Her Best Friend's Lover

by Shiloh Walker

  Turning his head, eyes still closed, he breathed in the incredible scent of her soft skin before burying his face in her hair and falling into oblivion.

  Lauren was pretty certain she was going to be sick. Just puke her guts up right there. And since Dale’s long, heavy body still pinned her to the floor, she was pretty certain she would also choke on her own vomit, and asphyxiate right there. It couldn’t possibly be any more humiliating than hearing Dale cry another woman’s name while he was coming inside her.

  What had she done?

  Her body aching, her mouth swollen from the rough kisses, Lauren lay staring at the ceiling in Dale’s living room.

  What had she done?

  She forced herself to breathe evenly, deeply, slowly, until the nausea started to pass. The anger still lurked but she restrained it. God knows, she had certainly set herself up for this.

  Carefully, after deciding he had definitely passed out, Lauren, shifted, twisted and shimmied her way out from under him. She pulled her knees to her chest, flinching as muscles never before used went on protest. A dull throb between her legs lingered, but the minor pain was worth the pleasure.

  So that was a climax. That was why people sought out the opposite sex. With a shaky smile, she decided she could understand the appeal it held. But even though her body was so sated, so relaxed she could curl up and happily sleep for a week, her heart was breaking.

  Baby. Sweetheart. Never once had he said her name. Not once had his eyes looked into hers.

  And in the end, he had cried out, “Nikki,” as he emptied his body into hers.

  Another substitute, that’s what she had become.

  And she only had herself to blame. She knew Dale well enough to know if she hadn’t been willing, hadn’t shown any interest in what he was offering, this wouldn’t have happened. It never would have gone past that first glorious kiss. If he hadn’t been drunk, that kiss, oh, that wonderful kiss wouldn’t have happened either.

  Quickly, Lauren shoved the thought from her mind. This was so pathetic, she thought miserably. She had come over here to apologize and had ended up giving her virginity to a man who had been making love to another woman in his mind. It had meant everything to her, and meant less than nothing to him. Any woman would have done.

  Humiliation stained her cheeks red and she couldn’t even begin to think of how she would explain this.

  Maybe he won’t remember.

  Lauren shrugged away that persistent little voice, shaking her head and the unlikely possibility.

  Then, again, he had been awfully drunk. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have touched her. The thought never would have crossed his mind. Maybe he really wouldn’t remember.

  Frowning, Lauren thought back. Dale had mentioned he didn’t like to do any heavy drinking because he lost too much time, too easily. Three beers and quite a bit of whiskey from the stink of it. Running her tongue over her teeth, she started to wonder.

  She had gotten more from him than she had ever hoped to have, regardless of the circumstances. His face was relaxed now, free from the pain she had seen etched there when he had opened the door. He had gotten some comfort from it. Nobody had been hurt. If he didn’t remember, would it matter not to enlighten him?

  Pregnancy was unlikely. Completely wrong time of the month. Her period was due in three or four days. And though Dale was casual about sex, he wasn’t casual about health. She knew he always wore a rubber, no matter what a woman said.

  The sticky dampness between her thighs reminded her that perhaps always wasn’t a good word to use. But he was healthy.

  Lauren couldn’t be any healthier, not in that area.

  Would it hurt anything?

  Slowly, gingerly, she got to her feet, gathered her clothes. She only donned her jeans and shirt, gathering her shoes, panties and bra and setting them in a bundle by the door.

  Gnawing on her lip, she studied him lying at her feet. He still wore his shirt. His jeans were shoved, uncomfortably she imagined, just past his hips. His penis lay against his belly, soft, wet and shiny from their combined climaxes, from her body. Her eyes lingered briefly before she made up her mind. First, she retrieved a paper towel, wet with warm water and cleaned him, his cock twitching in her hands, lengthening and hardening. Carefully, she tried to tug his jeans back into place. He woke slightly, smiled a tipsy smile at her, and she doubted he even really saw her. “Sorry, sugar. Can’t just

  yet,” was all he said before falling back to sleep. Finally, she had his jeans up and he was decently covered.

