My Sister's Bestie Pics the Decor

Maddie dutifully snaps another lamp's tag with her phone before breezing past me to a new part of the store's showroom, leaving her hair's floral scent behind her.

"We're only here for a desk and a chair for my home office," I mutter, dragging my feet to follow her.

She snorts.

"Yeah, right," Maddie spins around to face me, arms crossed over her chest, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Your place is so bare, looks like Christian Bale's in American Psycho. Seriously, it gives me the creeps. You desperately need a woman's touch."

I sigh, briefly remembering how much I used to love IKEA trips as a kid. But now, standing amid the endless maze of sleek furniture and fake rooms, I struggle to recapture that old magic. At least Maddie's enjoying herself.

"If you can keep it under five items," I offer dryly, "I'll buy you one of those wooden toy trains."

"Ha, ha." Her sarcastic laughter rings fake, but then her expression softens, head tilted sweetly. "Do you mind if I grab a few things for my dorm? I left my wallet at home."

"Whatever, just don't forget why we're here."

Maddie places a gentle hand on my arm, rising onto her toes to press a quick kiss to the corner of my jaw.

"Thanks," she whispers playfully. "I knew dating an older guy would come in handy."

She steps away, immediately diving back into her enthusiastic inspection of every oddly named piece of furniture on display.

"I hate to break it to you," I say dryly, "but with my student loans, you're probably technically richer than I am."

"Oh, that's too bad," she puts on a sad pout. "Guess I'll have to find a new man to pamper me."

She hums thoughtfully, her eyes theatrically scanning the store until they land on a target.

"How about...that guy!"

I follow her pointed finger to see a grandfather who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else, struggling to wrangle a pair of rambunctious toddlers.

"Solid pick," I shoot back. "He's clearly got experience handling brats."

My comment earns me an offended punch to the shoulder, but it quickly softens as Maddie's fingers slip comfortably between mine.

"Come on, let's find you a desk. You're getting grumpy," she says, tugging me gently forward and sneaking another quick kiss.

"Must mean you have a type then," I add, pointing back to the old man, now wagging his finger, trying to discipline one of the kids.

My call to order seems to work, though, because five minutes later, we reach the office section. The plan is fairly simple: Pick the cheapest desk that will probably fit at my place.

Maddie has a completely different idea. She pulls out a small drawing of the room, complete with measurements and annotations. When did she make it? While I was sleeping?

Most of my suggestions are brushed off. She has a vision, or so she tells me, and apparently, compromise isn't part of it.

"Here it is!" Maddie perks up, rushing inside one of the showrooms.

I slip past a family to follow her inside, only to fail to see what is so particular about that one piece of furniture. It looks like all the others, cheaply made and overpriced.

Maddie's already pulled out the chair and eagerly gestures for me to sit down.

"Come on, sit! I wanna make sure it's right for you."

She really has me wrapped around her finger, and I sheepishly obey, reconsidering my life choices for a second.

When I'm done adjusting the chair, Maddie puts both her hands on my shoulders and softly rubs the base of my neck with her thumbs.

"Now pretend you're working," she whispers in my ear, warm and playful. "I wanna see the full picture."

I mimic typing on the cardboard laptop, making beep-boop sounds with my mouth. Maddie giggles behind me, clearly satisfied with my half-hearted effort.

"So," I ask, trying to move things along, "is this what you're looking for?"

"Hmm. Not sure yet. Lemme check something."

Before I can ask what, she slides from behind and disappears beneath the desk.

I recoil, dumbfounded. Her arms wrap around my calves, and a second later, her head pops up between my knees, eyes gleaming with wicked delight.

"Maddie?" I hiss, panicking. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh." She flashes grins. "I made sure no one saw. I just need to test one more thing."

I glance around frantically. The aisle is empty. For now.

"Okay," she whispers, her hand already traveling up my thigh. "Pretend you're on a video call or something."

"What?"

She sighs like I'm being deliberately difficult. "Roman, come on. We both know how this ends. Just play along."

It's getting bad. She's figuring out how easy it is to break me

"I'm not talking to the wall. I'd look insane."

"Fine, then just stare ahead and act like you're doing... spreadsheet things. At least look distracted."

I take a long breath and lock my eyes on the meaningless swirl printed on the dummy laptop's screen.

"Alright," Maddie says, slipping back into character with almost theatrical poise. "You're working from home. On a call. Being very important."

