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you weren’t supposed to say anything, you told yourself that. kept it tucked inside like a secret too ugly to name. because he was happy. because he had her. because he was about to marry her.

and you? you were just the friend. the plus-one. the one who helped him shop for rings, who held his phone and recorded the moment when he proposed, who smiled and said “i’m so happy for you” when it felt like your chest was splitting in half.

but now you’re here, in your apartment, five nights before the wedding. your palms are sweating, your throat’s dry, you haven’t even sat down.

and olise is standing there. in front of you. blinking like he can’t believe you’re actually saying this.

“just one night,” you whisper, voice already breaking. “that’s all i’m asking.”

he doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. just stares.

eyes darting between your lips, your eyes, your trembling fingers.

you swallow hard.

“i know you love her,” you say. “i know you’re getting married. i know i’m… not the one you want.” your voice cracks. “but michael, i’ve wanted you for so long. and it’s not about trying to change anything, i swear. i’m not delusional. i’m not asking for your heart. i just…” your voice drops lower. “i just want to feel you. just once.”

he still doesn’t say anything. but you see the shift in his jaw. the subtle flex of muscle.

the way his hand curls into a fist by his side.

so you go further, you spill the parts you swore you never would.

“i want to show you,” you murmur, “everything i’ve ever thought about when i look at you. all the things i imagine when you touch my hand. when you call me late. when you tell me secrets. when you tell me i’m beautiful like you don’t know how much that fucks me up.”

he shifts in his seat, jaw tightening, but still doesn’t speak.

your eyes burn, but you keep going. keep spilling.

“i’ve touched myself thinking about you more times than i can count,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “i’ve made myself cum to the thought of your hands. your mouth. your voice. i’ve woken up in the middle of the night, soaked, aching, because you were in my dream. and it felt real.”

his throat bobs. he’s breathing harder now. his knuckles damn near white around the glass of don julio in his hand.

you lean closer.

“i’ve thought about being on my knees for you. about riding you. about choking on you while you hold my hair back and say my name like it’s the only one you know. i’ve imagined you pushing me up against the wall and making me beg for it. i’ve wanted you to bend me over every surface in your apartment. i’ve imagined you so deep inside me i can’t breathe.”

olise closes his eyes. like it hurts to hear. like he’s trying to block it out but can’t.

you reach for his hand.

“i know you’re not mine,” you say, “but i’m yours. and i just want tonight. no strings. no promises. just you. however you’ll give yourself to me.”

he stays still for a second longer. then he opens his eyes, and they’re full of something dark. hungry. pained.

he sets the glass down.

then he stands.

and when he reaches for you, it’s not slow. it’s not gentle. it’s everything at once.

he pulls you up with both hands, your bodies crashing together like something’s breaking. he kisses you hard — messy, urgent, his mouth opening against yours like he’s been dying for it. you whimper into him, hands fisting in his hoodie, and he groans, deep and low, dragging your hips into his.

he walks you backwards. doesn’t stop kissing you. doesn’t breathe. just moves, chest heaving, hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

you end up in your bedroom. the door slams shut behind him, and you’re already pulling your shirt off, already reaching for his pants. you’re shaking. he’s sweating. his hands are on your waist, your ribs, your face, your ass. he’s touching everything at once. kissing you like he’s trying to brand you with it.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters against your mouth. “you’ve always been so fucking—”

you grab his hand, shove it between your legs. he groans when he feels how wet you are.

