My Best Friend’s Girlfriend Pinned Herself Against Me That Night

I met my best friend’s girlfriend a little over a year ago, and honestly, at first she didn’t catch my attention at all. She’s pretty, much prettier than the girls Bruno had dated before, but she wasn’t my type. I’d always gone for girls my own age, and she was almost ten years older than me: I was twenty-four, and both she and Bruno were in their early thirties.

Whenever there was a get-together among friends, a dinner, or a birthday, we’d all end up together. Nothing special. We got along well, talked about whatever, and that was that. It never even crossed my mind that there could be anything more, not even remotely.

Until about a month ago. One afternoon we were left alone at her place while Bruno and some other friends went out to buy food. We were both on the couch, the TV on in the background, and all of a sudden she made a strange comment.

—That haircut looks amazing on you —she said, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye—. You know what? If I were ever with a woman, it’d be with someone like you.

I laughed, not really knowing what to say.

—I don’t like women who are too masculine or too delicate —she went on, shrugging—. You’re right in the middle. Perfect, I’d say.

Perfect. She said it like it was nothing.

I didn’t give it much importance at the time. I thought it was one of those lines people throw out without thinking, the kind no one remembers an hour later. But something stuck with me, a small splinter that wouldn’t quite work its way out.

That same night, when I got home, I surprised myself by thinking about the way she’d looked at me. It wasn’t the look of a woman tossing out a joke into the air. It was a look that lingers, that measures, that waits for a reaction. I brushed it off immediately, of course. She was Bruno’s girlfriend, my best friend since college, the person I shared half my life with. There was no room for that kind of thought.

During the following days I tried to treat her exactly as always. But something had shifted. Every time I saw her, my mind started looking for signs where there had been nothing before: the way she’d leave her hand near mine on the table, how much she laughed at my jokes, those easy silences that suddenly didn’t seem so innocent anymore.

***

Things really changed a couple of weeks later. We left an event very late, almost at dawn: Bruno, his girlfriend, me, and another friend, Damián. We were far from our houses and decided to crash at Damián’s place, which was only a few blocks away.

When we got there, the usual jokes started. That I’d have to sleep with Damián, that maybe something would happen between us. Ridiculous, because I’m not interested in men, and even less in Damián, who has a face that doesn’t exactly help. In the end we sorted it out quickly: the guys settled on a mattress in the living room and the two of us in the back room, in the only bed.

The night was going fine. We could hear Bruno and Damián talking and laughing on the other side of the door, and we were doing the same in the bedroom. She told me a ton of stories, and we asked each other questions to get to know one another a little better: the music we listened to, exes, pets. That long, rambling kind of conversation that happens at four in the morning when nobody wants to sleep yet.

Until it was actually time to sleep. We turned off the light and got under the sheets, each on her own side. I thought that was the end of it, that I’d close my eyes and that would be that.

—I love sleeping spooning —she said suddenly, letting out a laugh that was way too naughty to be innocent—. Little spoon, huh.

I played along. I moved in behind her and held her, keeping some distance, because we were just starting to get comfortable with each other and I didn’t want to make her uneasy. But she wasn’t interested in distance in the slightest.

She pushed her body back until she was pressed all the way against me. I felt her back against my chest, her hips fitting into mine. And then she started moving. Slowly at first, almost imperceptibly, as if by accident. Then a little more. She rubbed her ass against my pelvis again and again, in a rhythm that was anything but casual. I could feel every curve of her cheeks pressing into me, grinding from side to side, trying to wedge herself between my legs.

—You like doing that, don’t you? —I said in her ear, in a low voice, biting her earlobe.

She didn’t answer. Instead of words, she pressed herself even harder, found my hand and brought it to her hip so I’d hold her while she kept rubbing against me. Then she slid it lower, over the little shorts she slept in, and made me squeeze her cunt through the fabric. She was hot, wet, so much so that the dampness seeped through and stained my fingers. My heart slammed against my ribs. I could feel the heat rising from the contact, that mix of not being able to believe it and not wanting it to stop for the world.

