His Best Friend (A MFM Ménage)

by Vivian Ward

  I feel bad that Harley’s stuck behind the bar with our newest barkeep, Karen. She’s not much of a worker. The jury is still out on her, though. We haven’t decided if she’s just lazy or too stupid to remember basic drinks. Either way, nobody likes working with her because you end up doing all the work and then have to split the tips with her at the end of the night.

  “What are you kids having this time?” Harley asks as we take a seat at the barstools. His eyes linger on me even though he’s talking to both of us. There’s something seductive about the way he looks at me and it’s….sexy.

  “I’ll have my usual,” Rocco says in a silly voice. He’s a little tipsy but that’s okay, I like him like this. He’s relaxed and carefree. It’s like having my old husband back, even if it’s just for a little while.

  “What about you, Jules? Sex on the beach?” Harley asks, grinning as he says it.

  “What the hell is it with you two? You’re either talking about all of us fucking each other’s brains out or making stupid suggestions,” I laugh.

  “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harley says.

  “Me either,” Rocco chimes in, agreeing with him.

  “Whatever,” I roll my eyes, playfully. “I think I’ll take tequila and triple sec.”

  “Whoah! Tequila, huh? You’re really wanting to get liquored up tonight,” Harley winks at me as he grabs a glass. And for just a split second, he slowly licks his lips while his eyes remain locked on me. I almost think I’m seeing things at first, but a devilish grin spreads across his face and I know my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.

  He’s totally flirting with me—right in front of Rocco, but he’s too drunk to notice.

  I watch his hands work fast as he scoops a bit of ice into my glass before making a spectacle of pouring alcohol. He makes everything look so easy. When I first started working here, I spilled everything I got my hands on and nothing tasted very good. Of course, over time, I learned how to make drinks better and got a lot faster.

  “Oh boy,” I sigh, taking the drink from him. “You boys are terrible.”

  Sipping my drink, I turn around and see a few of our regulars walk in the door. It’s a group of three girls that occasionally come in on the weekend to get away from their husbands for a girl’s night out. Even though I’m not ‘officially’ one of them, we always chat when they come in. I know where all of them work, what their spouse’s names are, and who has dead bedrooms.

  Dead bedrooms.

  Mine hasn’t exactly been hopping lately, but it’s gotten a bit better. When we found out about Rocco’s low sperm count, our sex life ceased to exist for a while after that but little by little, we’ve started to get more intimate. It really sucks, though. We used to have sex at least a few times a week and now we’re lucky to have sex twice a month—and I miss him.

  I miss being touched.

  I miss feeling wanted.

  I miss being desired.

  Most of all, I miss coming all over his cock.

  Let’s face it, my fingers and dildo can only do so much. I need those big, strong hands cupping my breasts, warm lips on my neck, and a throbbing cock between my legs.

  “Hey, Jules!” Nicole, the leader of the pack, says as they approach me. “What are you doing on this side of the counter?”

  “I have the night off so I could go on a date with my husband,” I say over the music. Thank God this song isn’t as loud as the last one so we don’t have to shout much.

  “And you brought him here?” Kim, another one of the girls asks.

  “I did! What can I say? It’s my favorite bar,” I admit.

  “So who’s the lucky guy?” Nicole takes charge of the conversation.

  I point to Rocco, who’s doing a great job of keeping Harley occupied so Karen has to wait on customers. “He’s right there, in the black shirt.”

  The trio of girls croon their necks to get a look at him, smiling and nodding in approval. “He’s cute! What’s his name?”

  “Rocco,” I tell them.

  “That’s a cool name!” Nicole says. “Since you’re off tonight, how about you come hang out with us and have a couple of drinks. Or would that take away from your date night?”

  I look over my shoulder, glancing back at the guys who are preoccupied in their own conversation. “Nah, I think it’ll be fine. Let’s go get our drinks.”

