The original post: /r/eroticliterature by /u/Radiant_Code_3652 on 2025-01-28 00:25:36.
I was willing to overlook the flannel shirt choice, and had planned to introduce myself and be as cordial as ever. Oliver, however, decided to just glower at me like he wanted to burn me alive before I’d even said hello.
The glowering, menacing eyes were insanely hot when you weren’t on the receiving end.
I really did try at first. I mean, Oliver was my best friend’s husband’s best friend. I was the maid of honor in their wedding, he was the best man. Our lives were pretty intertwined.
But there was no being polite and cordial with him.
He wouldn’t even talk to me other than mumbling and grunting on the rare occasions he actually had to say something.
He really thought he was all that? That it was beneath him to even talk to me? And the way he just angrily glared at me for no reason. He was just the worst.
It was still tolerable up until the Halloween party three years ago, just about six months after I’d met Oliver, when he’d moved back to town.
I’d headed into the kitchen to get another drink when I saw Oliver standing with Jacques.
I still wasn’t sure how they were best friends. They met during high school, when Jacques family moved to the States from France. But Jacques was kind, funny, always ready to help. Oliver…Oliver sucked.
“You didn’t tell me Scarlett was going to be here,” he hissed. “I can’t stand being around her.”
“Come on,” Jacques said, his little French accent still slightly audible back then. “You have to be able to handle this. She’s been Marissa’s best friend since they were kids. She’s one of my good friends too.”
If Oliver thought he couldn’t stand me now, just wait, I thought.
I grabbed that other drink, pounded it while I was in the kitchen, and then decided that I was going to be a holy terror towards Oliver from that moment forward.
That worked. That got him talking.
I’d snap at him, he’d snap at me. I’d make jabs and snide comments, he’d return the favor. Bickering. About. Everything.
We made sure it didn’t interfere too much with Marissa and Jacques or the other people usually in our group. But we were unfortunately always around each other — beach days, mutual friends’ weddings, birthdays, weekend trips, happy hour. Oh, and weekly dinners at Jacques and Marissa’s.
Marissa, Jacques and Oliver and I were heading up to the mountains this weekend. Marissa and Jacques had actually met skiing, so Jacques surprised her with the weekend getaway for her birthday.
Normally in group settings, there were another two or three people there to act as buffers between Oliver and I. But of course, the five other people Jacques invited couldn’t make it. I had no choice but to go — for one, I loved skiing and the mountains, and two, it was for my best friend’s birthday. I loved her more than I hated her husband’s best bro.
We stopped for dinner a few miles before the hotel, at some cafe that Marissa loved. It had actually been fine with Oliver so far, except for when he accidentally drank my coffee and I stole a bite of his burger as payback.
We arrived at the hotel, where Jacques told us that we would actually be staying in cabins on the property.
The manager led us to the cabins tucked away amongst the looming pine trees, and handed the keys over to Jacques.
I took a deep breath, appreciating the crisp, clean mountain air.
“Do you need an inhaler or something, Red?”
I glared at him. No, my hair was not red. He just called me that because of my name.
“I’m soaking in the moment,” I snapped. “Do you want to need a stretcher?”
“Retract the claws, Scar.”
His other favorite nickname, inspired by the murderous lion from Lion King. What a prince.
Marissa raised an eyebrow at me, that older sister look she liked to give. She was 5 months older — that was it.
“You did a good job, Frenchie,” I said to Jacques, deciding to pretend Oliver didn’t exist. “This looks great.”
There were a stretch of six log cabins next to each other. A few of the chimneys were already billowing smoke. Apparently, it was that kind of hotel.
I was just hoping my room was farthest away from Oliver’s. He snored so freakin’ loud, and somehow I always ended up in the room next door.
Marissa stifled a yawn. “I’m beat,” she said. “And I’ve heard there’s a bath tub waiting for me in there. How about we all get settled and get some sleep, yeah?”
It sounded perfect. I had three books tucked away in my bag.
I suddenly noticed Jacques was shifting back and forth on his feet awkwardly. Before I could ask what was wrong, Oliver did.
“You good, man?”
“Yeah, it’s just…” he coughed into his fist. “The large cabin with three rooms was booked up. So I had to rent a smaller one.”
“Okayyyy,” I said. “And that’s a problem why?”
