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Tom’s standing at the altar. It’s the first time in ten years that I’ve seen him and my stomach leaps up into my chest cavity. The faces on either side of me blur into a mass of toothy smiles as the church organ roars into life.
I try to focus on my job as maid of honour. I straighten out the train of Zoe’s dress and press my lips together into what I hope looks like a smile. He’s the best man, and my ex–the one that got away, I guess.
We’re told to sit down after the opening hymn and I steal a look at him. He’s grown more handsome with age. Now, at thirty-five, his back is broader than it was, his arms more muscular, and his jaw stronger. He looks tanned. I know he travels a lot, jets all over the world for work and takes his fiancée on exotic holidays to far-flung locations. Once or twice a year, when I’m wasted, I check his Instagram account from my sister’s phone. I know his fiancée is called Kristy and works in a boring corporate job. I know too much for my own good.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the elderly priest says half an hour later, raising his arms up. David and Zoe are kneeling in front of him, heads bowed.
We clap and cheer as they stand up and walk down the aisle, grins wide and eyes shiny with emotion. I couldn’t make it to last night’s rehearsal, but I know from Zoe’s instructions that I’m supposed to link arms with Tom and follow them down the aisle, with the other bridesmaids and ushers doing the same. I file out of my row and try to steady my breath.
Tom gives me a small lopsided smile. I feel him look me up and down and a shiver comes over me. How can he still have that effect, even after all this time?
“Hey,” he whispers, offering his arm. “You look amazing.”
I link my hand through. I can see Kristy now, feel her eyes burning into me as we near the door. My bare arm is resting against his suit sleeve and I have goosebumps.
Outside, the sun is blazing and everyone is busy complimenting the bride and groom, taking selfies and greeting old friends.
Tom turns and gives me a proper hug now, his arms sliding around my waist and his lips brushing my cheek, and whispers, “So good to see you, Em.” He pulls back and looks me up and down again, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
His brown hair is tousled and there’s light stubble on his face. I can’t believe what I’m seeing either: the skinny college graduate who used to fuck me – three or four times a night sometimes – and eat my pussy like no one else ever could, is all grown up now.
“You too. It’s been so long.” I have no idea what to say. I’ve been over it in my head a million times, trying to imagine how this moment might play out.
I try to ignore the ache between my legs. I’ve slept with dozens of men over the last decade, but no has ever come close to Tom. I wonder if it’s the same for him. I wonder if Kristy lets him fuck her in every way imaginable, like I did. Judging by the frumpy pink dress she’s wearing and the pissed-off look she’s giving us from the other side of the churchyard, I’m guessing she doesn’t.
It’s almost midnight and the party is in full swing now. I’m doing shots with the other bridesmaids and posing for selfies. Our duties are done and we can finally relax. Zoe and David have gone to bed and the older guests have left.
The marquee is bathed in pink disco lights and the round tables are littered with glasses, handbags and scarves. A few elaborate headpieces hang off the backs of chairs. I can see Tom and Kristy arguing across the room. She’s tucking her silver clutch under her arm and holding her hand out for the room key. He passes it to her and she flounces off, briefly pausing at the door to see if he’s following her. He isn’t.
I can’t help myself now; I catch his eye and tip my shot glass at him before knocking it back. A fat droplet of the clear liquor misses my lips and snakes down my chest. I can feel my pussy dripping in the same way, dampening the white cotton of my thong.
Tom crosses the room as I knew he would, shaking hands with a few people on the dancefloor as he does so. Everyone wants his attention. He’s just in his shirt and trousers now, the first few buttons are open and his sleeves are rolled up a little. He bahis firmaları digs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels.
“So…” he laughs nervously. I laugh too.
“You look really fucking good,” I say, signalling to the barman that I want two more drinks. “Ageing suits you. Seriously.”
“Suits you too,” he says, leaning in close, even though the music isn’t even that loud.
He’s hard; I can feel his cock on my thigh. I nudge my leg closer, so he knows that I know. The barman slams two shots down and the DJ plays a Beyoncé medley that gets everyone else onto the dancefloor.
Things didn’t end on bad terms between us, not really. Tom’s seven years older than me and used to be friends with my older brother Brian. Let’s just say that Brian hadn’t been too impressed to discover that his twenty-five-year-old grad school friend was fucking his eighteen-year-old sister senseless every weekend. Looking back, I suppose I can’t blame him really.
I down the shot and think back to those times, all the weekends when Tom would visit, pushing the college applications on my desk to one side and watching the top of his head move up and down between my thighs, my parents asleep next door and my brother stoned in the garage. Maybe it was the danger that made it so intense, the thought that at any point, someone could walk in and find him eating my pussy out or fucking me whilst I was on all fours, kneeling on my bedroom floor, cum dripping down my thighs.
