I THOUGHT I LOVED HIM, UNTIL I FELL FOR MY BESTFRIEND'S BOYFRIEND.

CHAPTER FIVE

POPPY

I dragged him down the hallway, my fingers tight around his wrist, heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. I couldn’t look back. If I met his eyes, all my brave, tipsy courage would shatter like glass.

Halfway there, he stopped me, gentle but firm, spinning me around and pulling me against him. His hands settled on my waist, warm through my dress, and then his mouth was on mine.

Soft at first, then deeper. Hungrier.

My stomach exploded with butterflies, a rush so intense my knees went weak. I kissed him back, desperate, tasting the faint whiskey on his tongue. Marcus made me feel… alive. Sexy. Like my body, soft curves, thick thighs, everything Damian had mocked, was something to crave, not hide.

God, I wanted him. I needed him.

I broke the kiss, breathless, cheeks burning. He looked wrecked, lips swollen, eyes dark and heavy, trailing from my mouth back up to my gaze, like he couldn’t decide where to settle.

We stumbled the rest of the way to the room, the same one from that first drunken night. I pushed the door open and pulled him inside, locking it behind us with shaky fingers.

The second the lock clicked, we crashed together again.

This kiss was different, harder, deeper, no holding back. His tongue slid against mine, slow and filthy, while his hands roamed everywhere. Up my sides, over my hips, cupping my breasts through the thin fabric of my dress. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more of him against me.

Heat poured off his body, mixing with mine until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. My skin felt electric, every touch sparking straight between my legs.

His hands dropped lower, sliding over my ass and grabbing, firm, possessive. I jolted, a sharp moan escaping into his mouth as pleasure shot through me like lightning.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead pressed onto mine, eyes wild.

“Poppy… what have you done to me?” His voice was rough, almost broken.

“Nothing,” I whispered, the room spinning a little from wine and want. “I just want you.”

My vision blurred at the edges, but I didn’t care. I reached for his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. My palms slid over warm skin, tracing tattoos, muscle, the hard lines of his chest. He groaned when my thumbs brushed his n*****s, hips pressing forward so I could feel exactly how much he wanted me too.

He didn’t wait long.

Hands gripping my thighs, he lifted me easily, and I wrapped my legs around his waist with a gasp. A few steps and my back hit the mattress, the dress rose up as he settled between my thighs.

Marcus looked down at me, really looked, eyes sweeping over my flushed face, my heaving chest, the way my dress had bunched high enough to show the lace between my legs.

“So f*****g beautiful,” he muttered, like he couldn’t believe I was real.

Then his mouth was on my neck, sucking, kissing, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch. His hand slipped under my dress, fingers tracing the edge of my panties before pushing them aside.

I was soaked. Embarrassingly so. But the way he groaned when he felt me, like it was the best thing he’d ever touched, made me bold.

He circled my c**t, slowly at first, teasing, then faster when I started rocking against his hand. I clung to his shoulders, moaning his name, already climbing so fast it scared me.

When I came, it hit hard, body shaking, thighs clamping around his wrist, a broken cry tearing from my throat.

He didn’t give me time to recover.

The dress pushed up to my waist, panties tugged down and off, he settled back between my legs. I heard the tear of a foil packet, then felt him, hot, hard, nudging at my entrance.

“Look at me, pretty,” he said, voice low and commanding.

I did.

He pushed in, slow, thick, stretching me perfectly. My breath caught, nails digging into his back as he filled me completely. When he bottomed out, we both stilled, trembling, foreheads pressed together.

Then he started moving.

Deep, steady strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot inside me. I wrapped my legs higher around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, the bed creaking under us.

Faster. Harder. The room filled with the sounds of us, wet skin, gasping breaths, my moans getting louder with every drive of his hips.

He shifted, hitting deeper, and I fell apart again, clenching around him, crying out as pleasure ripped through me a second time.

Marcus followed right after, burying himself deep with a rough groan of my name, body shuddering as he came.

After, he collapsed half on top of me, face buried in my neck, both of us slick with sweat and breathing like we’d run a marathon.

His arms tightened around me, holding me close like he never wanted to let go.

I smiled into his shoulder, heart full and body boneless.

For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was too much.

I felt like I was exactly enough.

My phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand, dragging me out of a deep, boneless sleep. I groaned, head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to it, yesterday’s wine hitting back hard. Everything ached in the best and worst ways.

I blinked against the soft afternoon light filtering through the blinds, hand fumbling for the phone to silence it. That’s when the memories slammed into me.

Marcus. His mouth is mine. His hands gripped my hips. The way he’d filled me, moved inside me, whispered my name like I was the only thing in the world.

Heat rushed straight between my legs. My cheeks burned as I bit my lip, a shy, giddy smile spreading across my face. God, last night was… incredible. More than incredible. I’d never felt so wanted, so completely taken.

I rolled over, expecting to find him beside me, maybe watching me with that intense look, or pulling me close again. But the bed was empty, sheets cool where he’d been.

My heart dipped for a second until I saw the note propped against my phone.

*I had to go back to the club. Stay here. I’ll be back, pretty.*

His handwriting was bold, a little messy. Just reading it made butterflies erupt in my stomach. I pressed the paper to my chest like a teenager, grinning stupidly.

He’d called me pretty again.

I let myself sink back into the pillow, phone forgotten, mind replaying every touch. The way he’d kissed down my body like he couldn’t get enough. How he’d groaned when I came around him. The weight of him on top of me, inside me, like we fit perfectly.

