Friday lunchtime finally came. I’d made it through my first lectures, and in between downed a sickening amount of shots while partying with housemates. I’d made new friends too. Did I party this hard during my first time at university? There had been a lot of late night’s spent studying in the library and ensuring I followed the plan. Still, I couldn’t remember going out, nor drinking until my head exploded and there definitely weren’t guys pinning me against the wall as their kisses brushed my neck.
I was still horny, and I hadn’t heard from George apart from a couple of messages checking in on me. Although I hadn’t spoken to him on the phone, I’d listened to him every morning in my shower while getting myself off. His deep voice had caressed my skin as water had cascaded down my body. Every word he spoke made me ache between my thighs. My wetness had joined with the soapy water, and I’d stroked my clit as he’d talked about some inane topic or played a random quiz. No matter what he spoke about, his voice reached inside me as I’d moaned his name. Phone sex with him would probably kill me, not that we’d ever do that because we were just friends and couldn’t be more. How many times had I reminded myself of that this week?
I recalled the one kiss we’d had when we were seventeen. We were playing truth or dare, and Erin from our class, who’d never hidden how much she fancied him and was jealous of our closeness had dared us to kiss. I don’t know what she expected, maybe that he couldn’t go through with it because of our friendship? I would have noticed her disappointment, but his tongue was in my mouth. He was never one to ignore a dare. I was knee walking drunk and had followed up the kiss by vomiting on his shoes. We hadn’t repeated our moment after that. His reason being, “I only have two pairs of these trainers, and I don’t want them both ruined.”
There was another problem in my first week of university. My housemate, Jamie, had decided that he was going to bed me. He was attractive for an eighteen-year-old. But that was the problem – he was eighteen. Jamie repeatedly called me MILF. He thought he was cute, but I was ready to punch him or show him how good sex with a grown woman could be.
But then again, did I know?
I’d had some mediocre sex before university and then Brian. He was pleasant enough, and he knew his way around my body. But I’d never screamed. I’d never woken up knowing that I craved another fuck with him. He was as efficient in the bedroom as he was with a spreadsheet; he got the job done, but it was all about finishing, rather than the fun you could have on the way.
Since moving into halls, Jamie was always by my side, especially on our night’s out. Was he waiting for me to give him the nod? He’d be waiting a long time. My body wanted George, and it was getting harder to ignore it. I needed to fuck George out of my system with a random guy, but I didn’t want to become the legendary university MILF to do it, and I didn’t want anyone else anyway. Why was everything so complicated?
During my last lecture of the week; Performance Anxiety and Motivation, I considered the teenage kiss again, or rather George’s inability to say no to a dare. Should I dare him to go on a night out with my housemates? I could sell it as giving him fodder for his radio show and insight into his target audience.
I quickly tapped out a message to him and waited. His reply came in quick.
George: I’ll be at yours for lunch, and then I expect to have the craziest student night there is.
My face flushed bright enough to draw a furrowed brow from my lecturer. But I styled it out by pretending I’d lost my pen and then holding it aloft as if it was a prize. But how was I going to style out a visit from George? If only it were as simple as pretending I’d lost my pen. There was the other, more significant issue, too. We had a friendship that I couldn’t destroy for something as minor as a good fuck that I might be able to get somewhere else. I had to stop craving George or tonight could be the end of the most important relationship in my life.
What was I going to do?
“The thing is,” Jamie started as he thrust a hand through his quiff, “you’re hot as fuck, and I reckon you could teach me a lot. So what do you think? You could come to my room now if you want.”
I was standing in the communal area of our student apartment in just a fluffy dressing gown and a pair of my best knickers. George was due in the next hour, and I needed the time to make a lot of effort so I could look like someone who’d made none at all. Men had no idea what we women put ourselves through.
Jamie gave me a wink from the other side of the room. His back rested against the wall next to his bedroom door. All the bedrooms opened out onto the communal area I shared with two other females and three males. In the short time since we’d moved in, we’d affectionally named the space Grand Central. People were coming and going all the time. In two weeks, there had been more sex in this apartment than I’d had in the last couple of years with Brian. I’d walked in on a couple of pairs doing it on the edge of the kitchen sink on different afternoons. I was jealous, but not enough to go near Jamie.