“you did that,” you whisper. “you’ve always done that to me.”

he doesn’t answer. just drops to his knees.

his mouth is on you before you can even think. no teasing. no pause. just a raw, hungry dive into everything you’ve ever imagined. he groans the second his tongue hits you — loud, guttural, like the taste of you shocks something alive in him.

he spreads you open with both hands, palms sliding under your thighs, dragging them wide and holding you in place with a grip so firm it leaves dents. his thumbs press into the creases of your hips, and then he licks up, slow and deliberate, from your dripping entrance to your clit, moaning like he’s already addicted.

he eats like a man possessed — messy, sloppy, starved. his tongue circles and flicks, then plunges deep inside you, fucking you open while his nose brushes your clit just right. every sound he makes vibrates through your core. low, feral sounds. moans that don’t belong to someone who’s supposed to be marrying another woman in six days.

your hips jerk, bucking up into his face, and he loves it. groans louder. sinks his hands deeper into your flesh to hold you still.

you fist the back of his head, hair clutched between your fingers, dragging him closer, needier. your thighs tremble around his face. your back arches. your chest heaves.

“olise—fuck—michael,” you cry, voice cracking as your thighs squeeze around his head.

he grunts against your pussy, tongue moving faster now, sloppier, wetter, dirtier. his spit’s all over you. your wetness is all over him. his chin’s soaked, lips shiny, and he doesn’t care. doesn’t pause. doesn’t breathe.

he’s eating you like this is what he came for. like this is the only reason he’s here. like he’s trying to memorise your taste, tattoo it onto his tongue.

“you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against you, his voice rough and muffled. “been dying to know… fuck, baby, you’re dripping—”

and then he flattens his tongue and drags it over your clit in slow, heavy laps, using the whole of his mouth, and you quite literally scream. loud. uncontrollably. you clutch his head so hard your nails dig into his scalp.

he moans again. louder. grinding his face against you. like he wants to live there.

and maybe he does.

“fuck, olise,” you cry, voice splintering right down the middle. “i’m gonna—”

you barely get the words out. your body’s already betraying you, already seizing up, thighs trembling against the sides of his face. your hips instinctively grind into his mouth, like you need to chase that final stroke of his tongue. you sob when it hits — loud, broken, one hand clawing the headboard, the other fisting his hair like you’re scared he’ll stop before it’s over.

and he doesn’t. not even when your whole body jerks. not even when your voice hits a pitch he’s never heard before. he keeps going, slower now, lips soft around your clit, tongue gentle but greedy. like he’s trying to memorise how you taste when you fall apart for him. like he’s never going to get this again, so he’s committing everything to memory.

he breathes against your cunt like it’s oxygen. face soaked. you can feel him groan into you one last time, and then he finally pulls back, mouth all slick and wet and perfect.

he stands up slow. wipes his face with the back of his hand, eyes half-lidded and wild, like he’s drunk off you.

“you’re gonna take everything,” he says, voice dark, ragged, like he’s still catching his breath. he grabs your thighs and drags you up the bed, your back hitting the pillows, your limbs loose, chest rising and falling fast. “you said you wanted it all. so take it.”

you nod. barely. your lips parted, chest heaving. your body’s still buzzing, but your eyes are locked on him now — dazed, hungry, worshipful. like he’s the only thing in the room.

he pulls his hoodie over his head in one motion, muscles flexing under that soft skin. he drops it somewhere behind him, then tugs the waistband of his sweats down.

your breath catches.

his dick slaps against his stomach, thick and heavy, the tip flushed, glistening with precum. it’s pretty in that filthy, overwhelming kind of way. big enough to make your throat dry and your thighs squeeze together. your mouth goes slack, your whole body leaning forward like it’s out of your control.

“fuck,” you whisper, crawling toward him on all fours, slow and shaky and still dripping. “please let me taste you.”

he looks down at you like you’re something unreal. like you’ve just cracked something open in him.

he doesn’t say yes. doesn’t nod. he just smirks. slow. lazy. mean. grabs you by the jaw and pulls you to the edge of the bed. plants his feet. stands tall in front of you while you kneel.

his voice is low when he says, “open.”

you do. wide and eager. tongue out, eyes on him. like a girl who’s dreamed of this too many times not to know what she wants.