I stopped pretending it was a game. I ran my arm around her waist, then down over her thighs, matching the movement she herself was setting. I slipped my hand inside her shorts and brushed the hair of her pubic mound, then went lower and found her lips already swollen and slick. She trembled the moment I touched her. Her breathing no longer belonged to someone on the verge of sleep: it was short, ragged, broken every time she ground herself deeper against my fingers.

With a quick motion she pulled her panties down to her knees and arched her back, offering me her ass lifted high. After that there was no way to keep thinking. I lowered my hand, felt how soaked and burning she was, and slid between her folds with two fingers first, then three. I pushed them in slowly, feeling her cunt open up, tight and hot, sucking my fingers deeper. She stifled a moan into the pillow so it wouldn’t be heard on the other side of the door.

I started moving them inside her, curling them, searching for that spot that makes any woman lose her mind. When I found it, I felt her whole body tremble. I covered her mouth with my other hand just in time, because a long moan slipped out of her and sank into my palm. With my thumb I found her swollen clit and started rubbing it in circles while I kept fucking her with my fingers, in and out, in and out, faster and faster.

Every so often, from the living room, there’d be a laugh from Bruno or Damián, the sound of the TV they’d left on. That closeness, instead of stopping us, only turned us on more. We were doing something we shouldn’t, just a few feet from the man sleeping there trustingly, and we both knew it. She made that clear when she turned just enough to pin her eyes on me in the dark, without a trace of guilt.

—Slower —she whispered—. They’ll hear us.

But she didn’t want slower; she said it with her mouth and asked for the opposite with her body. Every time I eased up, she shoved her hips toward me, impaling herself on my hand. I kept her like that for a good while, pressed to my chest, while with my other hand I lifted her shirt and grabbed her tits. I squeezed them, pinched her hard nipples between my index finger and thumb, and she let out a muffled groan, biting her lip. Her skin was burning. So was mine, and I could feel my own panties soaking through against the mattress.

—Suck on them —she begged in a thin voice, turning her torso slightly—. Please, suck my tits.

I rolled her over until she was on her back, pulled her shirt all the way up, and locked my mouth onto one nipple. I sucked hard, hungry, switching from one breast to the other, biting the hard tips just a little while I kept working my fingers inside her. She grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me against her chest, arching, grinding her wet cunt against my wrist. When I pulled my fingers out and ran them over her upper lip, she licked them clean without hesitation, tasting herself all over.

***

At some point she turned over and pushed me onto the mattress. I ended up on my back and she straddled me, with that half-smile I’d already seen before at her place, the one from the out-of-place comment. Only now I understood perfectly what it meant. She yanked my shirt off, pulled my panties down my legs, and I was left naked beneath her, tits bare and cunt throbbing.

She moved down my body without hurrying, dropping kisses along my neck, my chest, my belly. She lingered on my nipples for a good while, sucking and biting them until they were red, and kept going lower, licking my navel, my pelvis, the insides of my thighs. When her mouth finally found my cunt, I thought I wouldn’t be able to stay quiet. She ran her whole tongue over me, bottom to top, sucking me slowly, savoring me as if she’d been waiting for this for months.

She opened my lips with her fingers and drove her tongue into me, then moved up to my clit and started sucking it with a firm, steady pull that made my back arch off the mattress. Every movement shook me through and through. She slid two fingers inside me while she kept sucking, and with her other hand she grabbed one of my tits and pinched my nipple. I had to bite my wrist hard enough to leave a mark so I wouldn’t wake half the house. I could feel her hot tongue going in and out, lifting to my clit, dropping back down again, and those fingers moving inside with a rhythm that gave me no relief.

—I can feel everything —she murmured at one point, lifting her head just enough, her mouth and chin shining with my wetness—. Everything.

She buried her face between my legs again and didn’t let up. She licked me until I felt myself coming, a dense wave rising from my thighs, tightening in my belly, and bursting against her tongue. I came in her mouth, biting my arm, my hips trembling, trying not to scream. She didn’t stop: she kept licking me slowly until I endured another smaller wave, the kind that comes when you’re so sensitive that even the lightest touch burns.

