Forever Bestfriends

FOREVER BESTFRIENDS

Looking around my small flat containing everything that I own in the world, I smile. To a stranger, it might look pathetic, but to me, it’s perfect, mostly because I am free. The lack of furniture and meaningless things doesn’t bother me. Right now, I have everything I want: my bed, three bookshelves holding all my favorite books, my small black desk with my laptop where I write down all the craziness inside my head. A second-hand couch and my self-made coffee table divide the large room. It’s me, and it’s perfect.

The old kitchenette works just fine for the small amount of cooking I do. But it desperately needs a paint job. The orange color almost stings my eyes. I like colors, but if they aren’t blue, then no, thank you. So today is paint-shopping day. Grabbing my bag, I walk down the six stairs, smiling all the way down.

After an ended relationship, you shouldn’t be smiling, but I am. The only thing I regret is the waste of four years of my life on a man who didn’t see my worth. It was always him, his friends, his family, his hobbies. I tried because I loved him. No, I tried because I loved the man he was when we met—a man who saw me, a caring and amazing man who thought my opinion mattered, a man who wanted me to be happy, a man who wanted us to be happy together. But that man was just a façade, and after less than a year together, he slowly started to change.

I didn’t realize it until I read my old diaries. Reading the sad notes I had written was a wake-up call, and I cursed myself. How could I let this happen? How could I become that girl who started to live the life her man wanted? I talked to him about it, and I explained that I needed change. Of course, he promised to change. I gave him time—more time than I should have.

The last year with my ex was unbearable, perhaps because I realized that this is not how I want to live. Mark had always been jealous, but the further we grew apart, the more suffocating he became. I guess that was a product of him wanting to keep me while not working for it. Eventually, I stopped going out with my friends. The many texts and phone calls from Mark ruined the nights anyway.

“Wilma, where are you?” “Wilma, send a picture of yourself right now!” “Have you talked to any men?” “Send me a picture of your friends.”

I make a face thinking about it and the many arguments we had over other men who were only in his imagination. I have always been loyal. I have never even flirted with another man during our time together. When I step out of the building, I draw a deep breath. It’s over now. Let it go. It’s time to shine, be me, be free. With that thought in mind, I walk down the street toward the paint shop.

Entering the small shop, I walk straight to the paint section. Grabbing the folder with the blue shades, I start searching. Do I want something darker, or do I even want blue? I mean, I love blue, but what if I won’t like it after a few months? I stand there with a deep frown, lost in thought, trying to picture my kitchenette in the different shades of blue—or perhaps gray.

In the corner of my eye, I see someone step up beside me. Then a large hand reaches for one of the folders hanging on the wall beside me. Narrowing my eyes, I stare at his tattooed hand. His long sleeve rises over his wrist, exposing more of the tattoo. I know that tattoo. I have seen it during my stalking on his social media. My eyes widen, and I turn to look at the man. I lied before. There is one more thing I regret. I regret losing contact with my oldest and closest friend, Killian.

“Killian?” I say almost in a whisper, and his brown eyes with green specks turn to me. First, they shine with surprise, and then they start sparkling with happiness. I met him at my first job as a waitress at his father’s restaurant, and we were inseparable from that very first day. No one has ever made me laugh like Killian can. Not with anyone else do I share so many crazy memories. Swallowing hard, I stare at the drop-dead gorgeous man that every girl wants. I would be a millionaire if I got a dollar for each time my ex was jealous of Killian and started a fight over him. Mark was insecure, and “jealous” was an understatement when Killian was around. He had no reason to be. We are not more than friends.

Well, there was a short moment when I wondered whether anything could happen between us. After nine years of friendship, we were both single at the same time. Both our breakups had been painful, so we decided to spend long, lazy days on the beach, getting drunk, and just having fun. And we sure did. The whole summer was filled with nothing but that and crazy adventures.

One night, we were drunk, walking home from one of the many beach parties. Out of nowhere, cold rain poured from the sky, almost as if someone had opened a hole in it. The freezing water made me squeal, soaking my white summer dress. Laughing, Killian grabbed my hand and pulled me to safety.

Pressed close together in a small protective corner, we laughed. When I looked up and our eyes met, a wave of electricity rushed through me, tingling between my thighs. I realized just how close his hard body was to mine. I wasn’t wearing a bra that night, and my dress had become see-through from the rain. I felt self-conscious as his eyes flickered over me, lingering on my hardened nipples. But as his gaze heated, the cold vanished. I felt warm—like it was the first time he had truly seen me.