“good girl,” he murmurs, sliding the tip across your tongue. your lips wrap around him instantly, eyes fluttering shut as he sinks in deeper — slow at first, letting you adjust. he hisses through his teeth. “shit. your mouth feels even better than i imagined.”

you moan around him, taking more, letting your lips stretch, your jaw ache. spit pools fast, dripping down your chin. you’re already gagging a little but you don’t stop. don’t want to.

you look up at him through your lashes, mascara smudged, eyes glassy.

he smiles. both hands in your hair now. not forcing, but steady. guiding. like he’s trying not to lose it. like he could, so easily.

“just like that,” he breathes. “that’s it. fuck, look at you…”

he thrusts once, shallow, and you gag again, throat tightening. he groans low, his grip tightening in your hair, hips twitching like he wants to ruin you right then and there. his dick is heavy on your tongue, warm and pulsing, and so fucking deep in your throat when you take more.

your hands are on his thighs, nails digging in, your own pussy clenching like it’s jealous of your mouth. he’s moaning now, talking low and nasty, head thrown back.

“been wanting this since the first time i saw you in that little fucking dress,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “you remember that night?”

how could you forget?

it was a year ago. some packed nightclub in london, all low lights and expensive liquor. you met olise before the engagement. before there was ever another woman standing beside him.

you'd spent half the night orbiting each other. he'd bought your drinks, laughed every time you gave him that look over the rim of your glass.

there'd been dancing, lingering touches, but nothing happened. not really. you flirted until sunrise without crossing a single line. and somehow, that almost made it worse. because you'd walked out of that club convinced it was only a matter of time before you two became something more.

then, barely two months later, there he was. same smile. same eyes. different woman on his arm.

you'd swallowed whatever disappointment settled in your chest, told yourself you'd imagined the chemistry and taught yourself to be happy with being just his friend.

until tonight.

his fingers tighten slightly in your hair.

“you spent half the night sittin' on my lap,” he says, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “all pretty, all sweet... looking at me like that.”

his eyes meet yours, his smile small now, almost disbelieving. “thought about you for weeks after that.”

you whimper, drooling now, spit all over your lips, your chin, down your neck. he groans again and pulls out slowly, dick slick and shiny with your spit, your mouth hollowing around nothing as you chase it.

“fuck,” he mutters. “you’re so desperate for it.”

you nod. chest heaving. mouth open, lips swollen, tongue out like you’re begging. like you’ll cry if he doesn’t give it back.

and he does.

he slaps it gently against your tongue once. then slides back in.

deeper this time.

you moan, choked and messy, as he rocks his hips forward, fucking into your mouth with slow, filthy strokes.

and you? you let him. like it’s all you’ve ever needed. like your whole body was made for this. for him. even if it’s just one night.

you gag around him, eyes burning, spit dripping down your chin. your hands are gripping his thighs for balance, knuckles damn near white, and his skin is warm under your palms — muscles flexing as his hips roll forward, slow and steady and greedy.

he watches you — jaw slack, mouth parted, eyebrows stitched together like it’s taking everything in him not to fuck your throat recklessly. like he’s savouring the feel of you, the heat, the mess, the wet sounds echoing through the room.

"fuck,” he rasps, voice sharp. “you look so pretty like this."

your lashes flutter, tears threatening to spill, and you hum around him in response, vibrating his dick with the sound. that’s what makes him twitch in your mouth. that’s what makes his abs clench beneath your hands.

he pulls out fast, a gasp catching in his throat as your lips chase after him. but he’s already bending down, grabbing your face between his hands, his thumbs swiping messily at the spit smeared down your chin. then he kisses you. hard. filthy. tongue and teeth and a low groan buried in your mouth.

he breaks the kiss, panting.

“get on all fours.”

you obey. there’s no hesitation. you’re dizzy, dripping, spine arching as you crawl across the bed and push your ass up for him. vulnerable. shameless. wanting.

he groans behind you, deep in his chest, and then his palm comes down on your ass — loud, stinging, almost possessive. you jolt forward from the force of it, moaning into the pillow, and you hear the blunt sound of him stroking himself once, twice, then nothing but silence before—

he thrusts in. one long, slow push.

your mouth drops open. your whole body seizes.

"oh my god—” you gasp.

“fuck,” olise groans behind you, like it’s being torn out of him. “so fucking tight.”

he pulls out halfway. slams back in.

your vision blurs.

“this what you wanted, baby?” his voice is all gravel now. “this what you been dreaming about?”

“yes,” you cry out. “yes, michael, yes—just like that—”

he fucks you hard. relentless. filthy. his hips snapping against yours over and over, the sound obscene, echoing through the room like proof. like shame. like satisfaction.

your face is buried in the pillows, hands fisting the sheets, your body rocked forward with every thrust. he’s gripping your hips like he owns them. dragging you back onto his dick like you’re his to use. and you let him. you want it.

you need it.

he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, one hand creeping up until it’s wrapped around your throat. then he pulls you up. your back flush to his chest, your neck curved in his grip.

“look at me,” he breathes, right against your ear. “you get to have this. just once. so fucking look at me.”

your eyes flutter open.

you meet his gaze in the mirror across the bed.

and it’s everything.

his face is wrecked. flushed. eyes wild. sweat beading along his brow. his mouth is kiss-swollen, hanging open like he’s trying to catch his breath — like he’s trying to hold onto this moment before it disappears.

he looks at you like he’s never going to see you again. and maybe he won’t.

your thighs are shaking. your mouth is open. you look like sin in that mirror — cheeks tear-stained, lips bruised, body bouncing on him with every thrust.

he whispers, like a confession: “you feel like heaven.”

you whimper, grinding back into him. and for a second — just one — it almost feels like love.

he reaches between you, fingers slick with how wet you are, rubbing tight circles on your clit. not slow. not gentle. fast and firm like he knows exactly what you need.

you’re already close. have been since he first kissed you. since he told you to take it. and now it’s building fast, sharp heat blooming from the pit of your stomach to the backs of your knees, to your spine, to your scalp. you can’t even think. can’t breathe.

your voice cracks. “i— i’m gonna—”

he grunts, barely holding himself together. thrusts deep, hits that spot inside you that makes your whole body lurch forward.

“go ahead, pretty girl,” he says, low and gritty, right in your ear. “cum all over me. let me feel how bad you needed it. how fucking desperate you’ve been for me.”

and you break.

loud.

you scream for him. choke on his name. your whole body tenses then shudders, waves of pleasure ripping through you, thighs trembling, vision going white around the edges. your walls clench around him so tight he curses into your neck, hips faltering for the first time all night.

but he doesn’t stop.

he fucks you through it. keeps his fingers on your clit, keeps pounding into you like he’s determined to make you cry again. like he wants to ruin your body for anyone else. like he’s trying to burn himself into your nerve endings.

he pulls out for a second just to flip you over like it’s nothing. your legs spread open without thought, aching and spent, but your body is still begging for him. he lines himself back up and slides in deep, one long, hard thrust that knocks the breath out of your chest.

your legs wrap around his waist. your heels dig into his ass. you claw at his back, pulling him closer, needing his whole weight on top of you.

you drag him down by the back of his neck, crash your mouth into his.

the kiss is everything. desperate. messy. your teeth clash. your tongues tangle. it tastes like sweat, tears, sex, everything you’re too scared to say out loud. you moan into his mouth. he swallows it.

his hands are everywhere. one on your jaw, the other on your thigh, spreading you wider, keeping you open so he can stay deep. your bodies slap together with every thrust. you’re soaked and swollen and sensitive, but you need it. you need him.

he’s panting against your lips now. fucking you harder. sloppier. his forehead pressed to yours.

“i’m gonna cum,” he pants, voice shaking. “fuck— where do you want it, baby?”

you don’t hesitate.

you grab his ass, fingers sinking into his flesh, dragging him impossibly deeper.

