This scene was written for another reddit-or. Enjoy, darling.

We’ve been friends for years. Good friends. Either you’re in a relationship, or I am. But since this week, you broke up with your man and we’re both single. You asked me to come over so we could watch Friends, eat chocolate and ice cream, and just keep each other company. We spend the entire weekend lounging around, cooking, chilling, and joking with each other. We even sleep in the same bed. Me, in my sweatpants and shirt, you, in your nightdress. It’s all been going fine. Until…tonight.

I’ve just finished cleaning up the kitchen, and I am about to take a shower when you just walk past me in the hallway, squeezing water out of your hair with a towel. It’s been hot outside all day; it’s the peak of summer, so your night dress barely grazes your mid-thigh. There are droplets of water that darken the fabric, splattered across the front and back. 

I can see the curve of your breasts. I can see your nipples. I can see that I’m in trouble.

I’ve been attracted to you from minute one. To me, you’re the picture of health. Plump lips, bright eyes, long, dark hair…and your body, God, your body. The way your waist curves into your hips. Ngh. I take a second to turn my attention inward. So far I've been able to zone out those dangerous thoughts. We’re friends. I can’t be seriously thinking of you like—

And then you pick something up from the floor in the bedroom and I can see down your nightdress. My resolve is broken. Floodgates open.

I am fucked.

By 8:30, you’re curled up in bed under the single sheet we use as a blanket, propped up on your mountain of pillows, watching Friends. As I lie beside you, I am actively trying to fight the images that flash across my mind. There’s this tension in my groin, coiling tighter and tighter the longer we lie here idly. The scent of your coconut shampoo is all around me. Your scent invades me. My eyes close in their last attempt to suffocate my fantasies. 

I could make you feel better. I could make you feel so good. 

My heart thumps and my cock thickens at the wave of heat rushing over me. Not only is it unbearably hot inside your bedroom, but now my body is boiling too.

I sit up quickly. “You okay?” you ask, all concerned. You look lost on your side of the bed, so lost that my mind screeches to a halt. You need me to be there for you this weekend. You need me to not be a horny dick. Pull yourself together.

So I…move closer, and lie back down again. “You wanna rest your head on me?” For once in my life, my compassion is greater than my desire. You don’t need your friend to think about fucking you. You need your friend to hold you. Comfort you.

The longer we lie here, the more I convince myself that you can hear my heart thud heavily inside my chest. You don’t mention it though, instead, you just lay your head on me, your front sealed to my side. Your breasts pressed against me. With the sheet covering me from the waist down, I sneakily adjust my hard-on inside my sweatpants. Whenever your eyes droop closed for a second, I use my thumb to push my cock under the waistband, one inch at a time. I am painfully hard. And there is nothing I can do about it. 

Shame and guilt mix in my gut as I stare at the ceiling. Friends playing, you resting against me, and I am thinking about sex. About releasing that pent-up tension. About rolling on top of you and— I blow out a slow breath, eyes closing. I have a great amount of willpower; I can do this. But then, you shift unconsciously, and your knee grazes my boner. That first touch sets my nervous system on fire. I tense up, hold my breath. You’re cradling me like you’d cradle a pillow. And now you’re asleep. Shit.

Another twenty minutes later and I peel myself out of your grip. I head downstairs to calm myself down. To cool down. Breathe, breathe. I close my hands, splash water onto my face, and rest my hands on either side of the kitchen sink. It’s going to be okay. You just broke up with your boyfriend. This is not going to happen. I’m going to be a good friend.

I’m just about to go back to bed when I hear the stairwell creak. You turn the corner and enter the kitchen. “There you are,” you say. With every step, your tits move… my gaze drops immediately, my resolve breaking into pieces. Again. “I was looking for you.” You step in closer, looking up at me in the dim light of the kitchen. It’s dark but for the faint moonlight coming from outside.

“I was hot, needed some water,” I explain when you raise your hand and touch my cheek.

“Oh, you’re burning up. You sure you’re okay?” Your other hand brushes my shoulder, making me suppress a shiver. 

The more you touch me, the more I lose control. My heart drums out a heavy rhythm in my chest. There you are, so innocent, so unassuming about what is going on in my head. Big, blue-grey doe eyes. You say my name, all soft and questioning.

My gaze drops to your lips, those full, plump lips. When you do the same, just for a split second, my resolve evaporates. An unspoken signal. I can’t. I can’t not—

Three seconds, that’s all it takes to cross a boundary that was set years ago.

My hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you in, before I dip down to close the distance. Our lips clash together. A whimper breaks our silence. Your flat hand splays against my abdomen, in surprise, in shock, until fingers curl into my shirt, twisting, tugging.

I won’t stop now. I can’t stop now.  Only if you tell me to.

Consumed by your scent, your warmth, your softness, I pin you to the side of the counter and lift you with my hands at where your thighs meet your buttocks. Even then, you have to angle your head back so you don't lose our connection. You’re so tiny it drives me absolutely wild. I can’t think, I barely breathe. This unhinged, ravenous urge to get closer to you rolls over me, enveloping me, pulling me under. And you with me. 

“Oh my God—” you manage to gasp when our connection breaks for just a second. Your thighs open more. I pull you toward me on the counter, slotting in right between your legs. Then, my eyes find yours.