If it hadn’t been for the large group of shrieking girls… I’m not sure, but it felt like he would have kissed me, and at that moment, there was nothing else I wanted.

“We should go. My place is the closest,” he said, pulling me back into the cold rain.

Suddenly we were silent, the air between us heavy with anticipation. My mind was already in his bedroom: me, sitting naked on the edge of his bed, with him standing in front of me, slowly peeling off his wet clothes. I imagined him kissing my neck, pushing me onto my back, sliding inside me, and licking and biting my breasts each time he entered.

When we reached his apartment, I hurried into the bathroom and peeled off my soaking dress, wrapping myself in a towel. After drying off, I walked out, excited but frustrated—unsure what had just happened between us. He had already changed into fresh clothes and even gave me one of his T-shirts and a pair of shorts. We looked at each other. My heart was pounding, my senses heightened.

“You can take my bed,” he offered, but there was more in his tone. I opened my mouth to answer, and his phone rang. The spell between us broke, and with a sigh, he checked it.

I couldn’t sleep that night. It was maddening knowing he was lying just in the next room—so close, yet so far. I couldn’t stop imagining him naked on the couch. Was he as restless as I was? The desire he had stirred in me burned across my skin and needed a release. I slipped my fingers between my legs, imagining Killian’s hands on me—running up my thighs while his hot, hard lips and soft, wet tongue pressed inside me. Biting my lip, clutching the sheets, I pictured him, hard and thick, pulsing inside me as I reached a bittersweet orgasm. I needed more. I wanted more.

The next day, sober and clear-headed, we slipped seamlessly back into our platonic friendship. Nothing more. “Wilma, it’s really you,” he says, as if he can’t believe it. Giggling, I look up at him and his dazzling smile. As always, it’s contagious, and soon my smile is just as big.

“Yeah, me, myself, and I.” He chuckles, the sound bringing back so many good memories. Suddenly, I feel guilty for just stopping talking to him—and I should feel guilty. He was a good friend, and I let Mark decide my life. Looking away, I feel my eyes sting. I didn’t cry when I walked out on Mark, but here, seeing Killian, I want to let the tears pour down my cheeks as they did that night.

“Hi, stranger,” he says, his voice low, and I look back at him. There are so many things I want to tell him, ask him to forgive me—no, I want to beg him and spend the rest of my life making it up to him. After moving to my new apartment, I took on a new habit: hours of snooping through Killian’s social media. He looked happy, and that made me smile.

But the guilt of just disappearing on him was tearing me apart, so I started practicing what to say while looking at his pictures. It felt like he was more than miles away as I looked at the photos of him smiling while traveling the world. I had a speech ready in my head in case I ever saw him again, but right now, with his eyes on me, I can’t say a word.

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again,” he says, pain in his mesmerizing eyes, and I shake my head.

“I am so sorry. I don’t know what more to say.” Nodding, he looks around the shop before turning back to me.

“So, where is the boyfriend?” A snort leaves me, and he raises his eyebrows.

“There’s no boyfriend here—or anywhere else.” A small smile starts playing on his lips, making butterflies flutter in my stomach.

“So, does that mean you want to meet up soon?”

“Yes, I would love to. It’s been too long! I have a new apartment. It’s not much, but it’s perfect for me.” I start to ramble, and he places a finger against my lips, effectively silencing me. With big, curious eyes, I look into his, sparkling with something I don’t know if I dare to think about.

“Just give me the address, and we can talk when I come to your place tonight. I need to pick this up—I promised my dad,” he says softly, pulling his finger away. As the connection breaks, my lips part, and his eyes travel down to my mouth.

“I miss you,” I whisper.

“I miss you too.” We stand there quietly, just looking into each other’s eyes, the air thick with emotion, almost like that night.

How could I have sacrificed our friendship for my ex’s ego? How could I have stepped away from the best person in my life? It was stupid—and pointless. Even though I stepped away from Killian, Mark never showed me any faith.

“So, do I need to stalk you on social media to find out where you live, or are you going to tell me?” he asks with a teasing smile, and my cheeks burn bright red. Does he know I’ve been stalking him? Of course he does! What did I expect when I liked and commented on everything he had done for the past year? Thanks to Mark’s jealousy, it had all been new to me. If I had liked Killian’s photos or commented on them, the argument would have escalated.

