My Dark Obsession: My Brother's Best Friends

Chapter 6: Cora

I felt so warm. So comfortable. It was like everything that had happened was just a bad dream, and now I was waking up next to James, ready to start a new day.

Something like that—whatever happened last night—it had to be a nightmare, right? A horrible, twisted dream that my mind had conjured up while I was asleep.

Because it couldn’t be real.

I nuzzled in further, inhaling deeply, expecting the familiar scent of James’s cologne. Normally, we spooned in the mornings, my body wrapped protectively around his, our limbs tangled together. But… we weren’t spooning right now.

We weren’t even close to our usual position.

And the bed—it didn’t feel right either. Too small, too firm, too… unfamiliar.

Maybe we had fallen asleep on the couch? It wouldn’t have been the first time, especially after a long day. That would explain the awkward positioning, the slight ache in my hip, the firm cushion beneath me.

Still, I didn’t move.

I enjoyed this—the steady rise and fall of his chest, the deep, rhythmic thump of his heartbeat beneath my cheek. His warmth seeped through our clothes, sinking into my skin, making me want to stay right here, pressed against him, just a little longer.

My hand must have found its way under his shirt at some point during the night, because as I traced my fingers lightly across his skin, I realized I wasn’t just resting against him. I was touching him, my palm flat against his toned abdomen.

And then, out of pure instinct, my hand moved—sliding across his side, feeling the firm ridges of his stomach—

Wait.

James didn’t have abs.

Not anymore. Not after years of eating dessert every single night.

My entire body locked up as my brain finally caught up. My eyes shot open, and suddenly, everything from last night came rushing back in a tidal wave of clarity.

I wasn’t in my house. I wasn’t on my couch. I wasn’t even with James. I was in my brother’s house. I was in his living room, sprawled out on his couch.

And the man whose heartbeat I had been listening to, whose warmth I had been soaking in, whose goddamn six-pack I had just been tracing—

Was not my husband. It was Will f*****g Taylor's. My brother’s best friend.

Oh. Oh.

My breath caught in my throat, panic slamming into me so hard it nearly knocked the air from my lungs. My fingers jerked away from his skin like I had just been burned, my entire body going rigid.

Shit. f**k. f**k, f**k, f**k. s**t.

I bit my lip, barely containing the string of curses that desperately wanted to spill out as I tried to extract myself without waking him. But before I could even lift myself off him, Will moved. Still half-asleep, he let out a low, contented sigh, shifting on the tiny couch. And in one fluid motion, both of his arms tightened around me, wrapping me up and pulling me flush against his chest once more.

"Just five more minutes," he mumbled against my hair, his voice gruff and raspy with sleep.

And holy f**k, if that didn’t do something to me.

My stomach flipped.

My pulse spiked.

My body betrayed me in every single possible way.

And now, locked between Will’s massive frame and the back of the couch, there was absolutely nothing I could do. I tried not to touch anything. Tried not to focus on the fact that my hands were once again pressed against his bare skin, trapped between his solid chest and my own body.

I forced myself to lean my head back, peering up at him through the dim light, only to find that he looked so at peace.

It was almost unfair—how relaxed he seemed, how goddamn beautiful he looked like this. His face was completely unguarded, his features soft in sleep, not a single crease of worry marring his expression.

No stress. No tension. No thoughts running a mile a minute. Just pure, undisturbed contentment.

"Will?" I whispered, trying to wake him gently.

He didn’t stir.

I tried again, keeping my voice low, careful not to startle him. "Will?"

Still nothing.

Then, right before my eyes, something changed. A smile—soft, small, dangerous—curved across his lips. And then, in the next breath, he nuzzled into me. My breath hitched.

"Cora," he sighed against my hair, his voice so low, so intimate, that a shiver ran down my spine.

Did he know it was me? Or was he dreaming of me? Either way, my brain short-circuited.

Because if he knew it was me, why was he still holding me so tightly? Why would Will Taylor—of all people—be curling into me like this? Saying my name like that? And if he was dreaming of me… What exactly was he dreaming about?

A Pandora’s box of questions opened in my mind, each one more confusing than the last.

"Will, please wake up," I whispered, my fingers drumming lightly against his chest.

And then—

His body stiffened. His breathing hitched. And holy s**t, something very large just pressed against my thigh. A startled gasp slipped from my lips.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, god.

It was huge.

My entire body ignited in flames, heat spreading through me at an alarming rate. Will shifted slightly, burying himself deeper into my hair, his arms still wrapped tightly around me. And then he realized.

Everything.

His body froze. His breathing stopped. His entire frame went rigid beside me.

"Cora?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep, but suddenly filled with awareness.

"That's me," I replied, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched as I cringed internally.

"s**t," he groaned, finally loosening his grip on me. "I—f**k, I must've fallen asleep or something."

Slowly, we untangled ourselves.

I sat up as best as I could, my hip twisted awkwardly, my face burning as Will pushed himself upright, running a hand through his ridiculously messy hair.

And god help me—he looked delicious.

His sleepy eyes were barely open, his shirt was wrinkled, his biceps flexed as he stretched—and oh god, I definitely wasn’t going to look any lower than that.

"That's okay," I blurted out, my voice an octave too high. "I mean, as far as I remember, I did tell you to hold me for a little longer." I forced out a laugh, trying to defuse the tension. "Technically, I didn’t specify how long a little longer was."

Will chuckled, his lips curling into a crooked grin—the one that always made my breath hitch.

"Right," he murmured. Then he inhaled deeply, meeting my gaze head-on. "Honestly? Even though we slept on your brother’s crappy couch, I don’t think I’ve ever slept better."