When she finally came up, she kissed me on the mouth and passed me my own taste. We settled against each other, legs crossed in scissor lock, cunt to cunt, chasing that friction that drove us both crazy. We started moving, slowly at first, then with more hunger. I felt her wet lips against mine, her clit rubbing against mine, the wetness of both of us mixing together. The energy she had was incredible. I kept thinking we’d stop at any moment, but she didn’t ease up: she climbed on top, set the rhythm, pressed her tits against mine, leaned in to kiss me and started again. It felt like she’d spent a whole year holding herself back and was letting it all go at once, with me.

I didn’t fall behind. I turned her over, put her on her back, and spread her legs. I kissed her breasts one by one, sucking them slowly, barely marking them with my teeth. I moved down at an unhurried pace, drawing a trail of saliva along her belly, until she had to cover her mouth with her hand. I opened her cunt with my thumbs and stared at it for a second, pink, shiny, swollen from so much use. Then I buried my whole tongue inside her.

I gave her exactly what she’d done to me. I licked her slowly, then fast, then with the tip of my tongue over her clit, then with my whole mouth. I slid two fingers in and curved them, searching for the same spot she’d searched for in me. I felt her tremble all over, grip my hair, tug me closer against her, repeat my name in a thin voice that could barely be heard. When she came, she clamped her thighs around my face and left me breathless. I felt the contractions around my fingers, a long fluttering, and a warm rush that dripped down my hand to my wrist.

There was something desperate in the way she sought me after that, as if she’d been holding back for a long time and only now allowed herself to let everything go. She pulled me up to her face and rode my mouth, sitting on top of it, moving her hips while looking down at me, one breast in each hand, offering herself to me. She grabbed my face, kissed me hard when she came down, bit my lip and then laughed softly, amazed at herself. In the pauses, when we stopped to catch our breath, she stroked my hair in silence, and that tenderness threw me off even more than the sex.

—You have no idea how long I’d been thinking about it —she told me at one point, her voice hoarse, her mouth pressed to my ear—. Since that afternoon at my place. I spent all that time imagining how you’d lick me, how you’d fuck me with your fingers, everything.

I didn’t answer. I kissed her again, long and slow, pushed my tongue all the way in, and let her body answer for me. I took one of her hands and brought it to my cunt, and she understood without me saying a word. She fingered me, three at once, and started moving them inside me firmly while kissing my neck. I did the same to her. We stayed like that, facing each other, fucking ourselves with our hands, biting back our cries with our mouths, feeling our cunts clench around the other’s fingers. We came almost at the same time, muffling our moans against each other’s mouths.

We stayed like that for almost the whole night. We’d stop for a little, catch our breath, look at each other in the dark without saying anything, and start again. She sucked my tits, I licked her cunt, we rubbed against each other, fingered each other, ate each other’s mouths. At one point she asked me to bite her neck while I finger-fucked her from behind, and I did it, making sure not to leave a mark. Another while we spent sixty-nine, with her on top, smothering me a little with her cunt on my face while she licked mine. I don’t know how many times I came. I lost count somewhere between exhaustion and desire.

We only stopped when she decided to, with the first light seeping through the curtain, the sheets a mess, the smell of sex clinging to the room. She settled against my shoulder, panting, still with her fingers between my legs, and fell asleep almost instantly, as if none of what had happened was anything out of the ordinary. I stayed awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, feeling someone else’s come drying on my thighs, trying to understand at what point my life had veered so far off script.

***

The next morning we acted like nothing had happened. The four of us had breakfast, made jokes about how badly you sleep on a mattress on the floor, and each of us went our own way. She didn’t even look at me differently. Bruno was still Bruno, oblivious to everything, telling me about his plans for the weekend.

Since that night, we’ve met up several more times, and a couple of those ended up becoming something. Never as intense as the first time, but enough for me to keep looking for excuses to run into them.

I know it’s wrong. She’s my best friend’s girlfriend, one of the people I care about most, and every time I think about it I get a stab of guilt. But then I see her come to a get-together, that sideways look crosses her face, and the guilt lasts only as long as it takes her to sit down beside me.

I don’t know how this is going to end, or how much longer I’ll be able to keep up the act of being the calm friend for whom nothing strange is going on. The only thing I know for sure is that she knows exactly what she’s doing, and that I, for now, have no intention of asking her to stop.