Sarah: After Dave

It had been a month since Sarah's world tilted on its axis. The first time with Mark had been a storm of grief and desire, a desperate grasp at feeling alive again after Tom's death. Then Dave, with his gentle hands and insistent mouth, had turned her kitchen into a confessional of moans and surrender. Sarah told herself it was just solace, a temporary balm for the aching void in her chest. But deep down, she knew it was more—a craving that simmered beneath her skin, making her pulse quicken at the thought of their touches. The kids, Emily and Jake, were oblivious, wrapped up in their teenage worlds of school and friends. Sarah buried her secrets in late-night baths and stolen glances at her phone, half-hoping, half-dreading another message from Mark or Dave.

The third friend was Brian. He'd been part of Tom's inner circle since their high school days—a tall, lanky guy with sharp features, dark hair streaked with gray, and a quiet intensity that always made Sarah feel seen in a way that unnerved her. Brian was the thoughtful one, the guy who'd send handwritten cards on birthdays and show up with tools for any home repair. He lived across town, divorced for five years, and had kept his distance after the funeral, respecting her space. Or so she thought.

It started innocently enough, as these things often did. Mark hosted a small barbecue at his place—a casual get-together for the old gang to "remember Tom" over grilled steaks and cold beers. Sarah almost didn't go; the kids were at a weekend camp, and the idea of facing Tom's friends without him felt like walking into a minefield. But Mark texted her insistently: "Come on, Sarah. It'll be good for you. We're all missing him." She relented, slipping into a simple sundress that hugged her curves a bit too well, her full breasts straining against the fabric, a pair of sandals showing off her painted toes.

The backyard was alive with laughter and the sizzle of meat on the grill. Mark greeted her with a hug that lingered a second too long, his hand brushing the small of her back. Dave was there too, flipping burgers with a wink that made her cheeks flush. And Brian, nursing a beer by the fire pit, his eyes locking onto hers as she approached. "Sarah," he said, voice warm and steady. "You look... well." There was something in his gaze—a flicker of knowledge—that set her on edge.

As the evening wore on, the group shared stories about Tom: the fishing trips, the epic poker nights, the way he'd light up a room with his terrible jokes. Sarah laughed along, but the wine loosened her tongue and her guard. When the others drifted inside for dessert, Brian pulled her aside near the garden shed, the air thick with the scent of blooming jasmine.

"I've heard things," he said quietly, stepping closer. Sarah's heart stuttered. "From Mark and Dave. About how they've... helped you through this."

She froze, her wine glass trembling in her hand. "Brian, I don't know what—"

He held up a hand, gentle but firm. "No judgments, Sarah. Tom's gone, and you're still here. Alive. Needing." His eyes traced her face, down to the swell of her cleavage, and back up. "I've always admired you. More than admired, if I'm honest. And if what they say is true... well, I'd like to help too."

Sarah's mind reeled. Reluctance surged through her—a sharp pang of guilt, of betrayal. This was Brian, the one who'd been at their wedding, who'd held Emily as a baby. But beneath the protest, that familiar heat stirred, coiling low in her belly. The loneliness had claws, and his proximity, the raw hunger in his voice, promised release. "I can't," she whispered, even as she didn't step away. "It's too much. The kids... what would people think?"

Brian's hand brushed her arm, sending sparks across her skin. "No one has to know. Just us. Let me take care of you, Sarah. Like Tom would want his friends to."

The drive back to her house was a blur. Brian followed in his truck, the headlights a constant reminder in her rearview mirror. Her pulse raced, a mix of dread and anticipation. When they pulled into her driveway, the house dark and empty, she hesitated at the door. "This is a mistake," she said, turning the key with shaking fingers.

Inside, the living room felt charged. Brian closed the door softly, his presence filling the space. He didn't rush her; instead, he poured them both a glass of scotch from Tom's old bottle, the one they'd saved for special occasions. They sat on the couch, the same one where Mark had first claimed her. Sarah sipped, the burn steadying her nerves.

"Tell me to leave," Brian said, echoing Dave's words from before. His hand rested on her knee, thumb circling slowly.

She should have. God, she knew she should have. But the scotch warmed her veins, and his touch ignited memories of pleasure that drowned out the guilt. "Stay," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Brian set his glass down and leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was deep and unhurried. His mouth tasted of peat and desire, his tongue exploring with a patience that made her melt. Sarah's reluctance frayed as his hands roamed—up her thighs, under the hem of her dress, fingers tracing the edge of her lace panties. She gasped when he cupped her mound, the heat of his palm pressing against her already dampening core.

