Read Crossing the Line Online

Authors: Karla Doyle

Tags: #happily ever after, #MFm, #motorcycle, #tortured hero, #ménage, #dark romance, #erotic romance, #contemporary romance, #tattooed hero, #married couple, #self published, #threesome

Crossing the Line (16 page)

BOOK: Crossing the Line
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So he’d cut out early today—which had taken some major swapping of favors with the guys on his crew—thinking he’d surprise Hanna when she left work. Give her flowers, kiss the shit out of her, tell her all the things he planned to do to her at home. But Jer had been there. And hadn’t that looked fucking cozy.

Kinda like now. Jeremy unlocked the front door and ushered Hanna and Luke inside. It closed and they were gone. She was gone.

He reached down, unclipped one of the saddlebags and pulled out the cellophane-wrapped daisies. Not fancy or expensive, but her favorite. They reminded her of running through fields of them as a kid. They reminded
him
of the time they’d made love in a field full of white blooms—the day he’d shown her where he’d had her name tattooed on his chest. Over his heart.

He glared at the bouquet in his hand, chucked them onto the street. Fuck the flowers. Fuck his stupid hope. And yeah, fuck Hanna and Jeremy too. He’d say they deserved each other, but the truth was, they did. They made a hell of a lot more sense together than he and Hanna did. So, most of all, fuck him.

* * * * *

Oh good, she’d made it home before Derrick. Dinner wouldn’t be hot and on the table when he walked in the door, but
she
could be, and that’d do for starters. She dropped her bags in the front hall, kicked her shoes into the bedroom and hustled down the hall toward the bathroom, removing her clothes as she went. A shower would only take five-or-so minutes. She didn’t need to wash her hair, but a fresh shave would be—

“In a hurry?”

She practically jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice. “God, Derrick, you scared me.”

He grunted. “That’s what monsters do. We scare princesses.” He was in his usual spot, the corner, one leg up on the chaise portion, the other bent at the knee, with his booted foot on the floor. A half-empty Jack Daniels bottle sat on the table. Cap off, no glass. The TV was off and he wasn’t looking at her. Something really crappy must’ve happened to warrant this. Life certainly wasn’t handing him a whole lot of breaks lately. At least she was home to smooth the rough edges.

“Good thing you’re not a monster,” she rounded the end of the sectional, “and I’m not a princess.” The statement earned her another grunt. “Where’s your bike?”

“Ditch. County road six, by the S-bend.”

Oh god. She dropped onto the couch beside him, immediately checking for damage. “Are you okay—what happened, why were you out there in the middle of a weekday?”

He pushed her probing hands away, reached for the bottle, took a long swig and set it on his knee, fist curled around the long neck. “Looking for a goddamn willow tree, so I could wish myself back to the night we met. Want to know why, princess?” Venom tainted his ever-sexy rasp.

“Please don’t call me princess.”

“If the designer, glass slipper fits, princess, keep on fucking wearing it.” He tipped his chin up and threw back a couple more ounces of whiskey. “C’mon, ask me why.”

“Fine. Why are you drunk at six o’clock on a Monday night?”

“Not the right question, but it’s the same answer for both.” He jerked forward, got right in her face. “I wish I’d lost the coin toss that night.”

“I don’t know what that means, and right now I don’t care. Tell me what happened today—what got you so stressed out you dumped the bike and proceeded to get drunk?” She slapped one hand over her mouth. “Oh no. It wasn’t the other way around, was it? You weren’t driving under the influence…”

“Fucking awesome. Not only am I an uneducated, lowly physical laborer with a violent temper, I’m a stupid-ass, doesn’t-give-a-shit drunk driver.”

“I don’t think any of those things, Derrick. I never have.” Enough. She’d get him closer to sober, then they’d talk about whatever had caused this. “I’m going to get you a glass of water and some food to absorb the alcohol.”

He flat-out laughed at her attempt to pry the bottle from his fingers. “You’re not gonna get it, princess. You only get what I want you to get, when I choose to give it to you.”

“Stop being a dick and let me help you.”

Darkness swept across his face. The bottle thudded on the living room carpet and he advanced on her, pushing her to her back with his looming physique. “Finally, a good idea.” Metal jingled between them. His belt buckle, then his zipper. He shoved his pants down to his hips. “You can help my dick.” He yanked her pants open. Had them off her body within seconds.

