Crossing the Line (14 page)

He closed his eyes. Focused on Hanna. Her spicy-sweet taste, her breathing as she edged closer to coming. Oh yeah, that throaty hum with the little hitch, then the soft, desperate whimper. She was so fucking close now. Time to take her over. He dragged a single finger through her heat and pressed it against her ass. Breached her, pushed inside. She cried out. Writhed on top of him the way she always did, riding it out hard. If he had to die young, let it be this way—suffocation by delicious fucking pussy.

She scrambled off him, went to her knees on the other end of the couch. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Come fuck me like you promised. And you,” she crooked a finger at Jeremy, “over here.”

Jeremy was in front of her in two seconds, cock in hand. As eager for Hanna’s mouth as she was to finish him off.

His turn. He stood—his cock didn’t. Fuck. He wrapped his fist around it, stroked and tugged as he moved into position behind Hanna. Her sexy curves waited—his to do anything he wanted with. Pussy, ass, both, any way he chose to fuck her, she’d love it. He slipped his hand between her legs. Hot, wet heaven. He braced his cock on his palm. Eased forward. As soon as the tip got inside, the thing would balloon up to normal. Had to.

Didn’t. “Shit.
Shit.
” He fell back, legs tangled with his wife’s as he stared up at the ceiling.

“What?” Hanna spun. Looked down at him with lust-glazed eyes. At his face, then lower. “Oh… Is it—is it me?”

“No. Fuck no.”

“Then I can help.” She nudged his legs apart and settled between them, ass in the air. “I’ll make you so hard it hurts.”

A private saying of theirs. How many times had he told her she did that to him—hundreds, at least. Silky hair fanned over his stomach. Her head bobbed, though it didn’t have far to go. Because nothing changed. He could barely feel her mouth on him. Fuck.

“Enough.” What the hell? Sexiest woman in the world sucking his dick and he couldn’t get hard. “Fuck.”

“It’s no big deal—”

“Like hell it’s not.” He pushed up, off the couch. Nearly fell on his face. Would’ve, if Jeremy hadn’t stuck his arm out and caught him. Jeremy, whose dick had no issue standing tall. Thing was a fucking club. “Jesus.” He shook his head. Bad idea, made the blood that wouldn’t go to his cock rush to his head. “Fucking whiskey…fuck.”

“I’m going to take off, let you two—”

“You’re not going anywhere, not until you fuck Hanna.”

“What?”
Her eyes went wide, but it wasn’t exactly a protest.

“You want it. You need it and he can give it to you, so…yeah.” The pounding in his ears blurred whatever they said as he walked away. He stopped at the edge of the hall. Looked back at them. At her. The beautiful woman who’d do anything for him. Who’d done everything he wanted since the day they met. He’d done shit in return. Got between her and her parents. Hadn’t given her the family of her own she’d always wanted. Made a huge fucking mess at her job that could’ve gotten him arrested. Now this. He’d made a promise earlier and he was gonna keep it.

One hand on the doorframe, he pointed at Jeremy. “You have condoms?”

“Christ, D…”

He snorted. Some argument. Yeah, he got it. “Do it. But be gone by morning.”

Chapter Seven

“Hey, did I wake you?” Hanna whispered as Jeremy walked into the kitchen.

“Indirectly. I smelled your coffee.”

“Well, I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m never sorry about coffee, so I’ll say good morning instead.”

“Good morning.” Man, that smile. His buddy was a lucky man, waking up to that every day. Jeremy took the seat nearest the stove so they could talk quietly. And to be closer to Hanna, not that it mattered.

If anything more was going to happen between them, last night would’ve been the time. They’d had Derrick’s permission to fuck. Hell, D had demanded it before disappearing behind a bedroom door. Jeremy had been tempted to test those waters. Numerous times throughout the night. They’d spent hours on the couch together, talking between periodic checks to make sure Derrick wasn’t face-down in puddle of vomit.

And Christ, he’d wanted to kiss her. Even once, to see what’d happen.

But what he wanted didn’t matter. Hanna loved her husband. She’d broken down after Derrick walked away. She blamed herself for making him go out when he’d wanted to stay home. For pushing him to move on when he wasn’t ready. For letting him drink too much. For selfishly taking advantage of his offer to be with Jeremy.

