the afterparty is in 304, some suite my cousin splurged on for people who needed to keep drinking past the last dance, and i’m in the bathroom now with the door locked and my hands shaking while i fix my lipstick, which is absolutely destroyed, running down my chin in a way that’s going to be very hard to explain to anyone who’s paying attention, and my ex is definitely going to be paying attention because he’s the kind of guy who notices everything and then later tells you that you looked “drunk” or “easy” like that’s a character assessment.
his name is marcus and he’s in the suite with his new girlfriend, rachel or rachel-adjacent, someone blonde who apparently doesn’t know that he cheated on me five times with his best friend’s exes, which, anyway, irrelevant now because—
there’s a knock.
“occupied,” i call out.
“how long?” that’s jake. marcus’s best friend. the groomsman. still in the slate-blue vest with the little carnation in the lapel. the vest is unbuttoned because i unbuttoned it on the dance floor an hour ago, while marcus was watching, and he told me to meet him in here, which, okay. not opposed.
“two minutes,” i say through the door, which is a lie because we both know this is not a two-minute situation.
i can hear him breathing. i can hear other people in the suite behind him, talking, laughing, and i can hear marcus’s voice, that specific timbre he has when he’s trying to impress someone, explaining something about the ceremony in that way he has where he makes things that happened sound like things he orchestrated. i’ve heard him do this a hundred times. before i was a girl, he called me buddy and his jokes always landed wrong. then i came out and suddenly i was “too sensitive.” then he left me for someone who laughed at his jokes in a way i apparently wasn’t allowed to anymore.
jake’s still standing there.
i open the door and pull him in by the vest, and he’s looking at me with his mouth already open like he’s about to say something, and instead i just kiss him, tasting the whiskey and the little bit of cake frosting he never wiped off his teeth at the reception, and he grabs my hips and backs me up against the vanity.
“you’re insane,” he says. “he’s like twenty feet away.”
“i know.”
“he’s going to—”
“i know.”
i turn around and pull the skirt of my dress up and his hands are already on my hips, hard and shaking a little, and he laughs this breathless laughing and says, “you’re fucking insane,” and pushes my underwear aside and sits down on the closed toilet and i settle into his lap, straddling him, feeling him hard under his pants, and i reach down and pull his cock out because we don’t have time for anything else and oh jesus, he’s big, and the head of his cock is leaking and he smells like cologne and sweat and underneath that something darker, something that’s making my own cock fill up.
i lower myself onto him and he groans, loud, and i put my hand over his mouth.
“quiet,” i whisper.
he nods, but his hips are already moving up into me, and the toilet seat is creaking with each thrust, and someone knocks on the door.
“i’m in here,” i call out, and my voice is completely normal, which is impressive because jake is fucking up into me and his hand is gripping my waist so hard there’s going to be marks, and the toilet seat is singing a little creaky song.
“there’s a line,” some guy says. a groomsman. not marcus.
“one minute!” i say brightly, and jake bites his own fist to keep quiet, and he’s still moving inside me, still pushing up like he’s trying to get deeper, and i’m riding him, slow, easy, my tits bouncing under my dress, and my cock is so hard it’s probably visible through the fabric but fuck it, we’re doing this.
someone’s footsteps. they go away. jake pulls me up and turns me around so i’m on my knees on the vanity, my hands gripping the counter, the mirror showing me my own face, my pupils blown out, my lipstick already smeared from kissing him, and he’s standing behind me, still in the stupid vest, and he’s eating me out like he’s trying to memorize me, his tongue fucking into me, his teeth scraping gentle, and he reaches around and wraps his hand around my cock, jerking me slow while his tongue keeps working and i’m making sounds i absolutely cannot make.
“oh my god,” i breathe.
“shut up,” he says into my ass, which is not helpful because now i’m thinking about how he said that, how he said it like a command, and it’s making me clench around his tongue—
there’s another knock. harder. more insistent.
“occupied,” i call, and my voice is steady somehow, like my ex’s best friend isn’t currently tongue-deep in me in his groomsman vest in my ex’s hotel suite.
“is that you in there?” that’s marcus. my fucking ex. right outside the door. his voice is so close i can almost feel the words.
“yeah,” i say, and i make eye contact with myself in the mirror. “just give me a second.”
“you’ve been in there for like ten minutes.”
“female stuff,” i call back, which is a stupid thing to say and also works perfectly because marcus hates talking about bodies, hates anything to do with the reality of being a girl, and he’ll believe it because he always does.
“okay, weird. i’ll just come back.”
i hear his footsteps move away and jake is laughing, shaking, and he stands up and he’s still hard and he lines himself up with me and—oh, he’s fucking me while i’m bent over the counter and i’m gripping the sink for balance and my cock is bouncing with each thrust and the mirror is showing me everything, showing me his face, showing me his mouth open, showing me the way my eyes roll back when he hits that deep spot inside me, showing me that my lipstick is absolutely, completely destroyed.
“so good,” he keeps saying. “you feel so good. i’ve wanted—i’ve wanted this so long.”
i don’t care about his history. i don’t care that he probably wanted it while he was dating someone else or that he’s definitely going to have regrets about this in the morning. right now he’s fucking me and my ex is twenty feet away thinking about whether to order room service and i’m coming, right now, spasming on his cock, silent except for the heavy breathing that’s definitely too loud—
someone knocks again. softer this time, almost apologetic.
“hey, buddy, there’s actually people waiting,” marcus says through the door. not suspicious. just impatient.
jake’s already coming, his cock jerking inside me, and i’m shaking through it, trying to stay quiet, biting my lip hard enough to mess up the little bit of lipstick that’s still clinging there. he pulls out and pulls me up and i turn around and there’s a second where we’re both just breathing in the hotel bathroom that smells like fancy soaps and sex and something else, something like shame, and then—
i open the door and walk out.
marcus is literally standing there, his new girlfriend rachel off by the bar, and i watch his face, watch the exact second his eyes flick down to my lips, watch the exact second he clocks what happened. the smeared lipstick. the swollen bottom lip. the way my hair is slightly messed up on one side. the way my dress is crooked.
he opens his mouth and closes it.
jake comes out behind me, buttoning the vest like he’s just been taking a casual piss, his own hair perfectly fine, which feels unfair, and he does this little wave like we just got back from grabbing drinks and jake says, “bathroom’s all yours, man,” and marcus’s face does a color thing that’s honestly pretty satisfying.
i walk past him without saying anything and grab a drink from the bar, and when i catch my reflection in the dark window of the suite, i look like a girl who just got fucked by his best friend in his bathroom while he stood outside the door. i look like exactly what i am.
i don’t wipe the lipstick off.