  Of course, she wasn’t quite certain ‘can’t’ had been particularly accurate. He was already hard again, even though he was sound asleep.

  Nervously, fingers fumbling, she got the buttons on his fly secured. Then she spied the whiskey bottle and snatched it up, setting it close, but not too close to his outstretched hand. Tossing the paper towel in the garbage, she wondered if she had done enough to erase any evidence.

  Feeling slightly guilty, she took her underwear and the tin of chocolate chip cookies and quietly sneaked out the front door, using her own copy of his key to lock it. Taking a deep breath, she headed down the stairs.

  * * * * *

  A smile lingered on her lips sometime later as she lay in a tub of water, soaking away the faint discomfort. No wonder so many of those women left the house with smiles on their faces. No wonder Allison had lingered so long, despite Dale’s obvious avoidance of any type of commitment.

  The man had magic in his hands, she mused, scooping up a handful of bubbles and stroking them down her arms. And sin in his blood. Those hands, that mouth, she gave a low hum of appreciation as she slid a little lower in the scented water.

  Granted, she felt somewhat cheated. She doubted that any of those women left his house after a few minutes upright against the wall in the living room, or even after a harder fuck on the floor. But she also doubted that any of those women had felt the way she did, had loved him the way she did. The smile was now tinged with sadness. She could have made him so happy.

  Then she sighed, reality settling in. Until Dale was ready to let go of a woman he had never really had, nobody could make him happy. Not even the one woman who loved him with everything she had in her.

  Morose now, she gazed at the reflection the mirrored wall at her right sent back at her. Sure, she was pretty enough. But she’d been a pretty child, and that hadn’t made her family want her. Nobody had ever wanted her. Why should Dale be any different?

  With a sigh of disgust, she arose, dripping wet from the bath. Jerking a warmed towel off the rod, she wrapped it around her and left the room.

  “Feeling sorry for yourself changes nothing, Lauren,” she told herself.

  * * * * *

  Cautiously, Dale opened his eyes. He had been lying awake for a good five minutes now, taking stock. He remembered the letter, the first and second beer clearly enough, but after that, things started getting a little fuzzy. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast so the alcohol had hit him harder and faster than it normally would have. The whiskey bottle, uh, yeah, he was thinking he remembered the whiskey bottle as well.

  Pushing himself onto his elbows, he surveyed the mess around him with squinted eyes. The pint lay just a few feet away from his right hand. Empty. But from the smell of things, it was likely there was more whiskey on the floor than inside him.

  A faint headache throbbed behind his eyes and his mouth was incredibly dry, but other than that, there were no aftereffects from his attempt to drown his sorrows in booze.

  Unless he counted the lost time.

  What had happened?

  Hell, he hated getting drunk, hated the loss of control that inevitably happened, even if it was just the inability to remember what he had done, where he had been. Who he had been with. Scowling, he wondered where that thought had come from.

  A woman. Had there been a woman here? Vaguely, he remembered soft arms, soft skin. A scent that lingered in his mind, and faintly, he thought, on his skin.
>
  Though he couldn’t taste anything beyond the stale taste of whiskey in his mouth, he thought he remembered tasting, no, devouring a woman. Thrusting, rocking, fucking a woman.

  Loving. Loving?

  But his mind was a blank. There was no face to go with the body. Had he been dreaming?

  Even if his mind was foggy, his body remembered, tightening in remembered pleasure.

  It had to have been a dream. If there had been a woman here, she would likely still be here and they would be in bed. Naked, their bodies wet with sweat and come. Instead, Dale was sitting on the floor of his living room, completely dressed, alone. And clean.

  Sex hadn’t ever been clean in Dale’s experience.

  “I’ve really got to stop doing this,” he muttered, slowly getting to his feet, thankful there was no nausea. Just a little shaky and a lot curious. A lot horny. What had he dreamed about? The distant echo of a gasping cry lingered in his ears. A blinding sense of pleasure, a sense of homecoming.

