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This was our night.
Finally.
“Everyone, get together so I can take a picture!” my mom called out, bustling into the room with the energy of a whirling dervish. Mom always brought an energy that could either be exciting or exhausting, depending on her mood.
Our group of four huddled together in the front foyer. We were a motley crew, but we worked. I felt Adam put his hand on my hip as he squeezed in close.
“You really do look amazing, Meg,” he murmured in my ear. I could smell his aftershave and the distinct scent that was all him.
His fingers burned through my dress, branding my skin.
This was it.
The moment it would all change.
I wanted to hold onto this feeling forever.
***
Of course, it all crashed and burned extraordinarily.
Because Adam Ducate was no longer my best friend.
Now he was simply the asshole that broke my heart.
1
Adam
Present Day
I was about to cum—and cum hard.
I closed my eyes and thrust faster, my hips pumping in overtime.
My mind was blissfully blank. I could only focus on the feeling of pressure in my cock and the soft, satin feel of her skin. I gripped her thighs, spreading them wider so I could hit just the right spot. Her deep, rough moan let me know I was doing the job right.
I grinned, feeling high on it. If I was good at anything, it was fucking.
I flipped her over onto her stomach, her ass in the air as I pounded into her. I wrapped my hand into her long, blonde hair, giving it a yank as my dick spasmed. We both yelled our release, our bodies slick with sweat.
This was always the best part. Those few glorious seconds after I shot my load when I didn’t have to think about anything. Particularly what a lying bitch my soon to be ex-wife was. A lying, unfaithful, kick-a-man-in-the nuts bitch.
The lying ex-wife in question sighed beneath me, turning on her back and squeezing her legs around my waist, refusing to let me go. She’d swallow me whole if I weren’t careful. Lord knows she’d tried her hardest for the past ten years. And had almost succeeded.
Thank Christ, I had woken the hell up and kicked her traitorous ass to the curb.
Yet, here I was, cock deep in her succubus pussy like the dumbass I was trying so hard not to be anymore.
Sex with Chelsea was easy. Too easy. Old habits die hard, I guess. Our compatibility in the bedroom had never been our problem. It was everything else that was a goddamn mess.
Thirty minutes of excellent fucking couldn’t erase over a decade of deceit and manipulation, no matter how spectacular her skills were. Staring down at the woman I had stupidly shackled myself to when I was too young to make informed decisions, my dick softened, and I immediately pulled out, wishing I could fast forward through the next ten awkward minutes.
Chelsea—my soon to be ex-wife—arched her back, her magnificent breasts on proud display. I loved her tits—as well I should, considering how much I paid for them. She spread out in the middle of what used to be our shared king-sized bed, angling her body in a way that accentuated her very best parts. She was gorgeous, and she knew it. Which was part of the reason I should have known all along we’d never work out.
Yet here we were, post-coital, six months after I caught her in bed with Dave, the contractor I had hired to build the new extension on our 6,200 square foot house. And I was damn sure he wasn’t the only one she’d spread her legs for.
Cuckold wasn’t a good color on me.
