Trapped Overnight With My Husband’s Best Friend
When a storm outside ignites a storm inside
“Hey, could you stop by Isaac’s on the way home?”
My husband Paul’s text beeps in with an obnoxious car honk sound as I start my car after loading the groceries in the back. I curse myself yet again for choosing that for his text tone; it makes me jump every time.
“Please??? Looks like we’ll be snowed in tomorrow and I really need that extra paint to finish this dresser while we’re stuck home. Isaac has it packed up to go.”
Ugh. Paul and his best friend Isaac run a small, custom-made furniture business together on the side. Sometimes I feel like their unpaid errand girl.
I peer out my windshield as the wipers go to town. It has been sleeting heavily for a good hour, and the sky is darkening fast. I’ve been lucky to get the groceries and emergency supplies as quickly as I did before we get shut in for the next few days.
By the time I reach Isaac, who lives on the opposite end of town, not “on the way home,” the roads will likely be frozen. But if I don’t get Paul what he needs, he will be irritable and no fun to be stuck at home with tomorrow.
I sigh, roll my eyes, then start driving slowly, keeping my focus glued ahead. Six blocks from Isaac’s place, my car gracefully skids and glides off the road.
I narrowly miss hitting a large tree as my car comes to a halt. Shaken, I try to reverse out of the shallow ditch I seem to have landed in. The wheels spin and won’t budge. Fuuuuuck. I try for a good five minutes before I realize that I’m firmly stuck.
I grab my phone and call Paul, who is not much help. “Well that’s just great. I guess you should call a towing company. Is the car okay?”
Of course, he’s mostly worried about the car.
After five minutes of spinning my wheels with Paul, he mutters something about getting Isaac to pick me up.
How embarrassing. My husband is sending his best friend to rescue me.
It’s almost thirty minutes before Isaac’s truck pulls up on the side of the road near me. It’s been challenging to describe where I was, and I’m sure that the streets are getting worse by the minute.
I open my car door, get out, then start stepping gingerly in the deep snow and ice toward Isaac’s truck, but I see that he’s already making his way toward me. He’s such a nice guy.
“Hana! Sorry it took so long. I was crawling at 5 miles an hour in this blizzard. Do I need to get groceries out of your car?”
Shit, the groceries.
Isaac insists I wait in his truck while he takes my keys and makes several trips to get my groceries, then locks my car.
“I think your car should be safe there tonight. As soon as the roads are better in the morning, we’ll come back to get it.”
I start to thank Isaac for his kindness in driving me home, but he stops me. He says it’s too dangerous out there at this point, and if I don’t mind, he has suggested to Paul that I spend the night at his place instead.
Strangely, I don’t mind.
Isaac lives in a quaint loft apartment at the top of a building that used to be a 1900’s warehouse. His home very much embodies who he is — simple, humble, from another era, and rich in stories under the surface.
I’ve only been here a few times, but I love it. The decor is unpretentious but tasteful and thoughtfully arranged. All the furniture in there is made by him. It is sparse, not in a bachelor type of way but in an intentionally minimalist way that feels very calm to the soul.
It is a studio apartment, so there is no separate bedroom. I note that as I see his bed in one corner. He follows my eyes and realizes what I’m thinking. “No worries,” he says, “You have the bed tonight; I’ve got the couch.” I feebly protest but quickly give up; his bed looks big and inviting.
I’ve known Isaac for about five years now. I’ve always liked him very much. He’s kind, respectful, and easy on the eyes too.
I watch him now, whipping us up a quick dinner in his kitchen area using the groceries I bought earlier (I insist on that much at least). I briefly allow myself to look at him in a way I haven’t before. We’ve rarely been alone; Paul is always there.
Now that I take him in, I notice his strong shoulders, his tight ass, and the distracting shadowy stubble on his finely sculptured jaw. I shiver as I imagine running my hand over that prickly, manly skin.
I mentally shake myself awake. Hello! I’m a married woman.
Right on cue, the car horn text tone slaps me to my senses as Paul texts rather grumpily to ask if I’m alright.
I manage to keep my thoughts chaste for the rest of dinner prep time as the smell of delicious waffles and sausage waft my way. Lord, am I hungry.
Isaac says I’m welcome to use his shower, and I gratefully accept. Since I don’t have a change of clothes on me, all he can offer me are a pair of his boxers and a tee-shirt while my clothes are in his washer. Awkward, but preferable to being gross.
I feel comfy in his clothes, but I’m a little self-conscious about not having panties or a bra on. He must be thinking it, too, because when I walk out of the bathroom, his eyes flit to my chest under his shirt for a second before he averts his gaze.
I can’t lie; at that moment, I’m proud of my curvy figure that I usually try to hide.
It’s still pretty early in the night, so he asks if I want to watch a little TV. We sit side by side on his two-seater couch with some careful space between us, and he hands me the remote. I absently flip on The Bachelor, and he groans, making me laugh. This is what you get for giving me the remote, I tell him.