He’d talked her down, but damn, he’d liked hearing the part about him. Especially when she admitted that she wouldn’t have done the threesome thing with anybody else. He deserved a medal for holding back at that point.

“Hungry?” she asked, bumping the refrigerator door closed with her pajama-clad hip.

“Very.” Just not for food, after the abrupt halt to last night’s activities. Nothing a date with his right hand couldn’t take care when he got home. The minute he walked through the door, probably. “But you must be exhausted from last night—how about I take over?”

Sunlight streamed through the window and glinted off her hair as she shook her head. “I’m good.”

He winked. “Yeah, I know.”

“Jeremy.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“I’m tempted to withhold this to punish you…” She waved a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. “Or make you beg for it, just for fun.”

“I’m not above begging.”

She gave him an eye-roll, but it came with a smile. “I have a feeling that could get loud and I don’t want to wake Derrick.”

“True.” He accepted the mug she offered. Ignored the charge of electricity that shot up his arm and down to his cock when their fingers brushed. Time to focus on his best friend, not his best friend’s wife. “How was he when you checked last?”

“Still out cold. Didn’t even flinch when I poked at him.” The smile disappeared from her pretty face. “At least I don’t have to worry that he heard us last night.”

“He’s going to find out. Kind of inevitable.”

“I know, I just don’t want to pile anything else on him right now. You won’t tell him, right?”

He made a zipper motion across his lips. “Tell him when you’re ready—he won’t hear anything from me.” He ticked off the remaining months of the school year on his fingers. “Nine months to go. Excited?”

Her smile returned, cranked to maximum glow. “I’ve been happy the past few years, but now that I’ve decided to go for what I really want, I’m giddy.”

* * *

Jesus.

Derrick pressed his forehead against the living room wall. Wasn’t bad enough they’d used the free-to-fuck pass he’d issued in his completely fucked-up state, they had the nerve to sit in his kitchen the next morning, flirting and planning their future. One that included a baby. Guess they hadn’t bothered with condoms last night.

His stomach rolled over for the fifth time since he’d dragged his half-dead ass out of bed. If he had even half his normal strength, Jer would be eating his front teeth for breakfast. And Hanna… Fuck. He wanted to hate her. Hate would be easier than—this.

Dishes clanked together, followed by a startled, “Oh…” from Hanna. Then her laugh, light as air. “You’re lucky I’m still going to give it to you after that.”

“I’d just take it if you didn’t.”

Chairs scraped across the kitchen floor.
Thud
—the sound of something landing on the kitchen table. Somebody’s ass, probably.

A grunt from Jeremy, then, “Damn, that’s good.”

“Sshhh, not so loud.”

Another low, appreciate sound, courtesy of his backstabbing best friend. “Sorry, can’t help it. In heaven here.”

“Derrick loves this too.”

And now she was comparing them? Fuck this shit. He laid his fist to the wall, rattling stuff on both sides of the partition, and rounded the corner, into the kitchen. “That’s it, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Oh my god, Derrick…” Hanna sprang to her feet. Was on him in seconds. “Let me help. Use the sink if you need to throw up again.”

He pushed his fingers against his throbbing temples. Fucking Jack Daniels had never wrecked him this badly before. Maybe it wasn’t the JD. Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the fucking everything.

“Here, lean on the counter. Or me. Want me to get you a bowl or help you to the washroom?” She rubbed his back. Smoothed his hair and beard, even though he smelled like shit and probably looked about the same.

“Not that kind of sick.” Everywhere she touched him stung. Good and bad simultaneously, like a tattoo needle. He brushed her hands from his body. She’d left enough marks. “Don’t.”

“Okay.” Slowly, she backed away. As far as their small kitchen allowed. “When did you get up, how do you feel?”

“Worried about how much I overheard and who I might punch this time?”

“What?” She stared at him, wide-eyed and blinking. Until he took a solid, sharp step in her direction. Then she flinched.

His wife was physically fucking scared of him.

Made sense though. A week ago, she’d watched him cave a man’s face in. Last night she’d fucked his best friend and sometime in the near future—when she deemed him able to handle it—she was gonna drop breakup news. And pregnancy news.

Maybe he
was
going to puke. He curled his fingers around the edge of the counter. Holding himself up and back at the same time. “Told you this’d happen.”

“What would happen?” she asked. Even managed to sound innocent about it.

