by Carrie Elks
Hanna stood and turned, putting her arms into the sleeves as he held her jacket, allowing him to pull it over her shoulders. He held on for a moment too long.
LETTING OUT A small breath of air, Richard turned her around and helped her to fasten the large buttons on the front of her coat. This wasn’t how he’d envisaged his night panning out. He’d planned a nice, civilized dinner, perhaps followed by a whisky or two, and then an early night. Instead here he was. His body felt electric, as if by seeing her he’d come alive. His nerve endings stabbed like a thousand tiny needles.
He hesitated for a moment before taking her hand in his. But then, he saw two of the guys at the bar turn around to stare at Hanna, a look of disappointment on their faces, and he felt the need to mark his territory. Even if it wasn’t his to claim.
“You really don’t need to do this,” she mumbled, just before she tripped over her own shoe. He tried to restrain a laugh, but it came out strangled, causing her to stare at him indignantly. “Do you find this funny?”
“A little,” he admitted, putting his arm around her shoulder to lead her to the main door. She kept veering to the right, like a car whose steering was slightly off-kilter. “But I’ll try to restrain myself.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to have to hit you.”
“Which one of me will you hit?”
“Both,” she muttered, trying to uncross her eyes.
She stumbled against him again, and he held her close, deciding not to point out the obvious. By the time they were in the car she felt sleepy, burying her head in the wool of his jacket, her voice languid as she continued to spout a mouthful of drivel.
“Do you remember when we first met?” she asked him. “You were all smart in your evening suit, and I was a hot ball of mess.”
“That’s not how I remember it.” He was murmuring into her hair, breathing in the aroma of her shampoo. “You looked hot as hell in that waitress uniform.” Memories of black hair and kohled eyes assaulted his senses. “I couldn’t wait to show you my PlayStation.”
She laughed, then hiccupped. “Is that a euphemism?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted, looping his arm around her shoulder and rubbing her arm with his finger.
“I can remember being impressed by your…ardor,”
Jack brought the car to a stop. Even at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night, the streets were crammed with traffic. Richard wondered if Hanna would make the journey without falling asleep.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
The car was filled with silence, and Richard let his head fall back, working out his next move. He wanted to make sure she got back to the apartment safely, knowing today of all days was difficult for her. If he could just put her to bed and watch her sleep, he’d feel better about the whole thing. He tried to suppress the anger he felt with himself, and her friends, for letting her go through this alone.
Twenty minutes later, Jack pulled up outside the apartment on the Upper East Side. Hanna was so quiet that he wondered if she really had fallen asleep. But as soon as the car came to a stop, she lifted her head up and stared at him.
“Thank you for the lift.”
He was confused for a moment, before realizing she intended to go into the apartment without him. For some reason, that wouldn’t do.
“I’ll see you in, make sure you’re safe.”
She laughed. “I think all the druggies and murderers have gone home for the evening. The scariest thing in there will be Mrs. Van Kemp staring at my shoes with disdain, and telling me I’m lowering the tone again.”
“Humor me.”
She nodded rapidly, then started to jab her hand, trying to release her seatbelt. He bit back a chuckle before leaning across to unfasten it for her.
“Stop laughing at me.” She gently slapped at his arm. “It isn’t funny.”
He’d spent enough time at his father’s apartment to know the doorman, nodding at him as he half-carried Hanna to the elevator. Through the thickness of her winter coat she felt small and vulnerable, and he wondered if his need to protect her was just a natural reaction to her size. Perhaps, as with Ruby, he wanted to shelter her from the world and keep her safe.
The thought cheered him as he grabbed the door key from her bag and slid it into the lock. Flicking the light switch on with one hand, he supported Hanna with the other, his arm curving around her waist. She kicked off her shoes, and they landed on the tiled floor with a clunk.
“Do you want to do a scan of the apartment, make sure Ted Bundy isn’t hiding in the washer-dryer?” A flash of amusement lit her eyes.
He offered her a small grin before taking her coat and hanging it neatly in the hall closet. “The scariest thing you need to worry about is the hangover you’ll have tomorrow morning.”
Walking to the kitchen, Richard pulled a tall glass from the cupboard. Filling it with water, he carried it to the guest room, placing it on the bedside table.