  Maybe a better question would be whom had he dreamed about, he decided. It hadn’t been Nikki. He was absolutely certain of that.

  That faint, subtle scent clung to him, tightening his flesh, making his mouth water. He glanced downward in wry amusement and muttered, “Down, boy,” as his already interested cock stood up at full attention. There was nobody here, and from the look of things, there hadn’t been anybody here all day.

  The stink of the place was nearly enough to make him blanche, and he doubted his body was in much better condition. Rubbing a hand down his stubbled jaw, he grimaced. He’d have peeled all the flesh from a woman in the shape he was in.

  Thirty minutes later, revitalized by a hot shower and hot coffee, a smile lingering on his face, Dale straightened the living room. Clean shaven, clear-headed, and inexplicably cheerful for some reason, he whistled a jazzy tune as he gathered up sketches and replaced pillows on the couch. He was cleaning the carpet where the whiskey had spilled, when the doorbell rang. Settling back on his heels, he wondered. Hoped.

  It was past ten o’clock. And he could think of only one person who could be on the other side of that door. When he opened it moments later, he decided the only way he could have been more pleased was if it had been Nikki. Or the dream woman.

  Lauren stood there, her eyes hesitant, clad in a baggy sweatshirt and rumpled jeans, clutching a colorful tin. He could count the number of times he had seen Lauren look so . . .touchable. She was always so reserved, so elegant and cool.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice soft, uncertain. “Are you, um, alone?”

  “Yeah,” he said, unsure whether he wanted to open the door and make it easy for her or stay there while she shifted from foot to foot, nervous and uncomfortable. But her downcast eyes and the unhappy set of her mouth decided the matter for him. He stepped back and said, “Come on in.” As she started to move past him, an image fluttered in his mind. A soft pale gray shirt, a ruffled neckline, a slim pale neck surrounded by a length of silver. The way she smelled…vanilla, musk, baby lotion.

  Oh, shit.

  And Dale started to worry a little. “Uh, you didn’t come by earlier, did you?”

  She smiled sheepishly and said, “No. I’ve just now worked up the nerve.” Then she shoved the tin at him. “These are for you.”

  He took the tin, deciding to make it just a little hard. “Worked up the nerve for what?” he asked, inclining his head, tucking the tin against his side without looking in it. He already knew what it held. Homemade chocolate-chip cookies with pecans. Her specialty. His mouth was already watering.

  “Apologizing.”

  “For what?”

  Her cheeks were slightly flushed and she turned her head away. “For what I said last week, how I acted. It wasn’t your fault and wasn’t anything you did. I was just feeling a little nasty and took it out on you.” Then she turned her head, met his eyes straight on and said, “You’re the best friend I have. You’ve been there for me whenever I needed you, helped me out more times than I can count. I shouldn’t have jumped on you and I’m sorry.”

  “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he whispered, tugging her into a friendly embrace. She held herself slightly rigid for just a moment then relaxed, squeezing him tight around the middle before backing away.

  “Does that mean I’m forgiven?” she asked solemnly. “If not, I’ll just take those cookies home and drown my sorrow in them.”

  He snatched the tin up and carried it into the kitchen. “I don’t think so,” he said, opening it and popping half a cookie into his mouth. She started toward him, a grin curving her mouth upward and he almost choked as an image of him covering that wide mouth with his loomed in his mind. Quickly, he grabbed his coffee and swallowed, burning the roof of his mouth. Where in the hell had that come from?

  She eyed him oddly, her face paling a little. Or did he imagine that? Then she popped a cookie into her mouth before looking around. Her nostrils twitched and she pronounced, “It smells like a distillery in here.” Her tongue darted out to catch a crumb at the corner of her mouth. “And you’re looking a little rough there.”

  He dragged his gaze and attention away from her mouth. “I, ah, decided to do a little drowning myself. It’s been a hell of a rough week.” She hitched herself onto the counter across from him and the relief settled even deeper into his bones. Normal. Things were back to normal again. And, helping himself to another cookie, he told her about it.

