My Husband's Best Friend Is Obsessed With Me

6

NADIA

I have a hundred and one reasons to believe this man has been stalking me, but then again, his story sounds so convincing. And the figure I spotted in the car earlier had on a black shirt and a white face cap.

Right now, I’m having an out-of-body experience, the kind where I want to feel something again, something reckless, something selfishly mine.

But the fact that I’m choosing… scratch that, my body is choosing the same man makes me both nervous and bold.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at me, the way his touch lingers as though he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. Or maybe it’s the quiet things, how he sometimes whispers something under his breath, words so low they blur into the sound of his breathing. And every time, my heart stumbles because I swear he says my name in that deep, rough voice of his.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” he asks, his tongue darting out to tease my lips.

A quiet laugh escapes me before I can stop it. I hide my face in the crook of his neck, hoping he won’t notice how flushed my cheeks have become. His skin smells faintly of cedar and clean soap, grounding me and unravelling me all at once.

“Come on,” he murmurs near my ear. “You can tell me anything.”

I shake my head against him. “I can’t.”

He draws back just enough to look at me, his brows creasing, eyes dark with something between curiosity and concern.

“Why?”

I shrug, looking anywhere but at him. “I don’t know you. And you don’t know me either. So you see, I can’t just… offload my s**t on you.”

“But I want to hear it,” he says quietly, lowering his head to press a kiss to my chest. His lips linger there, just above my heart. “Everything you’ve got piling up in here.”

I lean into him, my fingers curling around his shoulders. He doesn’t move away, and somehow, that makes it harder to breathe.

“Jordan is my husband’s best friend.”

The words land heavy between us. His gaze sharpens, and for a moment, something fear, maybe recognition flashes in his eyes before he exhales and looks away.

A wave of guilt crashes through me. I hate that I’m dragging this man, this beautiful, gentle soul who’s done nothing but make me feel wanted again into the chaos I call my life. He’s given me something to look forward to, even if I can’t admit that out loud.

I wouldn’t blame him if he walked away now.

But then again, there isn’t much left to ruin. Felix has already done that, burying our marriage with his indifference and calling it freedom.

He hasn’t even bothered to call or text since I left the house over three hours ago. Not once.

I glance up at the man in front of me and force a weak, apologetic smile. “My husband recently opened our marriage,” I whisper, my voice breaking halfway through. I close my eyes as tears burn the corners. “And I guess I’m trying to figure out what that makes me.”

He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t say a word. And somehow, that feels fair. This is a lot, even for me.

We were seconds away from losing ourselves again, and now, I’ve just told him I’m married.

Brilliant, Nadia.

I shake my head as if that might shake off the shame. “You know what, we don’t have to do this right now.” My hands find the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer in a desperate attempt to fill the silence. “How about we just get out of here, hm?”

But instead of kissing me or giving in to the heat that’s still simmering between us, he cups my face gently in his palm, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw.

His gaze locks on mine, steady and unreadable, like he’s trying to reach a part of me I’ve long stopped letting anyone touch.

“What are you afraid of, sweetheart?” he murmurs.

The question slices through me. I part my lips, but no words come out. I’m not sure what scares me more, how much I want him, or how easy it’s becoming to forget that I once belonged to someone else.

“You know what they say… telling your problems to a stranger might just be the best and purest form of therapy.”

He whispers against my ear, his voice low enough to stir something deep inside me. Then his tongue brushes the edge of my earlobe, a teasing flick before he nips lightly.

“How about you tell me everything, unburden yourself, and breathe.”

Ten minutes later, we’re in my car. The windows are rolled up, the AC humming because the rain stopped, and it’s gotten a little too warm out here.

I glance up from my half-eaten plate of ice cream at the man beside me, watching him dig into his burger and fries. “Where are we?”

He swallows, takes a sip of water. “This is Zenith Park. It’s one of my favourite spots in the city.”

“How many favourite spots do you even have?” I ask, half teasing.

“Three… maybe four. I can’t really say. I’m still exploring.”

“Oh.”

He gives me his full attention then, eyes steady and curious. “What about you? Do you have a favorite spot?”

I smile as I think it over. “Yeah. The zoo.”

His laughter is rich and contagious, and I can’t help joining in. God, this feels so warm and real, like we belong here somehow, like we’re playing a part that makes perfect sense.

“So this rule book you said your husband sent you,” he says after a beat, his tone playful again. “How many of those rules are you planning on breaking?”