She sucked in a breath at the first thrust. The whiskey hadn’t affected him this time—he was thick and hard as steel. He grunted and pushed deeper, the sensation of fullness reaching all the way to her womb.

“Gonna show you…” He growled as he pulled out, then slammed inside her again. “What a goodbye fuck,” and again, harder, “really is.”

“What are you talking about?” She shook her head side-to-side, desperate to see his face. The more she tried to make eye contact, the lower his face dropped. The deeper he burrowed inside and the angrier he growled against her skin.

His teeth clamped down on her neck. Heat streaked to her belly, and beyond. Then she wasn’t overthinking, just wanting connection, whatever way he needed to make it.

“Derrick…” She shoved her hands down the back of his pants and dug her nails into his butt, pulling him closer.

But he didn’t want that. He pulled out as fast as he’d started, flipped her to her stomach. One hand spanned her upper back, holding her flat against the couch. His other hand rested at the base of her spine. Then crept down, until his finger pressed against her rim. “I should fuck your ass one last time. So hard you never forget who owned it first.”

One last time
…more crazy talk that made no sense. It swirled in her head but she couldn’t find words to argue. Not through the thick haze of wanting.

“Or maybe I’ll just get your ass ready for his big, fat cock by stretching it with my fist while I fuck your pussy.”

Who and what was he talking about…? She jerked forward at the invasion of his fingers, but his hand on her back held her in place. “No,” she whispered, finding her voice.

“No what? No fucking your ass, or no filling it with my fist?” He punctuated the question by pushing his fingers inside.

It burned. God, it burned so good. “No one last time, no goodbye…” She moaned as his fingers twisted deeper, and panted out the remaining words, “Nobody’s cock but yours.”

“Got four fingers in you, baby, not a good time to lie to me.”

Baby.
Yes. “Not lying…please…don’t stop. God, please don’t stop.”

He groaned and withdrew his fingers, leaving her empty and whimpering. Then he was draped over her back, his face in her hair as he slid inside her body. “I would’ve died for you, and now you’re fucking killing me.”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. From his mass on top of her, from his deep thrusts whooshing the air from her lungs. From his words.

He grunted as he came, then he was out, off and gone, stalking from the room.

“Don’t you run out on me again.” She scrambled after him, bracing herself in the kitchen doorway. “I won’t let you.”

He laughed—but it wasn’t funny at all. “You couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”


If
I wanted to? Of course I want to stop you. You belong here, with me.”

“But you don’t belong here, and you sure as hell don’t belong with me.”

“Why are you saying these horrible things?” Something was so, so wrong. She abandoned her post and went to him, even though his eyes shot daggers at her. He tensed under her touch, stared down at her with dark eyes as she traced the lines and swirls of ink from his wrists to the edges of his t-shirt sleeves.

“Don’t,” he said when she reached for his beard. He cuffed her wrists and pushed her away, his face shuttering as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why…I don’t understand…”

“I won you in a fucking coin toss, Hanna. The night we met. If that quarter had landed the other way, you’d be barefoot and pregnant in Jeremy’s kitchen right now, not secretly planning your escape from mine.”

“My escape?”
She clutched her head, shook it, squeezed her eyes closed. But when she opened them, nothing had changed. This wasn’t some insane nightmare. Just reality that made no sense. “You flipped a coin for me?”

“Yeah. That’s what we did when we both wanted to fuck the same chick. Feel special now, princess?”

Ten years together and he’d never told her. Neither of them had. She steadied herself against the table and met his narrowed eyes. He wanted her to be angry? No problem, she had that emotion covered. Just not for the reasons he had in mind.

“You think I’m that mindless? That your Neanderthal coin toss determined my future, not me?”

“I think you would’ve been just as happy to go home with Jer that night. Tell me that’s not the truth.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Bullshit. You’re a lousy liar, princess.”

“Because I’m not one, you son-of-a-bitch, and stop fucking calling me that!” She lunged at him, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt as she stared up at his face. “It doesn’t matter what might’ve happened, only what
did
happen. I went home with you.” She collapsed against him, wrapped her arms around his waist and let the tears roll. “I fell in love with you.”