And then, as if he hadn’t just casually shattered my entire world, he raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck—

Which only made his biceps pop even more. And my lizard brain? Was definitely salivating.

How the f**k was I supposed to react to that?!

Never slept better?

He couldn’t say things like that. Not to me. Not about me.

I was married. I had been with James for over eight f*****g years. I shouldn’t be sleeping on a couch with another man, shouldn’t be waking up in his arms, and I definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it. And yet—

I had.

But this wasn’t just any husband I was thinking about.

This was the same man who wanted to sleep around. The same husband who had taken our marriage—our life together, everything we had built—and flushed it straight down the drain, all because he was scared he wasn’t getting enough s*x from random f*****g strangers.

So really, out of all the questionable things that could happen in an open marriage, falling asleep and cuddling with my brother’s best friend wasn’t exactly the worst thing in the world, right?

It probably didn’t even crack the top five.

I swallowed hard, forcing down the jumble of emotions swirling inside me as I risked another glance at Will. He was still sitting there, watching me, his brown eyes deep and unreadable.

I let out a slow breath.

“It was pretty great,” I admitted, my voice softer than I intended. My fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt as I forced myself to look anywhere but him. “Thank you… for last night.”

I ran a hand over my face, barely able to imagine what I must’ve looked like right now—messy hair, swollen and puffy eyes, remnants of sleep still clinging to my skin.

“It wasn’t your problem,” I added, feeling guilt swirl in my stomach. “And still—”

“Everything involving you is my problem, Cora,” he interrupted.

His voice—god.

Deep and smooth, with just enough roughness to make my stomach flutter.

I swallowed again, finally looking up at him, and when I did, it nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs.

Those eyes.

I had always loved Will’s eyes—rich, warm brown, like melted chocolate swirled with caramel when the light hit just right. But right now, as they locked onto mine, I saw something else. Something that made my pulse pound. Understanding. Affection. And something dangerously close to devotion.

I exhaled shakily, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what to do, Will.” His gaze searched mine, unwavering, unshakable. “What am I supposed to do?”

His hand came up, fingers brushing along my jaw before cupping my chin, holding me there, steadying me. I couldn’t help it—I leaned into his touch, into that solid warmth that had always been there for me.

Will had always been my anchor, my safe harbor, the one I could count on. Even when he was being a complete shithead.

“You’re supposed to do what feels right, Cora,” he murmured, his voice softer now, careful. “This time, I can’t tell you what to do. You have to decide what’s right for you.”

I let out a breath, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest.

We were so close.

It felt like we were gravitating toward each other, drawn in by something invisible, something inevitable. Like even if neither of us moved, the space between us would somehow disappear anyway.

My throat tightened.

“What if it’s all wasted?” I whispered. “What if he leaves me, and I have to start all over? What if… no one wants me?”

Will’s expression darkened instantly, his eyes flashing.

“Then they’re completely f*****g insane,” he said, his voice fierce.

I barely had time to react before I felt it—his breath, warm and slow, fanning across my lips as he spoke.

“You’re the most perfect person I’ve ever met,” he continued, each word sending a shiver down my spine. “Any man would be lucky to have you.”

I swallowed, my pulse hammering as his eyes flickered down.

I didn’t even realize I had done it until it was too late—until my tongue darted out, wetting my lips on instinct.

And that?

That was the breaking point.

His eyes darkened. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched. His thumb stroked across my cheek, and suddenly, it felt like every nerve in my body was on fire.

"I know I would be." And then—

Will Taylor kissed me.

My breath caught.

My eyes fluttered shut as his lips pressed against mine—soft, so soft, but still firm, still sure. A strangled noise left my throat, something between shock and something else, something dangerous.

And when he started to pull back—

I followed.

My lips found his again, pressing back against his with something desperate, something undeniable. And that was all it took. Will groaned against my mouth, and just like that, the kiss shifted. Stronger. Deeper.

More.

His other hand came up, fingers threading into my hair, holding me there, keeping me against him like he was afraid I might slip away. His tongue brushed against mine, tentative at first, and then—

Fire.

A thousand butterflies erupted inside me, wild and uncontrollable. I melted into him, my hands gripping his forearms, clinging to something solid, something real.

And then—

A moan slipped from my lips, muffled between his. Heat rushed to my face, mortification slamming into me.

But Will?

He growled.

And that growl—it sent something sharp and electric straight through me. His grip on me tightened, his lips pressing harder against mine, his tongue moving faster—

And then—

A loud bang echoed through the house.

Followed by—

"Will, you dickhead! You left the door unlocked!"

We ripped apart.

I barely had time to process before I was scrambling off the couch, out of Will’s arms, my breath ragged, my body still buzzing. My hands shot to my shirt, smoothing out the fabric as panic flooded through me.

Oh f**k.

Oh f**k, f**k, f**k.

“Cora,” Will whispered, his voice raw, wrecked.

And when I turned to look at him—the pain was right there on his face.

The longing. The need. And then—

Another voice. One that made my stomach drop.

"You can't blame the guy," the voice drawled, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. "He probably fell asleep watching the Discovery Channel or some shit."

Will groaned, dragging his hands over his face.

I froze.

Because that voice?

That was Mike Thomas.

Another shithead. Another one of my brother’s best friends. And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse—

The first person to step into the living room wasn’t my brother. And it wasn’t Mike.

No.

It was Matt Smith.

And unlike the rest of those idiots, Matt wasn’t a shithead. He was actually a decent person. Which somehow made this so much worse. His eyes landed on me instantly.

“Cora?” he said, his voice tinged with surprise.