⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

Three Years Ago - 2017

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

He's standing by the bar with a brunette girl, and they're both looking hot as fuck as I sip my – sixth? Seventh? – vodka and coke; double vodka, obviously. I know Sam's eyes haven't left mine for a while until the barman hands him his drink.

The brunette smiles at him, but he points to me instead, and they both start making their way over.

I was here with a girl who picked me up at the previous club, but she's now dancing with another girl to my right. Clearly, I'm not that fun for her, and I don't care. Sam's catch is gorgeous—maybe she'll come home with me instead.

Except for the fact I know what Sam wants. It's what he always wants when he sees me for the past few months now. Sex. He wants to fuck me and remind me how well we'd be together as a couple with a kid.

I'm not complaining if this is going to go the same way as my mind is imagining this. Well, about the sex.

They both approach me and, without words, begin dancing with me. The brunette's hands are around my neck, her face close to mine. Sam is dancing behind me, hands all over my arse and around my waist interchangeably.

Without knowing what I'm doing until I've done it, my body backs up until I'm flush between them, and we're just one dancing entity with the pulsing lights and sweat trickling down our bodies. It's unsettling and yet arousing at the same time. A sickly stench of sticky alcohol, sweat, and cheap perfume invades my nose as I finish my drink; the metallic yet bubbly taste washes my throat of the doubts I have about where we all know this is going. The woman moulds her mouth to mine a few times, her tongue stealing all my common sense as the alcohol dances its way around my brain. But for once, I like it.

After a few songs, I detangle myself to go to the bathroom. When I'm done, I steel myself in the mirror; touching up my makeup, and making sure my hair is okay, but after so many drinks, I suppose I could be the devil's handmaiden and I think I would look perfect in the mirror.

If Fletcher were here, he'd tell me I'd look beautiful in a bin bag and walk me home, making sure I had water and painkillers before I went to bed.

I throw the door open to the bathroom and slip outside into the nightclub. A pair of hands appear, pinning me to the wall by trapping me inside their arms.

"Sam," I whisper as my eyes meet his. "Where's your girlfriend?"

He smirks. "She's not my girlfriend. I was going to take her home tonight, but then I saw you."

"Your brother is my ex—"

He cuts me off by leaning down so his mouth is right next to my ear. "Ex-boyfriend, Adelaide. You're not together anymore. Come home with us," Sam whispers in my ear; his tongue lightly touches the tip.

Shivers of delight run down my ear. He knows how to get to me, and I fucking hate it.

"Why, so you can have your way with me—"

"Adelaide, you know how I feel about you. You just won't let this happen for whatever reason," he hisses. "So come home with us, have some fun, and I promise you, you'll finally see how good we could be together."

"With another girl involved?"

He quirks his lips into a grin. "Oh, trust me, if you want her gone, she's gone."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

Sam's flat is just as empty as it was the last time I was here. He leads me to his kitchen with my shoes in hand. His flat is ten minutes away from the nightclub, so we ditched the brunette and came home for wine and, well, there's only one thing this guy ever wants.

He hands me a glass of wine and puts my shoes on the floor. I sip the white wine, fresh from the fridge. It's sweating down the outside where it's so cold, and as it slides down my throat, it tastes super sweet. Just how I like it.

I think he's been preparing for me again, but I don't want to accuse him right now. He downs half a glass himself before disappearing to the bathroom.

His kitchen is small, yet modern. It's clean as well, which every time I've visited in the past it's seemed that way, anyway. Much like Fletch, Sam takes pride in appearances, but I know the secrets lie in the cupboards. Unlimited alcohol, I'm pretty sure he's hiding heroin or something in the drawers, but I dread to imagine what I'd find if I went looking. I've never caught him with it, though.

Somehow, I seem to be finding myself with him more and more, and not just for sex and fun. We've sort of got this friends-with-benefits thing going on, and I seem to care about him. It makes sense in a way because when I was with Fletch, we were friends.