“I’m alright, Jamie, but thank you for the offer,” I replied with a polite smile. His eyes lingered on me as I opened the fridge and reached for the bottle of wine I’d picked up after my lecture. I needed alcohol-fuelled courage to get me through today.
Jamie cleared his throat, and with a sigh, I turned back. I’d tried tough love. What else could I do? How many requests did he think it would take to convince me?
“You’ll change your mind. Already I’m one of the most wanted guys on campus. We’ve got a year together in this flat. One night you’re going to come home drunk and horny, there will be a knock at my door, and then we will have passionate sex,” he replied. Was I as confident at his age? I wasn’t even that confident now. There was nothing aggressive in the way he shared his tale of the future. It was more hopeful and had a hint of wistfulness.
“No, there won’t be, Jamie,” I replied sternly.
“Yes, there will be, my lovely MILF,” he smiled. I don’t think he realised how much of a dickhead he sounded. He believed it would happen. I couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t if the level of arousal I was fighting was likely to continue. Imagine if I had come home last week? Thank goodness for George.
“Look there won’t be because, because,” I stuttered at his hopeful face. “Because I have a boyfriend already.”
“And this is the first time you mention it? I don’t believe you. I’ll continue to wait for that knock at my door, my sexy MILF.” He gave me one last smile before heading back into his bedroom.
“He’s coming round in a bit and partying with us tonight,” I shouted to his retreating body.
Why had I wanted to move into halls? I’d wanted to experience university life properly like I’d missed out on the first time. The staff had assured me I would be in an apartment with people nearer my age, but aside from a twenty-six-year-old woman, they were all either eighteen or nineteen.
I unscrewed the wine and took two long swigs, ignoring the nasty sharp taste. It was the cheapest in the off licence.
Maybe I should move, but that would be the whole first-semester rent gone as I’d paid upfront and I’d have to fork out more for somewhere else. There was no point worrying about it now. George was due in an hour. I ticked the jobs off on my finger.
But what was I going to wear? I took another swig hoping to clear my hangover and headed back to my room.
I froze in my doorway. That couldn’t be George; he was never early. But I couldn’t risk Jamie getting to him before I did. I daren’t imagine his face if Jamie asked if he was fucking the MILF.
I skidded across the lino to the front door and yanked it open. I swallowed noisily. George was in front of me in his night out best. A checked shirt that clung obscenely to his body, smart jeans and brown brogues brought an internal sigh of delight. He was handsome as well as hot, and my sex clenched immediately with expectation.
His gaze trawled from my head to my toes, pausing momentarily at where my dressing gown gaped at my chest. At the heat from his look, sweat beaded my neck.
“Wine already? Bad morning?” He smiled. I wasn’t sure how, but he immediately conveyed his unusual combination of shy cockiness. I heard it when he was on the radio, and face to face he was the same. George was cocky, and he charmed and amused everyone with his boy next door persona, but he had vulnerabilities too, and in groups of people, he often listened because he wasn’t sure what to say. He understood the impact of mental health struggles and had helped his brother through panic attacks brought on from PTSD. He’d been there for me during my most vulnerable moments; when I’d failed my first accountancy exam, when Brian’s parents had embarrassed me at a family party, and the night I found out my mum was having tests for cancer. I’d loved him like a best friend since I was fourteen, but this urge to have inside me while covering my body with kisses and pushing me to climax was different. Was it new or had it always been there, and I’d learnt to ignore it?
More importantly, how did he feel? Was I just Midge, best friend and like a sister. Everything had changed for me, but that didn’t mean it had for him.
“No. It’s not been a bad one,” I replied flustered, heat burning my cheeks when I remembered George’s question. “I, just, you’re early.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the weekend, isn’t it, and I don’t want to waste time faffing at home. Can I come in?” How was his hair bouncy after wearing headphones all morning? I wanted to touch it and run my hands through the strands, but friends didn’t do that. Instead, I beckoned him in and headed for the kettle. He always had a cup of tea around this time. It helped ease his energy after the rush from presenting his morning radio show. “Did I catch you doing something?”
I flushed again, grateful that with my back to him, he couldn’t see the guilty look on my face. I’d listened back to his show while playing with myself in the shower. It had been a great way to ring in my first proper weekend as a student, even if it left me with some conflicted feelings now that he was close.
“Just getting ready,” I replied with forced breeziness, relieved at how long it was taking the kettle to boil. The bubbles and sighs suggested it needed replacing, but I’d realised early on that risking a fire for the price of a kettle was what being a student was all about.
“What’s the plan for tonight?” George asked. The springs pinged from the direction of the sofa. I didn’t need to turn to know he’d sat on it. His hands probably rested at his knees. I wanted those hands on me, fisting through my hair as he kissed me. I imagined his body towering over mine in bed as his tongue slipped into my mouth. Would we fit together easily? He was nearly a foot and a half taller than me. ‘You’re the same height when you’re lying down’. I’d heard that once, but from who? My thoughts were a distracting jumble of ideas. “Grace. You okay?”
“Huh?” My unrelenting arousal was getting ridiculous. George was my friend, and that was all that mattered. I faked a smile and turned to face him. “Oh yes, a plan for tonight.”
Lots of things happened at once. Jamie’s door squeaked as the wine reacted with my empty stomach. The scream of the kettle sent me into a panic. Were they the catalyst for my desires or an excuse to kiss my friend? In a flash, I straddled George’s thighs. “You need to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
I made the most of his open mouth and kissed him as if my life depended on it. His mouth paused against mine, but any hesitation was brief as his hands stroked my naked thighs beneath my dressing gown. His kiss was hard and fast. I was hungry for him, and my moan echoed between us. His hands climbed higher as I started to grind against him. His cock swelled beneath me. The roughness of his jeans against my barely covered pussy was heavenly friction, and I twisted my hips harder.
A slam came from the direction of Jamie’s door, but we didn’t stop. His tongue massaged mine as he reached around and grabbed my butt cheeks. His fingers dug into my flesh as he pulled me against him. His cock may have been constricted by his jeans, but it rubbed against my clit in a way that had me desperate for more. Shit, I was kissing my best friend, and I wanted him to fuck me.
I pulled back needing to get my breath and my head together.
We sat panting, staring at each other as doors banged and mixtures of Drake and The Weekend played around us. I brushed my thumb across his lower lip while staring into his grey eyes. It was as if they were sparkling. It was the sexiest kiss of my life. I wanted more, but was he playing the part of my boyfriend as I’d asked? His cock was rock hard beneath me, but that couldn’t tell me what was in his heart.
“Well, that happened,” he finally said.
“And?” I said softly, desperately trying to keep hope out of my voice. But my body betrayed me, and I slipped my hand into his hair and ran my fingers through it. The scent of grapefruit seemed to settle between us. I touched his hair again and smiled. Now that I’d finally crossed a barrier, I couldn’t leave him alone.
He squeezed my arse cheek before moving his hands back to my thighs, beneath my dressing gown. His hands were hot against my flesh.
I knew everything there was to know about George and yet sat on the threadbare sofa his thumbs stroking my inner thighs I couldn’t work out what he’d say next. It could be a “we shouldn’t ruin our friendship”, “I don’t like you that way” or “take me to your bedroom” with anything else in between.
“And,” he replied the side of his mouth lifting in a half-smile.
The guy who made a living through his voice had gone quiet. The dirty beat of the music around us pounded through my veins. His thumbs stroked higher. It was a matter of moments before he realised how wet he’d made me.
He stopped short of my knickers. “And I don’t know why you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend as there is no one to pretend to, we’re all alone.”
My mouth had gone dry waiting for the thoughts behind his gaze.
“But I suppose someone could walk in,” he said with a gravelly voice. I clenched my thighs at the thought of someone catching us. The public kiss had been a way to convince Jamie I was out of bounds, but now it had become a game.
“Oh, you like the idea of that, Grace?” He laughed in a voice so deep that I pushed my pelvis forward, rubbing softly against him. “I don’t know what is going on with you and right now I don’t care. I want this.”
With his eyes fixed on mine almost as if he was asking for consent, he slipped his finger through the belt on my dressing gown and pulled. The more undone my belt became, the more sensual his smile. Every movement he made was slow and considered and what could have been a quickie in Grand Central was torture. My heart thumped hard as if every sense was on high alert. I swallowed noisily as the belt came undone and fell to my sides. Even with all we had done this felt like the precipice. If someone walked into Grand Central now, we’d stop and probably never talk about it again. With one move, I would be nearly naked in front of him. But was he willing to take that step and change everything? I licked my lips and squeezed my thighs in an attempt to will him further.
“I want this, George.”
He took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving my eyes, reached up and pushed my soft robe apart. I sat in his lap, my body on display for him. I wanted to moan, yet we’d barely done anything. I ached for his touch.
He was my best friend, and my fantasy.
His gaze dropped down, and he stared in awe at my body. Brazenly I lifted my chest and presented myself to him. My nipples were pert, and my chest flushed. “Fucking hell, Grace. You’re gorgeous,” he said with a gravelly voice. I’d never felt alluring before, but with him, I was a vixen.
Anyone could walk in on us, and I didn’t care. I’d do anything for George to fuck my brains out on this tatty sofa. He dipped his head, never breaking eye contact until his lips covered my nipple. I hissed with pleasure as he sucked and bit at the sensitive flesh. I made soft circular movements with my pelvis against his jeans, trying to get more satisfaction to my pussy.
“Please, more,” I moaned as he lavished my breast with his mouth. Wetness pooled in my knickers as he ran his fingertips down my legs. His nails were sharp against my skin, and I clamped a hand over my mouth to stop crying out.
Even behind my hand, a “oh” of pleasure fell from between my lips. Suddenly George’s hands were everywhere; one massaged the breast that was missing out on his mouth while the other was between my legs. It stroked closer to my pussy. I held it fast scared he might take it away. It was so close to touching me where I needed it.
He leant back to watch me as his thumb brushed my clit on top of my knickers. Before I could respond with more pleading a familiar melody filtered through to my conscious.
It was the ringtone he used for work.
No, please, no.
He paused. I couldn’t blame him. I knew how important his job was to him. His boss rarely called unless it was significant.
“It’s okay, you can answer it,” I said softly, trying to convey that I wasn’t annoyed. Sexually frustrated, but not annoyed.
His features twisted as if he couldn’t decide what to do next. “I’ll leave it,” he said as the tune stopped. “See, all sorted.”
The melody started again. It had to be a serious call.
“It’s okay, really,” I replied with a peck on his lips.
He fished through his pocket as I stood back up and took extra care in retying my dressing gown. I didn’t dare look at him. Maybe he had regrets for the line we’d crossed or perhaps he wasn’t thinking about me at all.
I pretended to tidy up the kitchen, but all I was doing was picking things up and putting them back down again in the same place. I caught George’s end of the conversation, but it gave me no hints to what was happening.
My body hadn’t got the message that playtime was over. My knickers were soaked, and my heart ached as hard as my pussy.
“Bye, boss. I’ll see you soon,” he finished the call.
Don’t drop your shoulders. Don’t you dare look sad, Grace.
I turned to face him, hoping to see some of my disappointment on his face, but he was smiling so hard it would have been infectious if it hadn’t hurt so much.
“They want me to interview Adele. It’s the first interview she’s done in years, and she wanted me! She’s only in town for the next two hours, so it’s now or never,” he beamed as he tidied his hair and pulled his shirt back down. He was gorgeous, and I hated myself for wanting him to stay even though he was about to do the most significant interview of his career.
“I’m so happy for you,” I replied breezily. I looked down to his crotch that hinted at what we’d been up to. “I think I’ve left a wet spot on your, umm, jeans.”
He looked down and back up, and I saw a hint of arousal and conflict in his eyes. It was the only sign that what was affecting me had got to him too. “It’s okay. I’ll get my boss to bring a spare pair to the interview.”
He headed to the door, pausing for a second. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can be. I’ve got to go and prep. See you, Grace.”
The door slammed, and I was left horny, sad and ready to guzzle the rest of my wine before my night out. Would I hear from him again and if so would it be like nothing had happened between us? What if the sexiest moment in my life was already his biggest mistake?
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