Her hand lands on my crotch, and I flinch, a shiver rippling down my spine. Her other hand presses softly on my thigh, keeping me grounded.

"But then I get this craving," she purrs, "and I don't want you to get fired... so I crawl under your desk."

"Maddie..." I try.

The sound of my pants' zipper being pulled down silences me.

"I fit just right under here," she breathes, her fingers slipping into my boxers. They find me hard in an instant. "This is perfect."

I don't even have time to reply before cool air brushes my cock.

Then, footsteps.

I freeze as a store attendant strolls past the aisle entrance.

Fuck.

She can't be much older than Madie, her hair in a neat bun, yellow and blue-striped uniform tucked perfectly into her belt.

She spots me sitting at the desk, pretending to work, and offers a friendly smile. I force myself to smile back.

Please, just keep walking.

She does. Eventually.

I can finally exhale, my focus snapping back on Maddie's mouth who's taken advantage of my distraction to engulf my cock in its warm wetness.

"Knock it off," I growl, pushing her back and fumbling to tuck myself away.

She relents, but she pouts for the rest of the visit. When we pass the same attendant near checkout, Maddie sweetly asks about the desk's pricing, her voice full of innocence, eyes sparkling with mischief.

The poor girl blushes so hard.

===

"You're getting reckless," I think out loud, munching on soggy fries.

We're tucked into one of the store's cafeteria's booths, sharing a greasy plate of meatballs for an early lunch. Our purchases are already stashed in the car, and Maddie's pressed close, leaning against my side.

Her head tilts up. I can feel her eyes on me.

"What?" She sounds genuinely surprised. "You love it. Don't pretend."

I wipe my hands on a napkin. "Have you thought about going on the pill?" I ask quietly. "We've had a few close calls."

She doesn't laugh this time.

"I tried a couple different ones in high school." Her tone shifts to something more serious. "But I kept getting bad reactions, migraines, put on a lot of weight. You get the idea."

Just my luck. I look down at Maddie. Her blue eyes are locked on me, calm but unreadable.

"You'll have to be more careful," she says jokingly. "Maybe work on that pullout game when I'm not spending the night?"

I shrug and dig back into the tray.

Maddie livens right up, apparently back to a chatty mood.

"Ugh. I have a group project that's going to kill me," she groans.

I glance at her. "That bad?"

"Oh, worse," she says, stabbing a fry into the meatball sauce like she's avenging a past wrong. "My professor paired me with this guy in Business Comm who literally asked if I could 'handle the slides' so he could focus on the 'big-picture ideas.' Jerk."

I arch a brow. "Wow. Did he offer you a corset and a typewriter too?"

"He's writing the 'core messaging.' Whatever that means. His draft was six bullet points and a Steve Jobs quote."

I wince. "Jesus."

"And he keeps calling me 'Mads.' Like we're tight. I've never spoken to him outside class."

I picture Maddie in a college group project and suddenly feel a wave of pity for the guy, dumb as he may be. "Can't you swap with one of your friends?"

"No, I'll just do the project on my own. He'll get the message soon enough," she sighs.

"That's cutthroat."

"That's teamwork," she mutters, grabbing another fry.

"I dunno, working with difficult people is like half my job," I say in an attempt to lighten the mood. "This could be a good learning experience for you."

Maddie doesn't answer at first, then lays her head on my shoulder.

"You could always pretend you're too busy with your sugar daddy, Mads," I offer.

She gently bumps her head into my neck. "Not funny."

"I'm just tired," she continues. "Like, not 'I didn't sleep' tired. Just... between classes and my shifts at the coffee shop. I feel like I don't know where I'm going, like I'm always just reacting to things."

I glance over. Her lashes are low, her mouth pulled into a weary pout. She's not putting on a show, just unraveling a little. The version of Maddie that isn't wrapped in confidence or flirtatious energy.

"You ever feel like that?" she asks, voice quieter now. "Like you're doing all the things you're supposed to, school, work, whatever. But none of it feels like your thing? Like you're just waiting for something to click?"

"I used to," I eventually answer, scratching my head. "In college, for sure. I had no idea what I was going to do after, it's normal. But I landed an internship at a random company, then they hired me. It happened naturally, without really planning for it. And now I'm on the career treadmill."

I lean over and press a greasy kiss to her forehead, which she wipes away with a small, amused smile.

"But it comes with its own set of existential dread, this is a constant in life," I add to try and reassure her.

Maddie hums, looking thoughtful for a second. "Guess that's why I like hanging out with you. It feels like I can stop waiting. Like, my worries can go on hold for a little while."

Her eyes dart to mine, as if she regrets saying that out loud.

She clears her throat. "Did you check your mailbox recently?"

"Not really. Why?"

"My brother's getting married. You should be getting the RSVP soon."

Her brother? I can still remember attending his first marriage to his high school sweetheart, hosted by his and Maddie's parents in their backyard. I was twelve or thirteen at the time, which means Maddie couldn't be older than eight.

"Daniel? Didn't know he got divorced."

She sighs. "What

do

you know about me?"

I nudge her shoulder gently. It's become instinct. Physical reassurance works faster than words with Maddie.

"I know Claudia had her third kid six months ago. A boy. Again," I offer.

She relaxes against me.

Maddie's the youngest by a wide margin. Claudia and Daniel are both well into their thirties. They were practically out of the house for most of her childhood.

That, along with her aging parents, is why she spent so much time at our place with Paige, my younger sister, and tagged along on most family vacations.

"Kinda surprised to be invited," I admit, spearing a meatball with my fork.

"Well, if it were up to me, you'd be my plus one," she says casually.

I glance at her before I can stop myself.

"Relax," she adds, amused. "I know you don't want to go public. Yet."

I don't engage and try not to notice the two older women a few tables over, eyeing us like we're the picture-perfect young couple.

"Anyway," Maddie goes on, breezy as ever, "I didn't even have to sneak you onto the list. I guess Daniel just likes your family. Paige and your parents are invited too."

She smirks. "She's gonna be so jealous when she sees me in my bridesmaid dress."

I make a mental note to text Paige. Make sure she packs the dress she was supposed to wear to my own canceled wedding.

===

I wipe my slick brow with my forearm. The sun pours in through the large window that opens on my apartment's balcony, heating the whole place like a greenhouse. I ditched my shirt a while ago.

I survey the space, satisfied. Now that we've assembled the furniture, the room actually looks like a home office.

"I hate to admit it," I say, waving a hand around, "but you actually put together something nice."

Maddie flashes a solar grin that cuts through the sweat on her face, somehow brightening the room even more. She's changed into ratty leggings and a paint-stained T-shirt that clings to her skin, the fabric outlining every curve without even trying.

She plants her hands on her hips and stays put, still beaming.

"And?" she prompts.

I arch a brow. "And... I was wrong," I grumble. "Everything you picked works. You have great tastes."

She tilts her head.

"All of it?" she asks, way too pleased with herself.

I sigh, playing along. "Yes, Maddie. Even the weird little clay thing. Even the throw pillows."

With a happy squeal, she launches herself at me, and I have to catch her or let her crash to the floor.

"See?" she says, smug, nestling into the crook of my neck after a quick kiss. "Good things happen when you listen to me."

I could come up with something witty to shoot back, but I'm too busy burying my nose in her hair. Even now, after hours of assembling furniture with me in a hot, cramped room, she just smells like Maddie.

Her belly grumbles loudly, breaking the silent intimacy and causing a shared laugh.

"We ate like four hours ago," I complain.

"More like six," she whines.

"Alright, let me shower first. I'll cook something quick."

But Maddie's arms remain clamped around my chest. Her nose is pressed against my skin, and she takes a deep breath, then exhales with a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

"No way you're showering tonight," she declares. "You smell too good."

I snort. In a million years, I would never've guessed how unhinged my little sister's best friend really is.

Still, her constant praise stokes my ego enough to drown out the natural worries I should be feeling.

"Whatever, you weirdo," I mutter, shaking my head as I leave the room and head for the kitchen.

Naomi, my ex-fiancée, was a much better cook than me. Frustratingly better. Maddie, on the other hand, is a menace in the kitchen. Every dish ends up a burnt offering to the smoke alarm. I survey the contents of my fridge, knowing it is my time to shine.

I grab a few decent-looking vegetables, chop them up, and scatter them across a sheet pan. Then I coat two chicken thighs in a quick mustard-herb mix and nestle them on top before sliding the whole thing into the oven.

By the time I'm done, the shower running has been replaced by the sounds of bad trivia and canned applause coming from the living room.