“Me, being this way.” He let go, staggered a couple steps. “You, regretting it.”

Jeremy rose from his spot. “You should sit down, man. Have some water. Toast if your stomach can handle it.”

Too fucking much. “That’s how it’s gonna be?” He nodded at their plates on the table. “I shared my wife with you, and you won’t even share your eggs?” A month ago, a comment like that would’ve had them all laughing. Maybe stirred up some fun. Nobody was laughing now.

“Derrick, please.” Her whispered plea cut the silence.

He met her eyes. Glassy, on the verge of tears. No fucking way he’d let her suck him in. Not this time. “I gotta get out of here.” He got past Jeremy with a single shove. Hanna didn’t make a move to stop him. Shouldn’t surprise him, but it did.

Keys, jacket, boots, and gone. Cool autumn air hit him as he walked out the front door. Snapped him out of his fog.

Jeremy’s Hummer sat in Hanna’s spot under the carport. Because they’d left her Beetle at the restaurant—right. They’d planned to ride over on his bike today so she could pick it up. Jer could take her. Hell, he was probably
taking her
right now. On Derrick’s goddamn kitchen table.

He slapped on his helmet, mounted his faithful baby and brought her roaring to life. Yeah, it was early, and yeah, it was Sunday. The neighbors would be pissed, but right now, he didn’t give a rat’s hairy ass. He backed out of the driveway less carefully than usual. If his handlebars happened to scratch the side of Jer’s SUV, too bad.

On the street, he kicked it into gear. The door opening and a flash of pink snagged his eye. Hanna in her silky pajamas, crossing the lawn toward him, the fall breeze lifting all that gorgeous, dark hair and making her look like something from a dream. He didn’t wait. Didn’t wave. Just rolled on the throttle and jetted the hell out of there.

* * * * *

The rumble of Derrick’s bike had never sounded sweeter. Loud as it was, her heart jackhammering against her ribcage was louder. Hanna held her breath—and waited. The front deadbolt
thunked
open. His footsteps in the front hall echoed through the quiet house, then the door closed and the lock clicked a second time. Thank god he was home. Safe. With her.

She stayed in bed, blinking into the darkness beyond the bedroom. The shuffle of fabric told her he’d walked past. Without stopping to peek inside, without any type of greeting. Light from the bathroom briefly filtered in through the doorway. It disappeared, replaced by the sound of water hitting the tiles. She could wait or she could go to him. He’d been gone all day and night, hadn’t called or texted once in that time, despite her repeated attempts to reach him. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk to her. And that was just too damn bad.

She threw off the covers and padded down the hall. The bathroom door didn’t have a lock—they’d never needed one. She slipped inside, but he didn’t acknowledge her. The silent treatment meant she had a journey ahead of her if she wanted whatever this was resolved before going to sleep. So be it. She knew the very real consequences one could suffer from going to bed angry—she’d seen them play out, up close and personal, between Derrick and his older brother.

They’d grown up suffering the same abuse. According to Derrick, Chris had gotten it worse than usual when he tried to get between his little brother and their father. The bond that had forged meant Chris had received a free pass on many things over the years. But not all. Not slapping his boy, Derrick’s then-five-year-old nephew, across the face. Nobody got away with that in Derrick’s presence.

They’d fought, verbally and physically. Derrick had returned his nephew to the boy’s mother, swearing Chris would never see the boy, or him, again. That threat—or promise, whichever it was—had come true. Chris died in a car accident that night. After all they’d been through together, their last day had ended in mutual hatred that would never be resolved.

“Do you hate me?” she asked.

“No.” He didn’t look at her. Just stood under the spray, letting it hit him in the face and roll down his hard, naked body.

“Do you love me?”

He rolled his shoulders, placed his palms on the tiled wall and braced himself with locked arms. He turned his head, met her gaze through the glass door. “Yeah.”

Too much tension lived in that single word. But it was a yes, and she’d take it. “I was worried about you.”

“Don’t waste your time.”

“Oh, okay. Sure. I won’t give it a second thought next time my husband storms out and disappears for sixteen hours.” No answer. “Is this about last night?” At this, he grunted, the kind of angry grunt-laugh he made about stuff that disgusted him. Men and their stupid, enormous egos. “It was one time, no big deal. Forget it and move on.”