"You're so responsive," he whispered against her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. "Mark was right. You've been needing this."

Sarah's cheeks burned with shame, but her body betrayed her, hips shifting toward his hand. He slipped a finger under the fabric, stroking her slit lightly, gathering her wetness. "Brian... please..." She wasn't sure if she was begging him to stop or continue.

He pulled back just enough to peel her dress over her head, exposing her in her matching bra and panties—black lace she'd chosen without thinking why. Brian's eyes darkened with lust as he unclasped her bra, her heavy breasts spilling free. He took one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard while his hand delved deeper, two fingers sliding into her slick pussy. Sarah moaned, her head falling back, fingers threading through his hair.

The reluctance lingered in her mind like a shadow— this is wrong, too many, too soon—but her body craved the fullness, the escape. Brian worked her expertly, his fingers curling to hit that sweet spot inside her, thumb circling her clit with precise pressure. She came quickly, unexpectedly, her walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over her. "Oh god, Brian!" she cried, juices coating his hand.

He didn't give her time to recover. Standing, he stripped off his shirt, revealing a lean, toned chest dusted with hair. Sarah's eyes widened at the bulge in his jeans. He unbuckled his belt, freeing his cock—long and curved slightly, veins pulsing, the head already glistening with pre-cum. It was different from Mark's thickness or Dave's length; this promised to hit places inside her that would make her see stars.

"On your knees," he said, voice low and commanding. Sarah hesitated, a flicker of protest in her eyes, but the ache between her thighs won out. She sank to the floor, the carpet soft under her knees. Brian guided her head, and she took him in her mouth, lips stretching around his girth. He groaned, hips thrusting gently as she sucked, her tongue swirling around the tip. Saliva dripped down her chin, mixing with his pre-cum, the salty taste filling her senses. She felt used, debased—and it thrilled her in a way she couldn't deny.

After a few minutes, Brian pulled her up, leading her to the bedroom—her and Tom's old room. The sheets were fresh, but the memories lingered. He laid her on her back, spreading her legs wide. "I want to see your face when you come again," he said, positioning himself at her entrance.

Sarah bit her lip, reluctance surging one last time. "Be gentle... it's been a while since..."

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching her deliciously. The curve of his cock rubbed against her G-spot with every thrust, building a pressure that made her toes curl. Brian started slow, but soon his pace quickened, hips slamming into hers with a wet slap. Her breasts bounced with each impact, nipples hard and sensitive. He leaned down, capturing one in his mouth, biting just hard enough to make her yelp.

"Fuck, Sarah, you're so tight," he growled, his hand sliding between them to rub her clit. "Come for me. Let go."

She did, her orgasm ripping through her like fire, pussy spasming around his cock. Brian didn't stop; he flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up so she was on all fours. Entering her from behind, he gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks as he pounded deeper. Sarah buried her face in the pillow, moaning uncontrollably, the angle allowing him to hit even deeper spots. His balls slapped against her clit, adding to the overload of sensation.

Brian's hand wrapped in her hair, pulling her head back. "Look at yourself," he said, nodding to the mirror across the room. Sarah's reflection stared back—flushed, sweaty, eyes wild with lust. It was erotic, shameful, and it pushed her over the edge again. She came hard, squirting a little onto the sheets, her body shaking.

He wasn't done. Pulling out, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her onto his lap, facing him. Sarah straddled him, sinking down onto his cock with a gasp. She rode him slowly at first, grinding her clit against his pubic bone, but Brian's hands on her hips urged her faster. "Use me, Sarah," he said. "Take what you need."

And she did—bouncing on him, her tits slapping against his chest, nails digging into his shoulders. The reluctance was gone now, replaced by pure, animalistic need. Brian sucked on her neck, leaving marks she'd have to hide, his cock throbbing inside her. When he finally came, he lifted her off and stroked himself, shooting thick ropes of cum across her belly and breasts, marking her in hot, sticky bursts.

They collapsed together, panting, the room smelling of sex and sweat. Brian held her close, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. "You were incredible," he murmured.

Sarah lay there, guilt creeping back in the afterglow. But as she felt his heartbeat against her cheek, the solace washed over her. Tom's friends had become her anchors, her secret lovers. And though she knew it couldn't last forever, for now, in Brian's arms, the loneliness felt a little less infinite.