Things ended when my brother found us in the kitchen one night. We thought everyone was asleep and Tom was fucking me for the second time in as many hours, pressed up against my ass, me bent over the kitchen counter. Suddenly I could hear my brother’s footsteps on the stairs and knew we were going to get caught, but there was no point running, so instead of pushing him away, I let him finish, smiling to myself as he came. I knew the game was up after that.
Brian hit the roof and called me a slut, but I didn’t see what the big deal was. I was about to start college, almost nineteen, and should have been able to screw who I wanted to.
I lost my virginity to Tom; he taught me what it meant to let go of inhibitions, to experiment sexually and, in doing so, ruined me for every man that followed, because no one could ever satisfy me in the same way.
He slams his glass down now and wipes his mouth, then starts laughing again. “Fuck, I still have nightmares about Brian’s face that night.”
I smile and look up at him, feeling a bit tipsy. My bridesmaid dress is black satin, figure-hugging around the hips, kind of like Jessica Rabbit’s dress, and my blonde hair is loose, falling almost to my waist. He reaches out and pushes a strand back, then pulls his hand away, as though he’s burnt it.
“Worried someone’s watching?” I say, my lips curling into a smile. I twist my head and look around the room in an exaggerated way, but everyone’s either dancing or chatting at the tables.
“I’m not worried about that,” he says. “I’m worried about how I’ll feel tomorrow. Seeing you again, it’s… it’s like tearing the plaster off a wound.”
I laugh, but he’s serious.
“Honestly. I know we were a few years apart in age and Brian was pissed, but seriously, I’ve never been with anyone else who… You blew my mind, Em. It’s been downhill since,” Tom says.
I nod my head because I know exactly what he means.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I say. I let my arm fall and brush against his crotch. “I think we have some unfinished business.” I try to calculate how many seconds it would take to unbuckle him, spread my legs, and push him into me. The thought makes me ache.
He hesitates for a second and then I remember he has a fiancee upstairs. She’s probably waiting for him, scrolling through Instagram in her pyjamas, cold cream on her face.
“I don’t want to ruin your marriage plans,” I say lightly, moving my hand to his forearm. He’s leaning on the bar, his expensive watch shining under the lights. “No one has to know.”
“Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more…” He swallows hard and, for a second, looks defeated. He’s torn; I get it.
“You’re a nice guy,” I squeeze his hand and grab my bag from underneath kaçak iddaa the bar, “Kristy is lucky to have you. See you around, Tom.”
I close the door behind and unzip my dress, feeling like an idiot. What was I thinking, throwing myself at Tom after ten years? I know there’s no way I’ll sleep without making myself come first; twelve hours of watching him has left my underwear damp. I lie on the bed in my thong and run a finger the length of my pussy; it glides through.
I grab one of the firm hotel pillows and place it in the centre of the bed, then I straddle it and start to rub up against it, getting into a rhythm. I orgasm in just a few thrusts and then lie back against the headboard, running my fingers over my wet clit and lips as my thoughts turn back to Tom.
There’s a gentle tap at the door. I’m in a hotel room on the fifth floor, overlooking the wedding marquee which is still flashing with pink and purple lights. I plan on leaving early tomorrow, before everyone congregates for breakfast and the awkward goodbyes start.
I pull the hotel robe around me and tie the belt. I wonder for a second if it’s Tom, but then I remember that I didn’t give him my room number. I catch my reflection in the mirror and smooth down my hair, then I lick my fingers and dry them on the robe.
There’s another tap.
“One sec,” I say, looking into the spyhole. I can’t see anyone so I put the security chain on and open it a few centimetres.
It is him. My heart is in my throat again and I steady myself against the door frame. He’s standing there, hands in his pockets, shirt open to halfway now. He leans against the door and then slowly lifts his head up.
“How did you…” my voice trails off.
“I told the hotel receptionist I was your husband and I’d lost the key.” He shrugs and smiles.
The word ‘husband’ catches me off guard and my heart hammers against my ribcage as I imagine being Tom’s wife, waking up next to him every morning, fucking him in the shower before work, pausing a movie to spread my legs and ask him if he’d mind eating my pussy before dinner. Why is it that we so often end up with the wrong people? And the ones who really ignite something in us get away, due to circumstances, bad decisions, terrible timing.
I step to the side and let him in. I bury my head in his chest and he tilts my chin up, bending to kiss me. His lips are soft and he probes my mouth gently with his tongue, his hands still on the outside of my robe, pressing down on the small of my back.
“I couldn’t go to sleep knowing you were just a few floors away, after all this time,” he says, his breath on my collarbone.
My pussy is throbbing as he gently unties the robe cord. He doesn’t open it up though; he steps back, and drops his arms to his side, wanting me to lead. I shrug the gown off onto the floor and let him admire my body for a moment. My breasts are a little fuller now, hips slightly wider, stomach still flat, though, and skin still silky soft.