I down my wine as he unlocks the bathroom door and comes back out.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod and put my glass on the side. "I was with a girl in the club, but she went to the bar, found someone else, and went off with her instead. Told myself I didn't care, but I think the rejection hurt. After your brother—"

"Don't think about either of them. They have no idea what they're missing. You're the best thing that could happen to someone—"

I shake my head. "Don't sweet talk me, Sam."

"It's not sweet talk if I'm telling the truth, is it?"

Our eyes meet as he closes the space between us. His hands cup my jaw and his fingers rest just under my ears on either side.

"Sam," I whisper.

"Don't tell me you don't want this because you wouldn't have come home—"

"Shut up and kiss me," I instruct, though deep down I know this is a bad idea. The desire and need are pulsating and overruling my common sense, though.

He smirks before tangling our mouths together. The moment he does, I undo the buttons of his shirt. We both know where this is going, so there's no point playing pretences.

His hands reach down and grab my thighs, so I jump into his arms properly so he can lead us into his room.

He puts me on his bed; a black bedspread is on and the bed is made. He removes his clothes as quickly as he leads me in here. I make quick work of removing my dress and undoing my bra.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Sam mutters, but all I can imagine is Fletcher.

He still knows how to turn me on, knows which buttons to press and how to get me moaning. I fall for it every fucking time, except, this time, my eyes stay closed as I moan – not his name this time – and yet all I can think of when he's touching me and inside me is Fletcher.

As Sam kisses me, I know he's about to climax. I can't deny it anymore, and I let go and finish with him. My legs stay around him as he finishes, and he slips out of me.

"Ade... that was..." He trails off, trying to catch his breath.

"I need to sleep," I whisper, wanting to hide forever. I should not be doing this, nor should I be enjoying it with the brother of my ex-boyfriend.

He laughs and kisses my forehead. "Doesn't surprise me. Get some sleep." Sam moves the duvet and gestures for me to get in.

Without another word, I get under the covers and close my eyes.

"I'm so pleased you came home with me." He slips under the duvet beside me, his hands wrapping around my body, and for a second I swear I hear him whisper I love you, but I'm not sure if it's a dream.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

My eyes open to the sun shining through the tiny slit in the curtains and my head pounding. Sam's still sleeping beside me, and the clock says it's ten in the morning. I remember waking up at three this morning, grabbing water and then finding him awake. That time, he fucked me in the spoon position, and then we fell asleep in that position. I woke up again at seven to try and get warmer, as it was freezing.

But the headache is new, and fucking irritating.

There are headache pills and a glass of water beside the bed, and he's put my phone on charge.

I take the pills and get back under the covers for a quick nap while they kick in. I have nothing planned for the rest of my day off, so fuck this. I'll sleep off the hangover and then regret every little thing I did last night.

After a few moments, I feel Sam stirring beside me.

Despite him being a friend more than anything, something about last night makes me not want to face him right now. Is that bad? I don't know.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he whispers into my shoulder before pressing a kiss there.

He caught me.

"Morning," I whisper.

"I can order us breakfast if you want. The hangover bad?" he asks.

I nod my head in response, and his hand cups my breast. He wants more? He clearly does, because his erection pokes into me.

"You're fucking hot," he whispers.

"Sam," I whisper. "We shouldn't."

"Why not?" His hand pinches my nipple, instantly turning me on.

"Fuck," I moan and open my legs for him.

His hand moves down, still feeling the evidence of last night at my entrance before guiding himself in further.

We both groan together as he thrusts, stroking my clit with his hand. As my back arches, I flush against him. His lips find my ear, kissing me where he knows I enjoy it.

"Holy shit," he whispers, the words sending pleasure-filled shivers down my spine as he carries on.

After a few more seconds, we come together. His hands grope my breast as he finishes in me and I finish. The quickest morning quickie ever, but somehow, it felt right.

"You'll be the death of me, Ade," he whispers into my neck before leaving a kiss there.

His words resound in my head, because somehow, that's how I've felt about him since we slept together the first time. He feels like the worst thing I could be doing – literally – and yet that makes it all the sweeter, too. It is just sex, right? 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