My Brother's Best Man

“And the longest pee ever award goes to….”

“June,” Becca hisses.

My back is to the wall, meaning I can look over Roger’s head and spot my woman.

I have to struggle not to let my reaction show.

It’s explosive, starting from deep inside of me, as though my need is going to send me sprinting across the room.

It’s not just her messy brown hair or the redness in her cheeks. It’s not just how her flowy dress settles against her body, outlining every mouth-watering inch.

It’s her presence. It’s like she’s reaching out silently, telling me I can relax now. She’s here. My woman is here.

She looks across the room, catching my eye. Her mouth falls open, and her eyes do this panicky side-to-side motion like she’s telling me no.

But no to what? What does she think I’m doing?

I said I’d behave. But looking at her, it’s hard to remember why.

I want to touch her, need to. Now.

It’s a relief when Tiffany announces it’s time for the starters. I walk through into Alex’s dining room; the long table is set, waiting as the shuffling and sitting down takes place.

My mind goes to the future, to when Becca will be the one guiding our guests into our place. And I’ll stand at the back of the room, bursting with pride, waiting for her to meet my gaze so she can see how much I love her.

Love.

Now I need to calm down. I can’t let a word like that take root in my mind. I’ll never be able to stop.

“Ben?”

It’s Tiffany, smiling at me, gesturing to the only remaining seat. I’ve daydreamed my way out of choosing.

That would be fine until I see my mistake.

The only free chair is right next to Becca.

“Uh, thank you,” I say, clearing my throat.

I walk over to the chair, sitting down gently. My leg brushes against Becca’s. The contact is brief, and yet I feel her tense up, and I feel the same tension inside me.

The temptation to touch her again is too much. It eats at me, gnawing at my resolve. My hands curl into fists on reflex. Otherwise, I know I’ll reach across the short distance and clamp onto her thigh under the table, squeeze and hold tight, and let her feel how badly I want her.

She looks my way quickly, my shy, horny virgin under her eyelashes.

Stop, my conscious roars. Stop this now.

And yet I can’t. It’s a primal unleashing, my length throbbing at the thought of her, my tip engorged and rock-solid. Precome leaks out of me, my seed eager to escape.

I have to calm down. This could get embarrassing.

The dinner starts, and I stare down at my plate. The conversation moves around me. Somebody asks Becca about her studies, and she makes the most beautiful laughing noise. It’s self-deprecating and brave and cute and everything.

I’m obsessed with all of her.

“I’m going to finish them here. But then I’m wondering what to do next. I’ll get part-time work. I always like to work. But after college, I mean, with the photography degree.”

“What do you want to do?” I ask, unable to stop myself.