He lifts his shirt over his head and I run my fingers down his torso; his chest is a little broader, more hair, arms more muscular. I unbuckle his belt and I can feel the sharp breath he takes as his stomach contracts. I run my fingers around his waistband, slowly, prolonging the process. We’ve both been waiting a decade for this and it seems stupid to rush it. I want to take it all in, remember every moment.
I lower his trousers, moving down his legs and brushing my breasts against his torso, before doing the same again with his underwear. There’s a neat triangle of dark hair and his erection below it, patiently waiting, straining for what’s to come. I open my mouth and close it around his cock, taking him by surprise as he gasps with pleasure. I swirl my tongue around the length of it and suck the tiny droplet of pre-cum from the tip.
“I want to finish where we left off that day,” I say, standing up. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”
He nods. “Me too.”
I walk towards the desk that overlooks the marquee and he follows. Things look like they’re starting to die off now and the hotel staff are moving stacks of chairs out. I turn my back to him and stand in front of the table.
“Now, if I remember correctly,” I kaçak bahis say, bending over and pressing my cheek against the hotel welcome pack, “you were fucking me in the ass that fateful day.”
I hear him groan now as he stands behind me, his erection brushing the back of my left thigh. I close my eyes and suddenly it’s ten years ago and we’re back in the kitchen, sideboard cluttered with takeaway boxes and house silent apart from the low rumble of Brian’s TV upstairs. I reach around and pull my cheeks apart, wide, inviting him to come inside.
He moans, holding his cock in one hand. With the other, he reaches round to my pussy and wets his fingers. I know what he’s doing because it’s exactly what he used to do, using my juice to lube himself before penetrating me.
Seconds later, he thrusts inside and I gasp, face down against the desk, enjoying the feel of my tight ass surrounding his cock as he pushes inside me as deeply as he can and retreats again.
“Fuck, that’s so good,” he says, over and over, like he can’t believe what’s happening. “You’re so tight. Fuck.”
“Make yourself cum,” I whisper, pushing back and pulling my cheeks apart again, opening myself up to him as much as possible.
He shudders and exhales, then holds my hips as he leans back to orgasm. I close my eyes and focus on the moment, the feeling of him pulsing inside me, the dribble of cum as he pulls out. There’s something about anal sex that really turns me on, even though I hardly ever orgasm this way myself; maybe it’s the rawness of it, knowing how good it must feel for Tom, how tight. It’s the ultimate gift, the ultimate offering to someone, to simply spread your cheeks and let them fuck you in your ass until they come.
Now it’s my turn. Tom knows exactly what I want. It’s the same routine we had all those years ago; he fucks me anally, eats my pussy, and then we fuck again. The best things come in threes.
I lie back on the bed and he kneels in front of me, bends down slightly and lifts my legs behind his shoulders. He slides his tongue into me and he starts to eat me out, moaning every few seconds, enjoying this just as much as me. Next, he runs his mouth up and down my slit, sucking my clit and then repeating, keeping a steady rhythm, giving me exactly what I want. He’s eaten my pussy dozens of times, he knows every contour, every dip and groove. Nothing is off limits.
He slides his fingers into me and rubs the flat of his tongue against my clit as I finish and collapse, shuddering with pleasure. He waits a few seconds and licks me again with two long strokes of his tongue, all the way from my ass to my clit; a second orgasm ripples through me.
Tom kneels in front of me, his cock hanging down next to my soaking pussy like the pendulum of a clock.
I pull his face towards mine and kiss him, enjoying the taste of my pussy on his lips and tongue.
“What the fuck have we been doing for the last ten years?” he whispers, reading my mind. “This could be every night. We’re meant to be together, Em.”
A wave of pleasure washes over me at the sound of those words: ‘every night.’ I know what he’s saying is true, that sometimes people just click; they make your body sing in a way that no one else ever can and you need them like you need oxygen. I feel like I’m finally breathing again after a decade under water.
He leans down, kisses a line along my collarbone and slips into me again. I open up, gripping his ass cheeks and pushing him deeper into me. I cross my legs over his back and close my eyes as he thrusts again and again, grunting, his lips beside my ear.
“Please,” I say, not giving a fuck who can hear us, “harder and deeper. As hard as you can.”
He pauses and then flips me around. I know he’s close to orgasm but it’s obvious that we both want to savour the moment. I hold on to the headboard and bend over. He slips into me and grips my hips, pushing so hard that my head is almost smacking against the board.
“I’m coming,” I say, knowing that will turn him on.
He gives one final push and shudders before pulling out. “I love you.”
It takes me a few seconds to register what he’s said, but I know I feel the same way. There’s no point playing games and wasting more precious time.
“I love you too, Tom,” I say, lying down, my head on his chest. He’s running his fingers down my back and our legs are tangled, stuck together.
I know he won’t be leaving with Kristy in the morning.
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