So I didn’t look. Now that Mark is gone, I have no reason not to like and comment on his photos. After I manage to stutter out my new address, Killian smiles and says goodbye before leaving, promising to come to my flat tonight. I stare at his retreating back, counting to sixty before I practically run home and straight into the shower. Shaving my legs and other areas, I make sure to be soft as silk before stepping out. Shit—he never said what time, just “tonight.”

Almost panicking, I tear through my wardrobe in search of something to wear. Pulling on the little black dress, I inspect myself in the mirror. Damn, I look like I’m about to go clubbing, not have my best friend over. Groaning, I pull off the dress and search through my clothes again.

“I don’t have anything to wear!” I shriek in frustration, placing a hand over my face.

“Stop this. This is Killian,” I say aloud, taking a few steadying breaths before grabbing one of my cute summer dresses—the kind that works even if you just spend the night at home with your best friend. As soon as I’m ready, I sit on the couch and stare at the door. It feels like days have passed before there’s a knock, and I jump up so fast that I almost stumble over the coffee table.

“Ouch!” I shriek, hitting my toe on the table and hopping on one leg. I hurry toward the door. Slamming it open, I give him a wolfish grin, and he chuckles. Okay, this was not the way I wanted this to go. Smiling sheepishly, I look down at the floor, cheeks burning.

“For you,” he says, holding out a bouquet of wildflowers to me. Smiling up at him, I take it, our fingers brushing, and goosebumps prickle my skin. My eyes slide over his bare, tattooed arms, up to the T-shirt clinging tightly to his broad chest.

“You remembered,” I say, almost swooning at the fact that he remembered I’d rather have a guy pick wildflowers for me than buy them.

“Of course. I remember everything about you,” he says, grinning widely.

“Thank you. These are so beautiful,” I say, utterly surprised by his words.

“I only just moved in. There’s a lot of work to do,” I continue, suddenly feeling self-conscious as I gesture for him to step inside.

“It’s great, Wilma.” He’s not looking at the room at all—just at me. I gulp, forcing my eyes to stay on his face and not drift down to his toned, bare, tattooed arms. He seems so much bigger than I remember, filling all the space in my tiny flat, towering above me like a predator over its prey. The thought sends more goosebumps across my skin. I need to say something, anything.

“You’re gorgeous,” I blurt out, instead of what I should say: “How have you been?” or “I’m sorry for what I did.” Sure, it’s the truth, but right now, it’s my body speaking, not my conscience. Killian doesn’t want me like that—he hasn’t said anything—and embarrassed, I drag a hand through my long black hair.

“I should put those in water,” I say, and just as I’m about to walk to the kitchenette, he cups my chin in his hands, stroking my cheek with his thumbs. Stiffening, my eyes widen as I look into his. I’m not sure what to think or do. Should I move? But what I want to do might not be what he wants. I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around him, feel his body against mine.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he says, and dropping the flowers, I wrap my arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. I squeeze him hard, never wanting to let go.

“I’m sorry,” I say with a nervous giggle, pulling away—but before I can step back, he grabs my chin and tilts my head up. I watch his lips descend on mine, and a million years must pass before they connect. The kiss is gentle, sweet, but soon our tongues are dancing wildly.

The kiss tells me everything—how much he’s missed me—and I make sure he can’t doubt that I’ve missed him too. When he presses me harder against him and I feel how hard he already is, I’m undone. There’s no turning back. Desire floods through me, and my hands fly to his face, pulling him into fast, hungry kisses. He answers with a hunger I’ve never seen before, his hands roaming down my back, squeezing my ass, slipping under my dress.

Every inch of my skin ignites under his touch. We tear at each other’s clothes with urgency, and before I know it, he’s dragging me to my bed, kissing and undressing me in a blur. When I’m bare, lying on my back, I part my legs for him. He pauses, kneeling above me, eyes raking over every curve, his chest tense above the waistband of his jeans. His muscles flex as if restraining himself, but the heat in his gaze makes me shiver.

“I’ve waited too damn long for this,” he mutters, bending down. His mouth, hands, and tongue explore every inch of me, teasing from knees to inner thighs, stroking and licking with exquisite torment. Even better than my fantasies, I can’t think of anything else as his tongue flickers over me. His fingers part me, probing, sending shivers racing through me, and he groans at my response. I gasp as he sinks his tongue as deep as he can, lapping me, drawing out moans, setting my body on fire.