  Something flickered in her eyes as he told her about the letter. Hurt? Pity? She sighed, pulling her legs up against her chest, quietly saying, “How much longer are you going to do this to yourself?”

  He turned away from her, busying himself with getting out a couple of glasses of milk to enjoy with the cookies. Out of the blue, he said, “I’m wondering if maybe I’m in love with her, or just the idea of it.” Since his back was turned, he didn’t see Lauren stiffen, missed seeing her eyes widen. By the time he turned around, she was just watching, waiting for him to continue.

  He frowned, wondering where that thought had come from. Of course he loved Nikki. He had for years. “Anyway, after the way the week has been, I decided to cap it off with a gallon or so of alcohol.”

  Lauren grinned at him and said, “That would explain that smell.” Her eyes narrowed and her smile turned mischievous. “Lose any time?”

  “Guess so. I woke up a little after nine. The last time I saw the clock it was about four thirty.” He watched her from the corner of his eye, nonchalantly asking, “Did you see Allison here, crawling back to me?” He had to force the teasing note into his voice. “Declaring she would take anything I wanted to give her?”

  “No. I can’t say I did. But I just got back a couple of hours ago,” she replied, shrugging before popping another cookie into her mouth. “Keep the rest of those things away from me. I already ate five before I left the house.”

  He bit his lip to keep from asking, “Did you see anybody?”

  A dream, he told himself. Just a dream.

  But that didn’t keep him from trying desperately to piece together the fragments of his memory.

  * * * * *

  The Dream Woman plagued his thoughts. While the sun was out and he was busy, he was able to shove her to the back of his mind. But at night, she slipped out of the shadows, always hiding her face, taunting him. Soft sleek female flesh, the heady scent of musk and something innocent-baby lotion? A firm body pressed against his, taking, demanding everything he could give. He would wake up in the middle of the night, aroused beyond bearing, unable to remember a damn thing, his cock unbelievably hard and aching.

  At his desk, he sat, a fine sweat breaking out all over his body, as he replayed the dream in his mind. So vivid, he had thought he would turn over and she’d be there next to him in bed. Shit, he couldn’t work like this. He tore his jeans open, wrapping his hand around his shaft, falling into a quick rhythm while he imagined it was her, riding him, or better yet, sucking him off, on her knees.


  Cupping his balls with his other hand, he groaned, grunting as thick white jets of semen spilled onto his belly and hands.

  “Am I losing my mind?” he muttered out loud, wondering. Why else would a woman who didn’t exist haunt him so?

  He glanced out his window to see Lauren trudging down her driveway, lugging a large trashcan. He pulled his shirt off and used it to wipe the come away before he stood and fastened his jeans. Absently, he saved his work on the computer and straightened up his sketches before heading outside, pausing to wash up a little better and grab a clean shirt. He caught up with her as she was setting the can down beside a very sorry looking, very dead bush.

  “That’s your third dead plant this summer, pal,” he commented, taking the string from her and binding up the branches. “Losing your touch?”

  She scowled at him and loftily informed him,“It’s been a dry summer.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot,” he said, sarcastically, glancing around at the verdant green grass, the blooming flowers. The small garden he had in the back of his house was nearly over run by thriving tomato plants.

  “How did your date go last night?”

  He shrugged and replied, “We called it quits early. That girl could talk of nothing other than herself and the plastic surgeon she works for. Filled me in on how well he had helped her fill out, and at a discount, too.” He’d retreated to his bed alone, something rare for him after a date.

  “You like them filled out,” Lauren reminded dryly.

  “I prefer to think that Mother Nature is responsible for it, though. Kind of loses its impact when the woman’s bragging about how flat-chested she used to be,” he said with disgust. Eyeing Lauren with a playful leer, he added, “Definitely not a problem you’d be familiar with.”

  She flushed, dropping to her knees beside the small flowering bush, now brittle and dry. “Not since about seventh or eighth grade, no.” Donning her thick rubber gloves, she started digging in the earth to get to the root. “Maybe she should be dating her plastic surgeon. He’s certain to appreciate his own work.”