[2024 WATTY WINNER][18+]
Two best friends. Six weeks. One final shot at love.
Since college, Maisie and August have been best friends-frustratingly, perfectly platonic best friends. For nine long years, Maisie has secretly harbored the hope that th...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
There's a soft two-tap knock against the door to my dressing room.
August and I both freeze, my eyes snapping to the locked door. I squint at it, as if that will somehow help me listen better, because maybe I just imagined the sound. August's hand tightens around my hip like he's about to continue, but then I hear it again. His head falls to the space between my shoulders and groans.
"Ms. Rhodes?"
"Just a second," I squeak out quickly, my voice shooting up four octaves higher than usual. Whoever's on the other side doesn't seem to notice—or at least they don't comment.
"Just wanted to give you a heads-up," they call through the door. It's the producer—Glen, I think is his name. "Fifteen minutes till showtime. All good to go?"
"All go—" The words catch in my throat as August thrusts a little deeper into me, forcing out a sound that's far too close to a moan. He stills again, giving me just enough time to regain a little bit of my composure. I bet if I turned around right now to look at him, I'd see a smug grin on his face, far too pleased with himself.
I clear my throat, managing, "All good!"
I should've known better. When I told August I was nervous about going back on The Tonight Show, and he said, Let me distract you, I should have guessed he didn't mean launching into his usual spiel about the differences between The Lord of the Rings books and movies—and why the books are, in his opinion, far superior.
No, I should've known that as my boyfriend, his idea of a distraction would involve slipping his hands up my dress, peeling off my thong with agonizing slowness, spinning me around, and burying himself inside me without even a second thought.
I'll admit, though—it's far more distracting than his Lord of the Rings speeches.
He rocks into me again the moment the footsteps outside my door fade away. The table rattles, and the cat-shaped wooden sculpture wobbles precariously, followed by a framed photo of Ricky Falcon with his three cats, and a small stack of Vogue magazines featuring me on the cover with the headline Maisie Rhodes: Claiming Her Pop Crown, all sliding toward the edge. I reach instinctively to catch them but end up gripping the edge of the table tighter as August pulls out, only to drive back in.
A moan hiccups out of me before I can stifle it, and I squeeze my eyes shut, silently willing myself to stay silent.
"You need to be quiet," he murmurs, a breathy laugh brushing warm against the bare skin of my back. He presses a kiss there, and I instinctively arch into him, earning a low, guttural groan from his chest.
"I am being quiet," I manage to gasp out, my voice barely above a whisper. "You be quiet."
His quiet laugh is maddening, and I want to turn around—I want to kiss him senseless until he makes that sound he always gets embarrassed over.