“You’re amazing,” he groans between licks. I press my hips into him, whispering that he’s the amazing one. His fingers slide inside me, curling and stroking expertly. I lift my hips, silently begging him to enter me, and he answers, thrusting two fingers inside. Pleasure explodes, and I cry out, but he doesn’t let me rest—he teases me, withdrawing and thrusting again, dragging me to the edge once more.

I reach for him, tugging his hair, scratching his shoulder, desperate to feel him fully—but he keeps what I want hidden beneath his jeans.

“Soon,” he whispers, quickening, his tongue working with relentless precision. Waves of pleasure crash over me as a scream leaves my lips, my body shuddering under him. Still with fingers inside, he flips me onto all fours, pulling me up to kneel with my back to him. His hands continue their merciless strokes, drawing me to another climax. I reach back, gripping him through his jeans, stroking him as he thrusts his fingers harder, deeper, his lips pressing against my neck, my body trembling with yet another orgasm.

When he finally pulls away, I catch sight of him pulling a condom from his pocket. Did he plan this? My pulse races as I watch him unzip and roll it on. He came prepared—he came wanting me. Should I feel angry? Maybe I should, but instead, it makes me want him even more. Stupid, maybe. Heartbroken, perhaps. But he wants this, and so do I.

When he presses against me, my whole body trembles. Happiness and desire swirl inside me as he slips in. Grabbing my hips, he controls my movements. It’s overwhelming, yet I can’t understand why I waited so long. Pulling out and thrusting back in, he groans and curses. Knowing he loves the feeling of me heightens my own, and I feel almost wild with desire.

Swiveling around, I wrap my legs around his back, gripping the back of his neck, looking straight into his beautiful eyes as he enters me again.

“Fuck, baby!” he curses as my pussy clenches around him. His mouth moves to my neck, tracing down to my breasts, while shallow, hard thrusts bring us closer to ecstasy.

He pushes me down to my elbows, groaning as he speeds up. His expression changes, his body tensing—he’s close. I feel every muscle coil, and when his cock twitches inside me, all I can do is ride him over the edge.

Pulling out, he lays back on the bed, drawing me against his chest. My head rests on his shoulder. We lie still, catching our breaths. There’s so much to say, but I don’t know where to start.

After fifteen minutes, he props himself up on one elbow, eyes twinkling with a smile.

“This is crazy,” I giggle, and he chuckles.

“Yeah, it is crazy. I thought about you so much after you disappeared. When I heard you were single, I knew I had to find you. Then today, there you were, in the store, and I couldn’t stay away.” He smiles, and I lift my hand to stroke his stubbled cheek. Has he been thinking about me too? I guess he has.

“I’ve missed you, but I don’t want to ruin our friendship. I can’t lose you again. I don’t know what this means for you, but… I guess everything is going to change? I’m not ready for another relationship yet. I need to be me. Find me again.”

“Wilma, easy there,” he says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.

“It’s okay. I understand. I don’t know what I’m doing either. All I know is that I’ve wanted this ever since that night in the rain… maybe even before that. No matter what, you are my forever best friend.”

“Since the rain?” I ask, my words trembling, because that’s exactly how I feel.

“Yes. But before we dive into that or talk about the future, I have a list of things I want to do with you—both here and outside this apartment.” His fingers brush over my cheek, sending shivers through me.

“Do we start at the top or the bottom of that list?” I tease.

“We should probably start at the bottom,” he says with a wicked smile, grabbing my hips before kissing me. I feel him harden against me, and in one swift motion, he pulls me on top of him. His erection presses against my folds, and I grind against him until he groans.

Grabbing his shaft, I position myself over him.

“After tonight, I’m going to have you everywhere. That corner, even if it’s not raining. Then back to my place, pulling you into the shower—I’ll fuck you there. Then on the coffee table you made. I watched you slide your hands over it, but all I could think about was how your hands would feel on me. I’m going to have you on every surface you’ve ever touched,” he groans as I sink down on him.

“What else?” I moan, my walls fluttering around him as his fingers dig into my hips.

“I want to see you pleasure yourself,” he groans, and I slip my hand between my legs, never taking my eyes off him.

“But what happens when we’ve done all that?” I moan while riding him.

“Don’t worry about that now,” he says, breathing hard.

“Fuck, babe, you’re amazing,” he groans, thrusting his hips as his hands move to my ass.

“The list is very long, so don’t worry—you’re mine,” he whispers, The words “forever best friend” echo in my mind, warm and grounding, even as desire surges between us. It’s a promise, a truth, a connection I had almost lost—and now it’s back, unbreakable. In that moment, my life feels complete.

THE END