“I can stop,” I murmur, my mind fuzzy around the edges.

“Don’t.” The word, a green light. Your tone, such a turn-on. All breathy and full of desire that matches mine.

Our lips collide again, this time harder, deeper, with a yearning I’ve not felt in months. My body is on fire; my thoughts are fading away. All I feel is my throbbing cock between your legs, so close to where I want to be. I need to be. There’s no doubt you want the same. Your body language is everything: knees lifting higher, thighs parting, you want this. More than just a kiss. All of it. All of me.

“Please,” you sob, making my brain melt. You’re as desperate for this as I am. Your fingers are in my hair, tugging, then twisting in my shirt. We’re both urgent, both horny. With one arm around your middle and one hand on the underside of your thigh, I lift you up and off the counter, so I can carry you to the dining table.

There’s stuff that has to go. Stuff that tumbles to the floor. Stuff that breaks.

It’s loud in the silence between us, but neither of us cares. You lean back onto the table, eyes fixed on me, legs still angled and open. I push them together, you lift your bum, and I strip off your panties. This is happening. You reach out to touch my cock through the fabric of my sweatpants, touching, then squeezing. At once, I pull you up from your propped-up, lying down position on the table. My eyes hooded with lust, my thumb underneath your jawline. Look at you, so pretty. You rub my cockhead through the fabric, goosebumps, causing my eyes to shutter closed. Fuck.

I hook my thumb in the elastic of my sweatpants and pull it down until my cock pops out. You don’t look down; your eyes are on mine. You even shift on the table to get a little closer, hands braced behind you. My heart throbs in my chest. I bring up my hand, add some spit, and then rub it in. That’s when your eyes close as if you’re preparing yourself for what is about to happen.

I line us up and your hands fly to my shoulders, gripping my shirt so tightly it nearly rips at the seams. Silky hot. My lips part, so do yours. And slick. You gasp, eyes wide. I slide my hands to your lower back to keep you in place. The sounds you make are surreal, small little lascivious whimpers as your eyes are fixed on me. Deeper, deeper, deeper, until you make me stop, breathe through it. Eyes closed in concentration.

I catch your lips in another deep kiss, slower this time, determined to distract you. With every pump, every thrust, it gets easier for you to take me, and you get less tense. You let me in, even when your thighs shake and you part from my lips to moan and pant; you don’t make me stop. 

I lean over you, hand on your back, the other on the table, and then begin to fuck you until you cry out and your eyes snap open. You moan the most guttural moan I’ve ever heard, head tilted back, throat exposed. I’m so lost in lust, so lost in chasing that high, that I can’t form any rational thought. My mind is clouded with arousal. I don’t care what the consequences are, I need to come.

You cradle the back of my neck to hold on, to steady yourself, breathing through the increasing pace of my thrusts. Your breasts bounce obscenely under your nightdress, nearly popping out, and then I remember. Remember your buttons. The ones you shared with me when we chatted about your fuckbuddy-to-be.

I’m right at the edge of my orgasm, and yet I pause to latch onto one of your nipples, keeping the fabric in between us as I suck. You cry out at the top of your lungs, gripping handfuls of my hair, and then start to roll your hips like you’re in a frenzy.

“Yes, yes, yes,” your voice pitches higher, nails digging into my skin. Your body is wound tight as a spring, ready to chase that release. I suck your nipple into my mouth, moaning around it, my own orgasm threatening to spill over. You whine loudly, unhinged, and grind your clit against me over and over and over again until your entire body suddenly stiffens, your legs begin to shake, and your insides clench repeatedly around me. That’s it.

Finally, you let out a loud gasp full of relief and surge forward. You’ve come, and I am right behind you, dropping off the edge. As soon as I disconnect from your tit, I shudder all over, my vision going black and spotty. With every surge of come, I lose connection with my body, attention turning inward, narrowing in on the aftershocks of the high that rushes through every fiber of my being. I can feel my load pooling inside you, right against your cervix. Thick and hot.

My breathing is slow, shallow when I come to again. I can’t form a thought, all I can do is see you spread out on the table, tits out, nightdress pooling at your hips. I am still inside you as my arousal slowly fizzles out, the cloud lifting from my mind. 

And then I realize the inevitable: we didn’t use protection.

“Fuck,” I exhale the word, watching my slick dick slide out of you between us. Immediately that thick creampie inside your pussy drips down onto the table… Your inhale slowly, deeply, tits still out and legs angled and lifted. You look down too. “It’s…fine, right?” I ask, somewhat hopeful.

You press your lips together before you say, “I’m...I’ve been..” You exhale a shaky breath before you go again: “I know I’m ovulating…” Oh my God. The image of my sperm finding their way to your fertile egg cause goosebumps to rise across my skin. I can literally see it in front of my inner eye… all those active swimmers trying to burrow inside your egg, from all sides, all directions. I know you’re fertile. And I know I am potent. I donate my sperm at a local fertility clinic, for God’s sake.

“We could…I mean…” I stutter, “morning after pill?” I suggest, although I don’t mean it. Fuck no. But it’s your body, your decision, whether you want to take that risk.

The second I say it, your eyes connect with mine in an intense connection. “No,” you reply quickly. Holy shit. “If I’m pregnant with your baby, I am going to have it.”