“And now you get to fix that mistake.”

 

Chapter Eight

 

“You look like a zombie.” Megan popped the last bite of her imitation-peanut-butter sandwich into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with chocolate milk, then stuffed her containers back into her lunch bag. “And it’s not the good kind of zombie, either.”

Hanna groaned inwardly. Clearly she shouldn’t have told her bestie how Derrick had nicknamed her “cock-zombie” because of her love of giving him oral sex. Or, greedily gobbling his dick, as he chose to describe it.
Used to
describe it. Since the madness that happened Monday after work, he hadn’t spoken to her, not two words. Then again, it was hard to have any amount of conversation with somebody who didn’t come home.

He’d been conspicuously absent every night. Staying out late, not answering her texts or calls, sleeping on the couch when he finally rolled in. The only thing that’d kept her marginally sane was his sobriety. No signs of staggering drunkness, no stench of alcohol. And he’d managed to get his bike back on the road. Time on his bike always helped to clear his head.

So she’d resigned herself to giving him space this week, hoping he’d wrestle his demons into submission and they could talk about things over the weekend. Starting tonight.

But she couldn’t tell Megan any of this. Megan would just go into over-protective mode and hold a grudge against Derrick. Pointless, since Hanna was sure everything would be back to normal by the time Monday rolled around.

Hanna slid her purse straps over her shoulder and fell in step with her friend as they exited the staff room. “It’s been a long week. The parking lot incident on open-house night dug up some old ghosts for Derrick. I’m doing what I can to be supportive while he works through it.”

“Man, that sucks. Did you tell him that all the teachers and staff here secretly think he’s a hero for pummeling that guy?”

“I tried. So far he hasn’t been ready to hear it.” Or anything else she needed to say.

Megan pulled her into a sideways, sort-of hug. “I feel bad for both of you. You should have told me sooner. I could’ve scalped my concert tickets and stayed in town to be with you this weekend.”

“It’s okay, but thanks.”

“Maybe you guys should pretend it’s your birthday and plan another special getaway weekend. You both seemed pretty relaxed after the last one…” She winked and issued a friendly pinch to Hanna’s waist, then froze. “Oh honey, you should see your face…what’s going on?”

Thank god for the bell and accompanying commotion. “That’s us,” Hanna said, turning away from her best friend. For the first time ever, she hoped the kids would be riotously bad all afternoon.

* * * * *

The sight of Derrick working on his bike under the carport felt like a lottery win. She’d left a note for him in the kitchen before turning in last night. It was still there when she got up, untouched, so she’d had her doubts he’d be here for dinner tonight. But he’d never been able to resist her crockpot stew. That old cliché about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach may have merit after all.

She gathered her purse and satchel and opened the car door. Speaking of stomachs—a thousand tiny butterflies had come alive in hers. A deep breath and a plan, that’s what she needed. Okay, the plan. If he looked at her, she’d talk to him. No, scratch that sucky plan. She’d talk to him regardless. He was her husband, he had to interact with her eventually.

“Trouble with the bike?” she asked as she stepped out, onto the driveway.

He didn’t get up from his hunched position, but he did make eye contact. “No trouble.”

Well, he hadn’t knocked himself out with that answer, but at least he’d answered. “That’s good. I’m glad there was no major damage from Monday.”

He grunted. “Yeah.”

“Maybe you could take me for a ride this weekend—it’s been weeks since I went out with you.” Nothing, not even a nod or grunt this time. Great. “Unless you have other plans…”

“I do.”

And the thousand tiny butterflies died in her stomach. But she wasn’t giving up. “Well I
don’t
, so I’ll be around if you find yourself with free time and want somebody to hold down the back of your bike.” More silence, with a side of stone-faced staring. “Did you see my note? I made the beef stew you like, the one with lots of big chunks of potato. I’m sure it’s ready, if you want to come in and have some.”

He stared at her for an incredibly long ten seconds. “Sure. In a few. Thanks.”

Finally, a fledgling crumb of normalcy. “Great. I stopped for fresh sourdough bread to go with it, so I’ll slice some up.” On instinct, she leaned down and kissed him. A quick one that didn’t require him to reciprocate. For now.

BOOK: Crossing the Line
9.85Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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