  While the girls order their drinks, I walk over to my seat beside Rocco and pick up my glass. I notice that he’s on his third beer and has had a couple of shots since I left him to go talk to the girls. “I’m going to hang out with some friends for a bit, is that okay?”

  His arm wraps around my waist before he lowers his hand and it cups my ass. Grabbing a firm handful, he squeezes my butt and leans into me. Alcohol hits my nostrils the second he begins to talk. “Sure, baby, go hang out with the girls. I’ll be right here. Harley’s taking good care of me.”

  He’s starting to slur his words and sway as he hangs onto me. I’m glad to see him having a great time, but he went from relaxed and carefree to borderline sloppy drunk. Maybe he’s got more steam to blow off than I realized.

  “Okay, but slow down and pace yourself. You’re going to be falling off that barstool before too long if you keep it up at this rate.”

  “Don’t worry about me, babe. You go hang out with the girls and have a good time. I’ll be here when you get back,” he says, squeezing my ass. “But don’t keep me waiting too long because when we get home,” he leans into me a bit more and starts whisper shouting over the music, “I’m going to give you something you’ll never forget.”

  “Is that right?” I giggle and he nods. “I can’t wait. I won’t be long, I promise—and we can leave right after if you want.”

  I sit with the girls and we chat about our long week and how grateful we are that the weekend is here. While they refer to people I don’t know, I try to keep an eye on Rocco, but they quickly pull me back into the conversation.

  “So, Jules, your husband is hot! How come he doesn’t come up here more often?”

  “He, uh,” I glance over at him and see him downing another shot. “He works a lot and he’s in the process of building us a house just outside of the city. So, yeah, he’s pretty busy.”

  “Wow! He does sound busy, but he’s not so different from my man,” Kim says. “Mine works all the time, too, but if he didn’t, I’d be the one working all the crazy hours.” The others agree and nod that they’d be in similar positions.

  “I’ve picked up quite a few hours myself,” I admit, sipping my drink. “It helps fill my time since he’s been gone so much, and building a new house is expensive.” I omit the part about us trying to get pregnant because it’s a painful subject and I’m not ready to divulge too much on the topic, especially since these are customers and not my closest friends.

  “At least he’s doing most of the work building a new house. I remember when we had ours built, it cost us nearly three times the purchase price of a new home but it was worth it. My master bath is to-die-for, and my walk-in closet? A complete dream!”

  Gulping down the rest of my drink, I listen to the girls talk about their houses and husbands, and glance over at Rocco who is barely hanging onto his seat. “Excuse me,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

  Walking up to Rocco, I use my body weight to push him upright onto the barstool and put my arm around him to hold him into position. “Hey! Whatch’ya doing?”

  He turns in my direction and his bloodshot eyes try to focus on me but it’s useless. “Babe,” he draws out the word. “I love you. Are you coming back to hang out with me now?”

  He’s slurring his words and so close to passing out that it’s not even funny. I’m so pissed off at him because this means the end of our night. I never should’ve left to go hang out with the girls but I was only gone for about a half an hour. How much could he have possibly drank while I was gone? I’m going to need help getting him home so I scan the bar for Harle
y, who’s tending to a large group of patrons who just came in. Karen comes into view, carrying a case of beer up from the basement.

  “Karen!” I shout to her. “How much has he had to drink?”

  She shrugs her shoulders, “I don’t know, maybe five shots and a couple of beers?”

  That doesn’t sound right because I know for a fact that he’s had more than that since before I sat down with the girls. “Since when?” I ask as she comes to the counter so we’re no longer shouting.

  “I don’t know what he’s had since he’s been here, that’s what I made him.”

  Damn it. I want to yell at her but it’s not her fault for giving him what he asked for, but now I’ve got to figure out how to get him home—especially in this dress with these heels on. He’s more than double my body weight and nearly a foot taller than me, there’s no way I’ll be able to get him inside by myself.

  I keep him upright on the barstool and have Karen bring us a couple of glasses of water. “Here, drink some of this,” I tell him, bringing the glass to his lips. “It’ll help you feel better.”

