I never thought I’d write something like this about Emma. She was my roommate, my trivia-night buddy, the one person who could keep up with my endless rants about work and city life. We’d lived together for almost a year in that cramped but cozy two-bedroom flat in Brooklyn, where everything smelled faintly of coffee and weed, and our biggest fight had been over who left pasta sauce in the sink. There’d always been this unspoken agreement: Emma was off-limits, emotionally and physically. She dated, I dated, and neither of us ever crossed that line.
But that all changed last spring. I still remember the day so clearly—rain had been smudging the city for hours, I got home soaked and annoyed, phone buzzing with emails from my boss. Emma was sitting at the kitchen table wearing an oversized sweater, curled up over a mug of tea and her laptop open to some design project. She glanced up, blue eyes bright. “Rough day?”
I shrugged off my wet jacket, noticing the way her legs were tucked underneath her, bare from the knees down. I forced myself to look away. “Isn’t it always?”
She grinned. “I made vodka pasta. It’s probably cold now, but…”
That was Emma—unfazed, caring in a way that hit me right in the chest. A low, unfamiliar thrum started in my stomach then, but I ignored it.
We slumped on the sofa to eat dinner, Netflix rolling with background noise as we talked about everything but what mattered. The sexual tension was almost laughable, but at that point, it felt more like a joke than anything else. Safe. Relegated to the territory of “what ifs” I’d sometimes entertain alone in my bed, late at night, when I let myself imagine what her skin would feel like under my hands.
The night everything shifted started out stupidly normal. Emma had been dumped—again—by some finance bro she’d gone out with for a couple of months. She came home angry, kicked off her boots, and dropped onto the rug like a felled tree.
I hesitated before sitting down beside her, close but not quite touching. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” she said, sighing. After a second, she added, “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Why do guys only want me for sex?” she asked. She laughed, but it was brittle around the edges.
I paused, unsure if I should go for a joke or honesty. I went honest. “That’s bullshit. You’re fucking beautiful, yeah, sure. Smart. But you’re also—so much fun. They’re idiots if they can’t see that.”
She looked at me, really looked. “Would you ever? Want me for just sex?”
My pulse thrummed crazily. I forced a smile. “I’m not an idiot.” My brain screamed at me: Don’t flirt. She’s vulnerable. Don’t fuck this up.
But she didn’t laugh. She said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear her, “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
A pause. I hated myself for it, but I felt my cock twitch with interest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She propped herself up on one elbow, eyes now shining with a mix of challenge and embarrassment. “I mean—” her cheeks flushed crimson, “—you never look at me that way, and… I don’t know. We could.”
There it was. The door I’d always avoided walking through. Emma, my friend. My safe place.
My head was spinning. “Are you sure? I don’t want to… fuck up what we have.”
She grinned, loosening slightly. “Yeah, I’m sure. Unless you’re not into it. Or into me.”
I could barely breathe. I wanted nothing more—had wanted this for too long, and now, with her sprawled beside me, sweater slipping to reveal a bare shoulder, rain still thudding against the windows, I just couldn’t pretend. Our knees touched. My hand fell over hers, warm and uncertain.
I whispered, “I think about it sometimes.”
Emma’s pupils grew dark and wide. “Me too.” She laughed nervously, “Is this weird?”
“Yeah,” I said, “but the good kind.”
We sat quietly for a minute, eyes locked; we’d broken something between us, and there was no going back. I moved slowly, bringing my hand up her arm, feeling goosebumps trail my touch. Her lips parted, and in that moment, every ounce of anxiety flickered away. I leaned in, hesitant, searching her eyes for any doubt.
She closed the gap for me. Her kiss was soft, hungry for reassurance, and I matched her urgency. I grazed my tongue over her bottom lip, let my hand splay across her back. Time stopped—all I could taste was Emma, all I could hear was her little moans as my fingers slipped beneath her sweater, finding only bare skin.
The way she arched under my touch sent a jolt down my spine. I pulled her into my lap, her thighs straddling mine, feeling the heat of her body press against my erection. In the back of my mind, I worried about the morning after, about boundaries and consequences, but her hands in my hair pulled me back to the present.
She broke the kiss, breathless. “Let’s take this to my room,” she murmured. Her voice was deeper than usual, husky with need.
I only nodded. My hands trembled as I followed her, my heart wild in my chest—not with nerves now, but pure hunger. Emma sat on the edge of her bed, legs open, inviting me between them. Her gaze didn’t waver.
“I want you so fucking bad, Jamie,” she whispered.
I knelt, sliding her sweater up and off, my mouth finding the sensitive spot along her collarbone. She gasped as I sucked, leaving a trail of wet heat down her chest, my fingers playing with her nipples until she whimpered. I loved every sound she made—each breath and gasp turning me on harder as I stripped out of my own clothes, desperate to feel her skin against mine.
Emma leaned back, pulling me down to her, her thighs caging me in as I ground my hips against her, cock pushing insistently at her panties. Her hands found their way between us, peeling the last fabric from my body and then her own, until we were both naked, bare except for the raw want in our eyes.
“Are you sure?” I asked one last time, my fingers wet with her, teasing her entrance.
She grabbed my wrist, thrusting her hips to meet me. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind,” she breathed.
That was all I needed. I lined myself up, the swollen head of my cock finding her heat. She moaned as I pressed into her, inch by inch, feeling her tight and hot around me. We both shuddered, the tension of months exploding between us.
I moved slow at first, letting us both feel every second. Each thrust went deeper, Emma’s nails digging into my back, her legs locking tighter around me. She pulled me down for a kiss—messy, hungry, both of us gasping, groaning. I could taste her, smell her, lose myself entirely in her.
She rode every movement, meeting me thrust for thrust, crying out as I fucked her harder, the sound of her breathless moans driving me insane. My hands gripped her hips, moving faster, deeper, my orgasm building, her body trembling beneath me as she neared hers. She choked out my name, and I could feel her walls pulse around me as she came—hot, wet, shuddering. Her release pushed me over the edge, and I lost myself inside her, our bodies melting together in the dark.
When it was finally over, we lay tangled in the sheets, sweat cooling, Emma’s fingers tracing lazy circles across my chest. Neither of us said anything for a long while. I wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, if this would ruin us, but as she nuzzled into my neck and whispered, “Stay with me tonight?” I realized—I didn’t really care. For the first time in months, everything felt right.