I squeezed my thighs together, still tender, still sensitive. A soft moan slipped out. I could stay here all day just remembering—

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

The phone again. Insistent.

I sighed and finally reached for it, squinting at the screen.

One new message.

From Damian.

My stomach dropped. Blood drained from my face so fast the room tilted.

The preview alone made me feel sick.

*I know I’m wrong, Poppy. Please let me apologize.*

My thumb hovered over the message, shaking.

No. Not today. Not after everything.

I locked the screen and tossed the phone to the foot of the bed like it burned.

He didn’t get to do this. Not now. Not when I’d finally started feeling good again. Not when I’d spent the night wrapped around someone who actually wanted me, flaws, softness, everything.

But even as I told myself that, a small, traitorous part of me, the part Damian had spent years training, whispered:

*What if he really means it this time?*

I pulled the covers over my head, heart racing for a completely different reason now.

Marcus will be back soon.

I just had to hold on until then.

I slipped out of the private room and headed back toward the bar, my steps quiet, almost guilty. The hallway still smelled faintly of us, sweat and s*x and something sweeter, and my body hummed with it, tender and satisfied.

But then I saw Marcus.

He was near the far end of the bar, deep in conversation with two men in dark suits. Their faces were serious, voices low, gestures sharp. Whatever it was, it didn’t look casual. I stopped in the shadows, not wanting to interrupt. Not wanting him to see the mess of thoughts swirling in my head.

Because Damian’s messages kept coming.

After that first one, more followed, short, pleading, almost frantic.

I miss you. I was an i***t. Please, just let me explain.

And the worst part? A tiny, pathetic part of me wondered if he meant it this time.

I hated myself for it.

I tugged the straps of my loose sundress higher, covering the faint marks Marcus had left on my skin, and started tiptoeing toward the exit. Bag clutched tight to my side, breaths shallow, like a thief sneaking out of her own life.

I was almost at the door when his voice cut through the air.

“Pretty.”

I froze. Fear and regret slammed into me at once. My stomach twisted. I forced a smile, too bright, too brittle, and turned slowly.

Marcus was already walking toward me, that easy stride eating up the distance. His eyes searched my face, soft and warm, like he could see right through the lie I hadn’t even told yet.

“Where are you going this early?” He glanced at his watch, brow creasing just slightly.

My throat closed. I couldn’t tell him the truth. He’d never let me go. And I wasn’t even sure why I needed to, but I did. I needed to hear Damian say it to my face. Needed closure. Needed to prove to myself I was really done.

“I’m… I’m going to see… Sharon,” I stammered, the lie tasting sour on my tongue. “She… has a thing.”

He studied me for a beat too long. Then he smiled, small, trusting, and pulled me gently into his arms. His lips brushed my forehead, warm and lingering.

“Okay. Give her my regards.”

He let me go and walked back to the men, like it was nothing. Like he believed me completely.

Guilt hit me like a wave, hot and heavy. My face burned with it. I didn’t want to start us with lies. But I couldn’t stop now.

I walked out fast, before I changed my mind.

The ride Damian sent was waiting outside. I slid in without a word, heart pounding the whole way.

The restaurant was beautiful, soft lighting, white linens, the kind of place Damian always loved because it made him feel important. I’d spent so much of my savings on nights like this, dressing him up, taking him out, trying to be enough.

And now here he was, booking a table for me.

Maybe he really was sorry.

I found table four easily. He was already there, legs bouncing under the table, hands rubbing nervously on his thighs, just like he used to do before meeting someone he wanted to impress.

When he saw me, his whole face lit up. He stood quickly, waving like a kid.

“Poppy,” he called, voice soft, almost reverent.

He walked over, palms smoothing his shirt. “You made it. I’m so glad.”

He pulled out my chair like a gentleman. I sat, stiff, avoiding his eyes.

“Why do you want to see me?” I asked, voice flat.

He reached across the table, taking my hands in his. His fingers were warm, familiar. Tears welled in his eyes, actual tears.

“Poppy, I just wanted to apologize. I’m so sorry for everything.”

I stared, shocked. Damian didn’t cry. Not in front of me. Not ever.

I pulled my hands away, anger rising slowly and hot. “You drugged me,” I said, voice shaking. “You tried to r**e me.”

He flinched, but didn’t look away. “I know. I know. I was desperate. Seeing you with him… it drove me crazy. I missed you so much.”

“You didn’t think I could move on,” I whispered, tears burning now. “You never thought anyone else would want me.”

He stood slightly, leaning over the table, cupping my cheeks gently. His thumbs brushed my skin like they used to.

“Poppy, I treated you so badly. All you ever did was love me. I’m sorry. Please… forgive me.”

His words sank in, soft and familiar, wrapping around the old wounds. For a second, I saw the boy I’d fallen for, the one who used to make me laugh, who promised forever.

Then his lips were on mine.

Hard. Urgent. Like he was trying to claim something back.

It took me three full seconds to realize what was happening.

This wasn’t an apology.

I shoved him away, hand flying across his face in a sharp slap that echoed through the quiet restaurant.

He reeled back, eyes wide.

I stood so fast the chair scraped loud against the floor. Tears blurred everything as I stormed out, chest heaving, shame and fury choking me.

I burst through the doors, and stopped dead.

Marcus.

Standing by his car, keys in hand, face unreadable.

Our eyes locked.

For one endless second, the world went silent.

Then he got in the car and drove away.

No words. No anger. Just… gone.

The ground tilted under me. My blood turned to ice.

What had I done?