“It only has two rooms.”
It took a second to process, and then Oliver and I both sprung.
“Absolutely not.”
“I’ll sleep in the snow.”
“Nope,” Marissa said, snatching the key and marching towards the cabin door. “We’re all going to tuck in early and be wide eyed and bushy tailed in the morning and ready to hit the slopes.”
Jacques corralled us into the cabin despite our grumbling.
The beautiful interior of the cabin momentarily took priority. It was warm and cozy and looked like it was straight out of an interior decorating magazine.
“The bedroom is upstairs on the left, we’re on the right,” he said, suddenly reminding me of the situation.
“You guys have a bath too,” Marissa said.
“I think i’ll let Scarlett take the bath,” Oliver mumbled.
“Yeah, that wasn’t going to be up for debate anyways,” I muttered.
We all walked up the stairs, and I made sure to slip in front of Oliver to leave his last in line.
“See you at six,” Jacques called over his shoulder as he and Marissa walked down their end of the hallway.
I narrowed my eyes. “Seven, you French fuck.”
“Six a.m. on the dot, mon cherie!” He replied before practically frolicking off with his wife.
Ew.
Oliver and I had stayed in the same house multiple times, but there were always at least two other people there.
We were dead silent as we walked into the room. Yep, one bed. Queen sized, at least. But Oliver was over six feet tall and didn’t exactly have narrow shoulders.
I had glanced at the couch on the way up. The living room had four big armchairs, but the couch was small. I couldn’t even fit comfortably length-wise.
There was another armchair in our room, and I debated whether or not I’d just sleep there. Or make Oliver.
“I’m taking a bath,” I announced after I set my bags down. “A long one. You can do whatever you want — stick your dick in the snow or whatever it is guys typically do when they don’t have internet.”
I grabbed my book and stalked into the attached bathroom, shutting it behind me.
The water heated up quickly, and it filled up in just a few minutes. I let out a very undignified moan as I sank myself into the water and steam curled around me.
The epsom salts I’d put in smelled amazing, like vanilla and smoked wood or something. The body wash smelled similar, and I applied a liberal amount all over myself.
I hadn’t had an orgasm in almost two weeks, which is probably why I started to get turned on just by running my hands over my body. I hadn’t had sex for, what? Three months now? I was pent up to say the least.
I let my hand trail from my neck across my chest, stopping to give my tit a squeeze. They were soft and heavy, and too big to entirely fit in my hand.
My hand snaked across my stomach and down between my legs. A few precise strokes of my finger and I was throbbing.
I turned on the faucet, letting just the slightest amount trickle out, hoping it would be enough to mask any sounds I couldn’t muffle.
I imagined a gorgeous man sitting in the tub with me, massing my shoulders, spreading body wash across my tits.
I moaned as I slid my pointer finger inside of me.
Then to my horror, the scene I’d imagined shifted to Oliver sitting in the tub with me.
I gritted my teeth and cleared the image. Strong, dark-haired handsome stranger, I repeated silently. That’s what we’re going with.
I started pumping my finger fasting and added a second one as my pussy walls relaxed. A few whimpers escaped from me, but I couldn’t help it. It felt too good.
I imagined the handsome stranger replacing my hand with his, dipping his thick fingers into my pussy and fucking me with them.
And then I was imaging it was Oliver again, sitting behind me and fucking me with his hand while he whispered about how good I was taking him in my ear.
I let out a loud frustrated groan and sank farther down in the water.
This is why he was so annoying. He was so good-looking and to everyone else, a wonderful person to be around. And as set as I was on hating him, I’d found myself in this exact situation before, someone thinking about Oliver while I touched myself.
I shook my head as if that would clear my mind, and then decided to try again.
I used my other hand to rub my clit, hoping to get myself to the edge fast enough to outrun thoughts of Oliver.
It was working. A few seconds went by and then I was moaning more and more, core clenching as I felt my orgasm taking shape. Imagining my dark, handsome stranger jackhammering my cunt with his fingers. Yes, yes, yes.
I was so close, just a bit more….
I heard grunting coming from the room. I was gonna kill him.
What the hell was he doing in there? Push-ups? Lifting furniture? Vigorously folding his clothes?
Whatever. I didn’t care about him, I just cared …
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