  While he nurses the water, I wait for Harley to finish waiting on the rest of the customers before I flag him over to us.

  “Holy shit! How much has he had?” He asks, noticing Rocco’s completely drunken state.

  “I don’t know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But I’m going to need help getting him home.”

  His eyes scan the bar before he glances up at the clock. It’s close to closing time but there are still plenty of people in the bar, most of which have been served. “Let me talk to Karen and see what I can do,” he says.

  A few minutes later, he returns with his keys and we head out the door. The two of us each have one of Rocco’s arms draped around our necks as we help support him until we get him inside Harley’s truck. I’m so glad that he offered to take Rocco because I’d have a hell of a time keeping him in line during the ride home. He slurs his words, telling me how much he loves me as Harley buckles him in and shuts the door.

  “Follow us home. I’m going to take the highway since it’s faster. Hopefully, he doesn’t puke in my truck because then I’d have to kill him,” he laughs.

  “You got it,” I say, fishing my keys out of my purse. “I’ll see you at home.”

  Chapter 13

  Jules

  We work together to get Rocco tucked into bed. He’s a blubbering mess, but I’ve seen him much drunker—and so has Harley. The two of them have spent many nights partying together well before I ever came into the picture.

  I hear Harley tell him there’s a glass of water beside the bed as I take a cold can of soda out of the fridge. Carrying Rocco inside was a workout, to say the least, and I broke out in a small sweat as we made our way up the porch stairs.

  Plopping down on the couch, I close my eyes and roll the cold can across my forehead and down my neck. The frigid metal feels so good against my skin. Taking a deep breath, I let out a loud sigh, letting all of the stress leave my body.

  I get the feeling that someone is watching me, so I slowly open my eyes. Harley is standing near the entrance where the hallway meets the living room, his eyes glued to me.

  “H-how long were you standing there?” I ask, opening the can of soda, taking a gulp of it.

  “Long enough,” he answers, making his way toward me.

  He takes a seat beside me on the couch. He could sit anywhere he wants—in the Captain’s chair, on the love seat, a few inches closer to the arm of the couch—but he plants himself right next to me, his jeans rubbing against my legs.

  “Thanks for your help tonight. Do you think Karen’s all right? By herself?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine. She’ll just have to work for the last thirty minutes of her shift.” Even though my gaze is fixed straight ahead, I can feel him continuing to stare at me. “You know, Rocco’s a pretty lucky guy.”

  “How so?” I ask, taking another drink of my soda.

  His hand loosely cups my knee, just like he did that one night in the truck. “Because if I found a girl like you, I’d be the happiest man on earth.”

  “What do you mean?” My eyes fixate on his hand.

  “Are you serious? Jules, you’re the perfect package. You’re caring, sweet, smart, gorgeous, and you have a smoking hot bod.”

  “No, I don’t,” I nervously laugh. I can feel my cheeks heating up.

  “You do,” he insists, sliding his hand a little higher up my leg. When it inches near my thigh, I shift my gaze up to him. Both of our eyelids are half closed in the dimly lit room, and something—I don’t know what—comes over me. Spreading my legs, I grant him full access to me.

  Gazing into each other’s eyes, he brushes his lips against mine, testing out the waters—and I fully welcome his mouth. Tenderly, he bites my bottom lip before plunging his tongue in my mouth. Passionately kissing, his hand travels higher up my leg until he reaches my panties.

  I’m so fucking turned on by him and it’s obvious that he can feel it. My panties are soaked. Opening my legs wider, I urge him to continue touching me and he eagerly does so. He pushes my lace thong to the side and strokes my clit in slow up and down motions. Teasing me only makes me wetter and it’s driving me insane.

  Maybe if I tease him in return, he’ll see that it’s not so nice.

  Leaning over him, I place my hand over his zipper and instantly feel his hardened cock beneath the thick denim jeans he’s wearing.

  I can’t believe he’s already so hard.

  Firmly grabbing him, I squeeze his shaft before slowly tracing the outline of his hardened member. Even through his jeans, I can tell he’s big. Maybe even bigger than Rocco.

  When my fingertips reach the head of his cock, he pushes his finger inside me. I can’t help but bear down, pushing him deeper inside of me.

  “Fuck,” he says, using his other hand to grab my hair. “You’re so wet.”

  I moan into his mouth as he pushes against my G-spot while his thumb skillfully strums over my clit. He has expert hands and knows exactly how to use them.

  As I begin unzipping his jeans, guilt washes over me.

  What am I doing? I’m married to Rocco, and this is his best friend. He trusts both of us.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, pulling away from Harley. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

  He removes his hand from my panties and tries to pull me back to him. “Hey, what’s wrong? Was it something I did?”

  “No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” I assure him. “It’s just—it’s just that, I don’t know.” I look down at my dress that’s halfway up my torso and pull it back down. “Rocco. You know?”

  He runs his hand through his hair, “Yeah.”

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong—,” I start to say but suddenly, a staggering Rocco appears in the hallway. Trying to keep upright, he uses the walls to help hold him up.

  “Jules? I think I might get sick,” Rocco says.

  I jump up from the couch, guilt floods the pit of my stomach like a heavy brick. All that’s running through my mind is that I smell like Harley’s cologne and how wet my panties still are, and how dirty I feel.

  “I’ll get you a trash can. Go back to bed,” I tell him. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Here, let me help you, bro,” Harley says, getting off the couch.

  I leave them to it and head into the kitchen to get into my stash of plastic grocery bags that I like to recycle as small trash bags and stuff one into a clean waste bin. Making my way down the hall, I hear running water coming from the bathroom; it’s Harley getting a cool washcloth for Rocco.

  “He might need this,” he says to me as I pass by the door.

  “Thanks,” I murmur before I enter the bedroom and close the door. “Here you go, babe,” I say to Rocco, giving him the wastebasket and washcloth. “Do you want a drink of water or anything?”

  “Yeah,” his voice is gruff. “Give me some ibuprofen or something.”

  After fetching his medici
ne, I hand him his water and watch him gulp it down as I wonder how I could be such a terrible wife. He’s been busting his ass for our new house and our fresh future, and here I am, lusting after his best friend.

  “All better now?” I ask, making a fuss over the washcloth until it’s resting perfectly on his temples. I feel like I need to do something—even if only for myself—to prove I’m a good wife.

  “Yeah, thanks,” he mumbles before rolling over and falling back to sleep.

  I replay everything that happened on the couch in my mind and even though I feel bad about it, I can’t help but think about how hot it was. No other man, besides Rocco, has touched me in the last five years and it felt so good.

  Maybe it’s because of the trouble that we’ve been having, or our lack of a sex life, or maybe it’s just that feeling wanted by someone else made me feel good. As I lie in bed next to a snoring Rocco, I can’t stop thinking about Harley. A mixture of lust and guilt course through me as my mind torments me with questions about my marriage and my feelings for Harley. About an hour goes by before I sneak out of bed and tiptoe down the hall to the other bedroom.

  “Harley?” I whisper. I wait a minute and whisper his name again. When I don’t get a response, I gently push the door open and peek in on him. Just like his best friend, he’s out cold, snoring away. It’s only now that I realize I haven’t set foot in this room since he moved in and decide to take a look around. Even though it’s the middle of the night, there’s plenty of streetlight illuminating the room.

  For the most part, it’s pretty plain. Aside from his bed, there’s just an old, beat-up dresser, and a small stand with a stereo on it. Looking around, everything seems pretty tidy—which doesn’t surprise me—except for his wrinkled clothes on the floor. I think he must sleep in his underwear because they’re the only thing that’s not in the floor but I can’t tell because he’s got the sheets pulled over himself. Wanting to smell his cologne again, I pick up his shirt to sniff it but my hand feels something wet. Holding it up to the light, I realize that it’s come and drop it back where I found it.