We proceed to make fun of the entire show together. He’s funnier than I guessed.
When the show is over, we flow into a comfortable conversation. At first, it’s all about the furniture business but becomes personal very quickly when out of nowhere he asks me if Paul and I are doing alright.
The question hits me hard, and I embarrass myself by tearing up.
“Whoa, whoa,” he says gently, reaching out to wipe my tears away, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… wonder sometimes if you guys are okay. I’ve known Paul a long time, and he’s a good guy, but I know he’s not the easiest person to live with. Trust me; we roomed together in college.”
I spill my guts. I think we’ll be okay, I tell Isaac, but I’m not sure if Paul is all that attracted to me. He’s impatient with me, and I usually feel stupid and inadequate around him. Sometimes I wonder if we’ve made a mistake getting married when I ended up miscarrying the baby, who was the reason for our wedding anyway.
Isaac gives me a troubled look and says, “He’s lucky to have you, Hana. You’re a brilliant and capable woman, and I’d be shocked if every man you meet does not find you sexy as hell.”
I blush, looking down at his hands, all roughed up, yet with long slender fingers that give a hint of his artistic skills.
He seems like he wants to say more, but he stops himself. Instead, he asks if I want to watch something else to wind down for bed. I let him pick this time, but I’m already drowsy. I lean back, enjoying the easy, peaceful vibe between us. I half-watch the screen as my thoughts swirl around like the heavy blizzard outside until my eyes close.
I open my eyes a while later and am confused in the dark for a good minute until I remember that I’m not home.
Also, I’m leaning back against something hard and soft at the same time. Something warm, rising slowly up and down.
With a shock, I realize that I have fallen asleep on the couch on Isaac’s chest. He has one arm around me in a protective, reassuring way. I know I should untangle myself and get up, but I can’t.
Because I’m extremely turned on.
I try to quell the sudden urge to put my hand on his dick. Where is this coming from? I briefly question as an uncharacteristic rush of daring floods through me. I adjust my body to lean my chest on his, and look at his peaceful closed eyes. All at once my left hand seems to have a will of its own. I find my palm tenderly cupping his bulge, my eyes still glued to his face.
Isaac gives a little moan in his sleep, which lights up something deep inside me. I move my hand, slowly rubbing his pants back and forth in a deliberate motion. I feel his dick springing to life, trying to be born through the fabric.
I turn my face up and kiss his stubble, which is when his eyes open. He recognizes me immediately in the little bit of light still flickering from the TV.
I think he’s going to push me off, but instead, he puts his other arm around me, looking at me with that same troubled look from earlier, but now with something desperate behind it. I am encouraged and continue steadily teasing his dick to action with my hand as he breathes raggedly and whispers, “Are you sure, Hana?”
I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. In fact, I’m more sure about this than about my marriage.
I know if I give myself another second to think I’m going to back out, so I pull him over on top of me as I lay down on the couch. I grab his face in both my hands, and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.
We kiss long and deep for a while until I want more. I take his hand, feeling those long, clever fingers, and guide him to my pussy, which is already wet as a river and exposed through the loose leg opening of his boxers that I’m wearing. I wonder if he’s ever imagined my pussy in them.
I push his second and third fingers down as far inside me as they can go, arching my back so I can feel him in the innermost place in my body. He’s panting heavily now as he obediently dips in and out of me.
I think he’s about to come just from seeing the look on my face, but he holds off, stopping to shrug my shirt off with his other hand. He holds his breath when he sees my breasts, then bends his head down to lick and suck on my taut nipples.
I’m halfway to heaven already, but I want even more. I tug his hand away from my pussy impatiently, help him remove his pants, and take his dick in my hands. He shudders and lets loose a long moan. I squeeze and stroke him for a few minutes until he can’t bear it any longer.
I’m ready to let him take over now, and he understands this without me having to say a word.
He flips me on my side. We lay there, me facing away, his arms around me. His face is against my neck and he’s calling me sweet names as he takes me from behind with his long, hard dick.
When we come, we come together, mind, body, and soul — a first time for me.
We sleep entwined on the couch for the rest of the night as if trying to cram all of him and me as one being into the smallest space possible. We know we must eventually talk about what happened. For now, in silent agreement, we hold on to each other and hold off on reality.
The car horn sound from my phone jerks us both awake at exactly seven AM. It is Paul, of course — predictably wanting to know when I can try to drive home with the paint he so badly wants.
The rest of the morning is a bit of a blur. I remember Isaac driving me to my car and reversing it out of the ditch for me.
I remember him kissing and hugging me as he helps me into my car, telling me that it is his fault, not mine. He promises we will sort it out. I remember thinking I don’t care whose fault it is, as long as I can keep touching his sexy stubble whenever I want.
I remember him driving slowly behind me all the way home just to make sure I’m safe.
I put my key in my front door and open it, as my phone in my pocket blasts the car horn sound yet again.
I step inside.
I’d be grateful for a coffee :)
If you’d like to find out what happened to Hana and Isaac, read on here: