Page 13 of Shared by my Ex’s Best Friends (Twisted Desires #2)

Chapter thirteen

MAYA

O nce inside, I close the door quietly, press my back to it, and release a shuddering breath.

The silence inside my apartment is deafening.

I press my fingers to my lips, like I can still feel his there.

Ethan kissed me.

He kissed me, and I kissed him back—and for one infinite second, I didn’t care. I didn’t care that he’s Nick’s friend, or that he’s not the first man I’ve kissed this week. I didn’t care, and that fact kind of bothers me.

I should care, shouldn’t I? I should at least feel guilty…right?

I pace the living room, my bare feet whispering across the hardwood.

I think if I keep moving, maybe I can shake the feeling off, but it clings tighter with every step.

The heat of Ethan’s mouth. The hunger in Jake’s eyes.

The slow, burning way Liam looks at me like he already knows every secret I’ve tried to bury.

I know I’m in deep. Not spiraling—just tangled. Twisted up in something I don’t want to name, but can’t stop feeling. Not with one of them.

Not even two.

I want all three of them.

It’s too much. Too intense. Too tangled to make sense of—but pretending otherwise doesn’t make it less real.

By the time I crawl into bed, the room feels too quiet, the sheets too cool, the pillow too crisp against my skin. I toss, turn, drag the blanket up and shove it down again. There’s no comfort in the stillness tonight. No peace in being alone.

I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift, but they don’t settle—they burn .

Ethan’s hand, warm and steady on my thigh.

Liam’s voice, deep and thoughtful, murmuring things I didn’t know I needed to hear.

Jake’s kiss, hot and reckless, the kind that steals the breath from your lungs and leaves your knees weak.

They want me.

And I want all of them.

The thought should scare me. Maybe it does, but it also… electrifies me.

I shift beneath the sheets, my body aching with awareness, with memory, with possibility. My hand slips down, slow and searching, as my thoughts race and a fantasy blooms.

In my mind, they’re all here.

Ethan’s the first—his hands reverent, like he’s worshiping me with every slow stroke, every soft kiss to skin that’s been starving for attention.

He’s always so careful. So controlled. But tonight, he lets it go.

I imagine his breath on my neck, the rasp of his voice in my ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Then Jake’s there, reckless and bold, dragging his mouth over my collarbone, his fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt. He teases, grins against my skin, pushes me closer to the edge just to feel me fall. “You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you? About this?”

And Liam—God, Liam. Slow, intense, eyes locked on mine like he’s reading every thought I’m too scared to say out loud. His touch is firm, grounding, and his voice is a low command that makes me tremble. “Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”

I imagine their hands everywhere, guiding, teasing, claiming.

Ethan’s lips on my stomach. Jake’s fingers curling where I need them most. Liam’s mouth at my throat, whispering my name.

I arch against the sheets, breath catching, hips lifting into my own hand as I chase the high they’re giving me.

I think of Ethan’s restraint, Jake’s fire, Liam’s depth—and the heat spirals faster, stronger, until I can’t hold it anymore.

Release hits hard, waves crashing through me in sharp, sweet pulses. My back arches, a quiet moan slipping free before I can stop it.

I go still, breath ragged, chest rising and falling like I’ve run miles.

My hand falls away. The sheets are twisted around me now, tangled like my thoughts. I turn my head into the pillow and close my eyes again.

I’m in so deep and I don’t know how to navigate all these things I’m feeling about all these men.

A chill skates over my arms, unrelated to the air conditioning. I sit up, suddenly alert, like my body knows something I don’t.

A sharp knock on my front door slices through the stillness like a blade.

I jerk upright, breath catching in my throat. The clock on my nightstand blinks 12:17 a.m . My heart is still racing from the fantasy I just fell apart to, but now it’s for an entirely different reason.

Another knock—louder and more insistent this time.

I scramble for my robe, the satin clinging to my damp skin as I pull it tight around me and pad barefoot through the apartment. The hallway feels colder now, like the air itself knows something’s off. I peer through the peephole.

My stomach drops.

Nick.

He’s standing on the other side of my door, hands shoved into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, dark hair messy. His eyes are shadowed, but locked on my door like he knows I’m standing inches away.

I crack it open, but only just.

“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, still thick with everything I was feeling minutes ago—and everything I wish I wasn’t feeling now.

Nick’s eyes flick over me, taking in the robe, the flush still high on my cheeks. “We need to talk.”

“It’s after midnight.”

“I know.” His jaw tightens. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

I open the door wider, enough to cross my arms and block the frame. “Then say what you came to say.”

He draws in a breath like it hurts to admit it. “I’ve been thinking. About the wedding. You shouldn’t be part of it.”

I blink, stunned. “Excuse me?” For half a second, the old part of me—bruised and craving closure—wants to ask why. Wants to listen.

“It’s messing with your head. You’re not acting like yourself.” His hand lifts, gesturing vaguely in my direction, like I’m some fragile thing about to snap. “And I don’t think this is good for you.”

“You don’t get to come here in the middle of the night and psychoanalyze me,” I snap.

“I’m not—” He stops, exhales hard. “I’m worried about you, Maya.”

“No,” I say, voice rising. “You’re trying to control me. Again. Just like always.”

His expression darkens. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” I step out into the hallway, robe fluttering with the movement.

“You disappeared when everything got hard. You left me to clean up the mess.” I’d thought things were good between us.

We had our issues, like any couple, but I thought we were both committed to fixing them and making it work.

Then, one day, he showed up on my doorstep, very much like now, and told me he didn’t want to try anymore.

That it was over. “Now that I’m finally moving forward—finally doing something for myself—you show up like you have a say. ”

“I didn’t leave to hurt you,” he growls.” “I left because I was losing myself. Because we were drowning.”

“You left me , Nick,” I hiss. “And now you want to swoop back in and decide what’s best for me? Newsflash: I don’t need you to save me. I never did.”

“You’re twisting everything,” he snaps. “You’re acting like I’m the villain.”

“I’m acting like someone who finally stopped waiting for you to come back.”

He flinches but quickly masks it with anger. “I thought maybe there was still a chance. That maybe, after everything, we could find our way back.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t get to come back from nothing and ask for maybe .”

His voice drops to almost a whisper. “Do you really feel nothing?”

“I feel a lot of things,” I admit, raw and breathless. “But none of them are about you anymore.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and brittle as ice.

Nick’s jaw clenches. “Fine.”

He turns, hands still buried in his pockets, and stalks off down the hallway, footsteps echoing like accusations.

I watch until he disappears down the stairs, then close the door slowly, leaning against it as the lock clicks into place.

My heart’s pounding again—not from the fight, but from everything I thought I’d buried. From the way my body still hums with the echo of other hands, other mouths. From the realization that Nick didn’t shatter me.

I’m not spiraling.

I’m falling—fast, hard, in all directions at once.