My Brothers Best Friend [18+]

Chapter Thirty Four

The whole morning. 

"Need you. Noah, please." 

"If I fuck you right now I'll come." 

"I want to be with you." 

"Take me so well, pretty girl." 

"I'm yours." 

Oh, it's humiliating. It's worse than humiliating; it's putting-head-in-hands shameful. 

Did Matt just lie in bed and listen? He didn't think to bang on the wall or cough or just leave a pair of shoes near the stairs to indicate his return? He didn't think to say hello, stop fucking my sister? 

Did he even go to work? Or has he been sat here, silently seething the entire day? 

The silence is smothering me. Any second now I'll have to start clawing at my throat, drawing blood just so the three of us will have something to talk about that isn't Noah and I going at it. 

The whole bloody day. While I've been at work, smiling, happy, living my best life, Matt's been at home. Probably replaying the morning over and over in his mind, hearing us - flirting, moaning. Oh, God. 

It's lucky Matt doesn't turn to us because my face must be a picture. 

"Listen," Noah starts, the word said so carefully it almost doesn't sound like it comes from his mouth. 

He's instantly cut off. 

"You listen," Matt snarls. 

End it. End it all. Walk out into the middle of the road and wait for some boy racer to speed through my bones in his little Ford Fiesta. 

Having him turn and look at us is worse. 

There's a rage in his eyes that I've never seen before. He wasn't even this angry when I broke his first PlayStation controller, though we were ten years younger (and Matt did cry). He didn't speak to me for a week and he told our mother that I'd done it on purpose because he made fun of my mispronunciation of the word 'prediction'. 

If the controller was worth a week, sleeping with Noah is probably worth at least a month. 

Should I really compare myself to a broken PlayStation controller? 

Matt doesn't own me. 

"Listen," he repeats, still spitting the word. My eyes snap to his mouth. "I don't even know what to say to the two of you. How fucking embarrassing." 

He's embarrassed? He listens to me practically scream his best friend's name and he's going to blush about it?

"Matt-" 

"I'm not done," he interrupts, voice raised. 

He isn't shouting, at least not yet. 

"I've been trying to think of how to even express-" Matt huffs. "How did you even-? When did it-? Do I even want to know?" 

The two of us remain silent. 

His emotions are changing so quickly that I can't keep up. He's angry. He's embarrassed. Now he seems disappointed, with a prominent downturn of the mouth I can't tear my gaze away from. And he's not even managed a full sentence with a straight face yet. 

The clock in the living room ticks, tocks, ticks.

"You're fucking my sister?" 

Noah splutters. 

"Not-" he cringes. 

Matt mocks him, faux stuttering and throwing out his arms. 

"Not- not- not- not what? You're not fucking her?"