on my face, but not the shake in my hands. We don’t speak. Nothing to say that wouldn’t shatter whatever this fragile thing is.
He leaves first. I count to sixty, then follow.
Back in the barn, someone’s started a conga line.
I find our table and sink into a chair. I press my fingers to my lips.
They’re still tingling. I can still feel the weight of him, the stretch of my jaw, the way his fingers tightened in my hair.
I take a long drink of water and try to look normal.
I fail. My heart’s still pounding. The taste of him is still on my tongue.
Across the room, Dominic stands with old friends, laughing at something, holding a drink he hasn’t touched. His eyes find mine over the crowd. A flicker. A secret.
No one else would notice. The way his smile changes. The way his eyes go soft for just a second before he looks away. But I notice. I notice everything now.
Someone hands me champagne. I don’t drink it.
I watch him move through the room, graceful and easy, the same man I’ve known my whole life. But he’s not the same. I’m not. The coatroom door, the concrete floor, the weight of him in my mouth… it’s all still there, pressed into my skin like a brand.
He catches me watching. His lips twitch, a private smile meant only for me. I should look away. I don’t.
The night stretches on, golden and endless. And in a room full of people celebrating love, I sit with the taste of my best friend still on my tongue, watching him laugh at something across the room like nothing happened at all.