I never thought I’d be the one writing about this kind of thing. Actually, I never thought anything would ever happen between me and Emily at all. We’d been friends forever; the kind of friends people mistakenly call siblings, because we know each other so well. I mean, she’s gorgeous—always has been—but when you grow up side by side, sleeping over at each other’s houses, sharing late-night talks, it just gets… familiar. Comfortable.
So, when I say I didn’t see it coming, I mean it.
It started last autumn, a Friday night in the city, with rain slamming against glass. Emily had just broken up with her boyfriend, and honestly, I didn’t know if I should feel bad or kind of relieved. I split up with Anna a couple months before. That’s the sort of detail you glance over when you’re trying to figure out when everything shifted, but I remember the weird feeling of both of us being single for the first time in years.
She texted me just after seven.
*“Plans got canceled. Bored and alone—wanna hang at yours? Can bring wine.”*
*“Always,”* I wrote back—automatic.
She showed up in my old hoodie and tight jeans, hair still half-wet from the rain. She took her shoes off, plopped on my couch, cracked open the wine, and we started our usual lazy banter. But that night, there was something humming underneath our words—something I kept trying to ignore.
We watched a dumb action movie, feet stretched out together on my coffee table. Halfway through, she collapsed against me with a dramatic sigh.
“Ugh, why can’t real guys be like this?” she groaned, nodding at the muscled lead on the screen.
I snorted. “If you want a guy with no emotional intelligence and a six-pack, easy. But I don’t have the abs.”
She nudged me with her foot. “I like you just the way you are,” she said, softer.
The thing is, there’s the way someone says something, and the way they *look* when they say it. She stared at me for a second too long, cheeks flushed—probably from the wine. I looked away first. My heart felt jittery. I didn’t want to believe she might mean something by that.
*
The next day, I couldn’t stop replaying that conversation. It bugged me. Emily was the type to flirt with everyone harmlessly, but something was different. Every time my phone buzzed, I hoped it was her—and when she called that evening, asking if I wanted to get coffee, I said yes even though I was dead tired.
Walking to the café, rain still in the air, she held my arm, laughing at something stupid I said. My brain practically screamed at me not to fuck things up. We’d never talked about hooking up, not once. Even at parties, when friends made jokes or asked why we weren’t together, we both scoffed.
But something had shifted in her gaze—something urgent, searching.
In the café, she watched me over her mug. “You ever feel like everyone expects us to get together?”
I paused. “People say stuff. But that’s not us.”
She pushed a curl behind her ear. “Isn’t it?”
There was a tension in the pause after that. I didn’t know what to say.
She paid, and as we walked outside, she slipped her arm into mine again. The wet dark made the streetlights seem blurry, unreal. We were quiet, but my body tingled with nerves the whole time.
I tried not to notice her lips.
*
I spent the next week in a weird limbo. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about the way she’d looked at me. I tried talking myself out of it—she must’ve been messing with me. We’d be idiots to risk our friendship. Why wreck the safest thing I knew?
Saturday night came around, and it was pouring again. I’d been playing video games and ignoring social media, but then she texted:
*“Weather sucks. Come over? I got new whiskey.”*
When I got there, she was on the floor, surrounded by records and candles, the kind of scene that would’ve felt staged with anyone else.
“Hey, you,” she grinned, holding out a glass. The whiskey burned, but I didn’t care. She was in pajama shorts, an oversized shirt, her legs bare, tan skin gleaming in the flickering light.
My throat went dry.
We put on old songs, yelled along, and danced, spinning until she crashed into my chest. She laughed, pressed up closer than necessary. I felt my heart hammering. I kept thinking, *This is the moment. Say something. Touch her.*
But all I did was stand there, completely frozen.
“I think I’m too drunk to stand,” she said, but didn’t pull away.
Something exploded in my stomach. My hand went to her waist. She tilted her chin up—close, so close.
My brain screamed: *Are you sure? Don’t fuck this up.*
Still, I leaned in.
She kissed me first. Her lips were soft, urgent. It felt like falling—a jolt right through me. Her hands tangled in my shirt, tugging me closer. All the doubts still buzzed in my head, but her mouth on mine drowned them out.
I pressed her against the wall, kissing her harder. She tugged at my shirt, fingers hot against my back. Her breath hitched. I let my hands glide down, tracing the edge of her shorts, feeling her shiver under my touch.
She broke the kiss, panting. “You sure about this?” she whispered, her eyes wide.
I nodded, but my voice cracked. “Yeah. Hell yeah.”
We stumbled towards her room, laughing, tripping over discarded clothes. My nerves were jangling, a wild mess of excitement and terror, but her touch told me this was real—it was finally happening.
She sat on the bed, pulling me down with her. I kissed her neck, tasting her skin, my hands roaming over her curves. She arched into me, fingers digging into my hair.
“God, I’ve wanted this,” she murmured.
“Me too,” I breathed. “A lot longer than I’ll admit.”
I slid my hand between her legs, feeling how wet she was. She gasped, writhing against my fingers.
Her hands unbuttoned my jeans, freeing my cock. She wrapped her fingers around me, stroking me slow, making me groan. The sounds she made—the desperate whimpers, the way she bit her lip—drove me crazy.
I kissed down her body, pulling her shorts aside, my mouth tracing her thighs. She grabbed my hair, begging me not to tease. So I slid my tongue over her, tasting her, making her back arch. She moaned, hips grinding against my face.
“Fuck, please don’t stop—” she gasped, trembling, her body tensing as I pushed her over the edge.
After, she pulled me up and kissed me hungrily, pulling me on top of her. I positioned myself between her legs, hesitating for a second.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice shaking.
She nodded, breathless. “I want you. Now.”
I sank into her, slow at first, letting her adjust to me. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. We moved together, flesh slick, sweat slicking our bodies as our rhythm built. She clawed at my back, urging me faster.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” she gasped in my ear.
Her pussy clenched around me, tight and perfect. I pushed harder, desperate for more. She kissed me, open-mouthed and messy, our bodies crashing together.
When she came, it was wild, spine-arching, her nails digging into my shoulders. I followed, losing myself in her, groaning her name.
Afterward, we lay tangled up, hearts pounding.
She stroked my hair and grinned. “About time, huh?”
I laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Took us long enough.”
We stayed like that, silent, listening to the rain. In that moment, I didn’t care if anything changed—I just didn’t want to let her go.