I spot the half-baguette from this morning, slice it, toast it, and smear it with cream cheese. A thin layer of cucumber goes on top. Clean, simple. It'll buy me time while the chicken roasts.

Maddie is still damp and flushed, stretched out on my couch, watching a stupid game show on my TV, wrapped in my bathrobe.

"Smells great," she says, welcoming me with a ravenous smile as I set out the appetizer on the coffee table.

She snags a slice of bread, then lifts her legs to let me sit. In the process, the robe hikes up just enough to expose her bare ass.

I should've guessed she's not wearing anything underneath.

Once I'm settled, she stretches out again. Her calves drape across my thigh like they've always belonged there.

She bites into the tartine and lets out a soft, satisfied sigh.

"This is so freaking good," she mumbles, barely remembering to shield her mouth before crumbs go flying. "You're not hungry?" she adds, nodding toward the untouched second slice on the plate.

"Not really. Wanna save room for the real meal."

The hopeful look in her eyes makes me smirk. "Yes, you can have it."

Apparently, she thinks I might change my mind because she pounces, now holding one slice in each hand like some feral little queen, and tears into it with a grin.

"I'm spoiling you rotten," I say, watching her lounge across the armrest, her bare legs sprawled comfortably over me.

"Not yet," she mutters, words distorted through a full mouth. She turns her head to watch the TV, ignoring me for a few moments.

Then, she moves.

Her left leg lifts in a slow arc, curling behind me on the couch cushion. Her right one strokes lazily along my thigh. She still won't meet my eyes, though I keep watching her face, trying to read her.

Then I notice it. Her contortions have disturbed the bathrobe, flaps falling open just enough to reveal a stretch of skin that doesn't stop until the belt cinched at her waist.

Whatever questions I could have for her are quashed by the sight of the blonde tuft between her legs, matted to her skin. Her swollen lips are faintly parting. Was she touching herself in the shower?

Seeing as I'm not moving, Maddie takes the initiative. One leg curls behind my back, the other presses into the side of my chest, slow and steady, guiding me forward, drawing me between her thighs.

All the while, she keeps her eyes trained on the TV.

I don't put up much of a fight, and pretty soon I'm faced with Maddie's pretty pussy. I plant a kiss on the glimpse of belly that pokes under the bathrobe's belt. Her skin smells likes jasmine.

"Told you I wasn't hungry," I breathe, looking up. But she keeps on ignoring me, munching on her tartine.

Let's see how long she can keep her composure.

I travel south and part her folds. Maddie, usually so expressive, doesn't react. But the wetness I find there, and the way her clit throbs under my breath, betrays her. I wrap an arm around her thigh to anchor myself, the other hand working its way between her legs, circling slow around her entrance.

She opens herself a bit more, giving me better access. A jolt spread through her body when I spit in my palm. I suppress a smile and dip my fingers inside, instantly rewarded with the slick warmth of her excitement.

Her belly tenses, but she doesn't let out even a hint of a sound. I curl my fingers, slowly dragging them across the sensitive spot inside her. Maddie's flesh melts under my touch, and soon a gingerbread scent, the unmistakable sign of her growing arousal, overpowers the one coming from the oven.

The half-eaten tartines are thoughtlessly tossed onto the coffee table as Maddie finally looks down, biting her lip.

I press my advantage. Lowering my face, I drag my tongue from the base of her pussy all the way up, ending with a soft kiss to her clit. We moan at the same time. I didn't expect it.

I need the contact just as much as she does.

The back of my head explodes in tingles when her hands come to rest on it, half-stroking me, half-pulling me closer.

"I knew I could make you hungry," she groans. "God, I love your tongue."

Maddie's voice, rough and soaked in heat, makes my cock throb.

It's cramped on the couch, Maddie spread open and me curled between her thighs, but I manage to slip a hand inside my boxers and stroke myself, the movement shallow and needy.

Without me realizing, she's managed to slip out of the robe. Her breasts spill softly toward her sides, gently rising and falling with her quickening breaths.

I never bothered to put a shirt back on to cook, and her touch explores my neck, my shoulder, my exposed back. Everywhere it passes, it leaves a trail of goosebump.

She's close, I can feel it, her body is tightening around my fingers.

I raise my head and slowly pull them free. A strand of slick clings from her entrance to my hand before it snaps. When I glance up, Maddie's staring down at me, eyes wide, desperate.