“inside,” you whisper, eyes wide, wet. “i want all of you. every drop. please, fill me up.”

he groans like you just shattered something inside him. his whole body trembles, he buries his face in your neck, lets out a broken moan.

“mhmm, fuck—”

then he’s gone.

hips jerking, dick pulsing, thick and hot as he spills into you. deep. messy. all of it. he moans your name like it’s a goodbye, like he’ll never get to say it like it again.

his body collapses on top of yours, heavy and shaking. your arms wrap around his back, holding him close. his cum filling you up.

neither of you move for a while. you just lie there. full of him. wrecked by him. knowing this was your only night. and it was everything.

you lie there. tangled. silent. your bodies sticky and sore. the air heavy.

you don’t know how long you lie there like that — your chest under his, your breath catching beneath the weight of it all, your legs still wrapped around him like you’re trying to keep him close. like if you hold him tight enough, he won’t go. that morning won’t come. that he won’t go back to her.

but it will. and he will. and you always knew that.

his body is warm against yours. all muscled and solid and still pulsing inside you. you feel the wet slide of him leaking out of you, sticky and hot between your thighs, and for a moment, you pretend it means something more. pretend like maybe it rewrote what this night was supposed to be.

you shift beneath him. and when he presses a kiss to your collarbone — soft, like an apology — something in your chest breaks. your eyes sting.

then it comes.

quiet at first. not dramatic. just a slow ache of breath shaking loose from your lungs. a crack of a sob slipping out before you can stop it.

he freezes. lifts his head. sees the tears spilling down your temples. the way you try to blink them back. the way you try to hide your face from him, even though it’s too late.

his voice is barely there. “baby…”

you shake your head, lip trembling. try to hold it in. fail. your hand covers your mouth but your chest keeps jerking with every silent sob.

olise props himself up, cupping your face with both hands. he kisses the corners of your eyes, the salt of your cheeks, your jaw, your lips.

“i’m sorry,” you choke, eyes screwed shut. “i didn’t mean to— i didn’t mean to cry.”

“don’t do that,” he whispers. “don’t apologise.”

he leans his forehead into yours, breath warm against your skin. you feel him everywhere. still inside you. still wrapped around you. still the one thing you wanted more than anything.

you whisper, barely audible, “i told myself i could handle this.”

he presses his lips to your nose. your eyelids. your chin.

“you’re handling it,” he says. “i promise you are.”

but he knows you’re not. and so do you.

you sit up slowly, pushing your hair out of your face. the sheets fall from your body, but you don’t care. you’re too raw. too exposed already. you curl into yourself a little, arms wrapping around your knees.

“so what now?” you ask, voice hoarse.

he’s watching you like you might disappear. like he wants to memorise you. every inch. every expression. every shadow of this night.

he breathes in deep, then says it quietly. “i marry her.”

your eyes close. a slow nod.

“and i just… forget this happened?”

“no,” he swallows hard. shifts in place. “i don’t even think i can.”

that makes your heart stutter. that makes the tears come back. because he means it. and somehow that makes this so much worse.

he stands. pulls on his sweats, then his hoodie. his movements are slow. like he doesn’t want to touch anything too roughly. like he’s afraid of breaking something more than he already has.

“i should go before i make this harder than it already is.”

you nod. bite your tongue. your vision is blurred.

he walks to the door, hand on the knob. pauses.

then he turns back around, eyes soft and full of something too heavy to name.

“you were everything,” he says, voice soft. “i wish things were different.”

and then he leaves.

no kiss. no promises. just the door clicking shut. just the echo of him walking away.

you sit there in the stillness, naked, trembling, full of him and yet empty in a way you’ve never known. the sheets smell like him. your body aches for him. and your heart?

your heart never stood a chance.

you gave olise one night. now you’ll live the rest of your life with it.