“Huh?” I blink. “What?”

He shrugs, lips twitching with amusement. “You have to be a little rebellious. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“You don’t even know him. You can’t—”

“I don’t have to.” He cuts in, his face darkening with something sad and distant. “Earlier, when I told you I lost someone…”

I nod, remembering.

“Her name was Taylor,” he says quietly. “She was… a friend.”

He leans back, slow and tense, like he’s trying to find space to think. The silence between us grows heavier, uncomfortable. For a moment, I think about asking if he wants to step out and get some air, but I don’t. I just sit there quietly, watching him, waiting.

“Her husband was abusive,” he continues. “Emotionally. Physically.” He swallows hard. “Se-sexually.”

My chest tightens. Holy s**t.

I want to reach for him, to say something, anything but when he glances up, the look in his eyes roots me in place. It’s raw and haunted.

This man. This stranger. He cares about me.

“Felix doesn’t abuse me,” I murmur. “He’s changed from a man who adored me to someone I barely recognize, but he’s not abusive.”

“Not even emotionally?” he asks softly.

I fiddle with the spoon, stirring the melting ice cream, avoiding his gaze.

Because now that I think about it, maybe Felix is emotionally abusive.

Maybe I just never named it that.

His quiet chuckle pulls me out of my thoughts.

“What?” I ask, raising a brow.

“It’s funny,” he says, that faint smile returning. “You so easily gave me your husband’s name, but you refuse to tell me yours.”

My lips curve. I can almost feel my eyes smiling back. “Because…” I toss the empty bowl out the window, shifting closer to him until the soft swell of my chest brushes his arm.

“Not knowing my name or anything about me makes this even more thrilling.”

I kiss him, slow and deliberate, sucking on his bottom lip the way I’ve learned he likes.

His sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement I need. My hands trail down his body, hard, tense, and alive until they reach the heat pressing against his jeans.

“Besides,” I whisper against his mouth, “knowing that you work for his best friend makes it all the more… intoxicating.”

He exhales a low, rough laugh, eyes dark and intent. “I’m glad to be at your service, sweetheart.”

The space is way too small, and we’re way too eager and out of it to even think about moving to the backseat. It doesn’t matter that our knees keep bumping against the console or that the air between us feels too thick to breathe.

None of it matters.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Absolutely incredible.”

“Stop talking,” I whisper, breath catching. “Just… get to work before I lose my mind.”

When he finally gets rid of my pants, his hand finds me, and he presses down with a finger, the tip slipping just inside my folds.

A sharp gasp escapes me. The touch is too much, too soon, and I move against it instinctively, chasing the friction my body aches for.

“I see you’re ready for me.” His tone is steady, but I hear the strain underneath, the control he’s fighting to keep.

“Yes, I am,” I murmur, a breathy laugh spilling from me as he fumbles with his belt. When his shaft springs free, thick, and glistening, my lips part on a hungry smile.

I can’t help wondering if he’ll let me taste him after he’s done taking me.

Before I can move, he grabs me firm, sure, and pulls me across his lap in the passenger seat. In one fluid motion, he lifts me, then lowers me onto him.

I gasp, the sound breaking into a moan as his length fills me in one deep, unrelenting stroke.

The sting fades fast, replaced by a rising pulse of pleasure that steals my breath. I clutch his shoulders, meeting his thrusts, urging him harder.

He buries a hand in my hair and yanks just enough to make me whimper. The pain only feeds the heat.

“So close,” I whisper, rolling my hips in tight, desperate circles. “Don’t stop…”

He groans, the sound low and raw, and cups my breasts through the fabric of my dress, his thumb finding a n****e and stroking it until I can barely hold on.

I tighten around him as the wave builds, and his rhythm falters, deep, uneven, and rough.

Pleasure crashes through me, and I cling to him, trembling, lost in the heat of it —

Headlights flash across the window, shattering the moment.

Panic shoots through me, and I scramble off him, tumbling into the backseat and landing face-down on the floor, my breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

I hear him talking to someone, telling them we’re a couple on our second date.

The thought of dating a man like him tugs a smile to my lips, but it fades as Felix’s rules echo in my head.

No getting involved with anyone directly or indirectly connected to the family.

And this man works for Jordan.

Jordan, who happens to be my husband’s best friend.

My mother would probably have a stroke if she had the slightest idea what I’ve been doing.