“Where do you keep your painkillers?” he asked, trying not to watch as Hanna unpinned her hair. It cascaded down her shoulders. “I’ll grab you a couple, and then I’ll be gone.”
She blinked in the mirror, her eyes meeting his. “In the vanity cabinet above the sink.”
Richard walked into the bathroom, surprised at the lack of cosmetics and products littering the sides. Grabbing the blister packet of Panadol, he brought it back to her bed.
Hanna sat on top of the coverlet, her head resting against the headboard, and he popped two pills out, placing them gently in her mouth. Lifting the glass to her lips he encouraged her to drink, unable to stop himself from running his hand through her hair as she swallowed.
“That feels good.” Her eyes were closed as his hand caressed her. “Can you stay for a while?”
“You need to get into bed.” He reached around to her back and pulled down her zipper. The movement felt too intimate, and he had to try and suppress his reaction to her proximity. “You’ll feel better after a good sleep.”
“You’re so nice.” Her voice was just a murmur, and she shuffled closer to him, her head nuzzling into the crease between his shoulder and neck. “And you smell great. You always smelled great, even in the mornings. It’s one of the things I miss most about us.”
“You miss the way I smell?” He tried to turn it into a joke, but she started to peel her dress away from her body.
He was instantly hard.
“Close your eyes, I just need to change.” Her command was pretty weak, and more than a moment too late. He did as instructed, anyway, digging his fingernails into his palms, trying to stop himself from touching her. If he saw the soft, pale arc of her breast, he’d be done for.
The bed undulated as she struggled with her clothing. He stayed as still as he could, battling with the incredible urge to open his eyes. Did she look the same as he remembered, all soft skin and gentle curves? Or had the last five years changed her on the outside as well as within?
He’d never thought of himself as the type to cheat. He was engaged to a woman who trusted him implicitly, and he wanted to deserve that trust. The thoughts whirling around in his mind were completely indefensible. He felt like shit.
“I’m decent.” Hanna lay back on the bed, her hair fanning out across the white cotton pillowcase. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome.” Even as he spoke, he could see her starting to flag, her eyelids fluttering as her face took on a peaceful expression. He reached out and smoothed the hair away from her eyes, feeling her smooth skin dimple against the hard pads of his fingers. She sighed gently, and he felt his erection harden further, as he stared at her flushed, swollen lips.
Just a taste.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, and her soft breath bathed his skin. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. She threw her arms around his neck, and pulled him against her, crashing her mouth to his. Every inch of him was dazzlingly awake, pleasure shooting
from his balls to the tip of his toes.
Moving his hand down her body, brushing his fingers against her breast until she started to moan, he allowed himself to feel the most frightening emotion of all.
Hope.
IT WAS LIKE everything in the room exploded into brilliant Technicolor, sobering her faster than a bucket of ice water. The moment his lips brushed hers, she knew she’d reached the point of no return. He was the sun and she was in orbit; circling, attracted to him. Everything about him made her burn.
The mattress dipped as he rested above her, hips scraping against hers, and she couldn’t help but gyrate, feeling his hardness grind against her stomach. His fingertips brushed down her side in light, feathery strokes, making her nipples hard and her thighs damp.
“Hanna.” He exhaled against her cheek. She closed her eyes and tried to stop herself from responding. She tried to distract him by grinding again.
It seemed to work.
“Let me—” He didn’t wait for permission. He pushed her tank up to her neck, baring her breasts, and as he stared down at them, his tongue snaking across his lips, Hanna could feel his dick twitch against her once more. His fingers teased, making her nipples pebble, and the pleasure shoot down to her groin.
Her inner monologue started to distract her. The fear they were really going to do this was swiftly replaced by the agony they might not. Somewhere, deep inside, she knew doing this was wrong, but she repressed the thought, buried it under the intense need shooting through her nerves.
It was hard to look him in the eye. Hanna wasn’t sure what would be there, wasn’t even certain what it was she wanted to see. Desperation, perhaps, or maybe a need reflecting hers? What she feared was regret, sadness, or a hint of pity, and she knew if she saw any of that, she would curl up and weep.
She didn’t want to cry. She felt too good for tears or for regret. She’d waited far too long to feel his mouth pulling at her nipples, bathing them gently before scraping his teeth on her flesh.
She needed to get her mind to shut the hell up.
Sensing her fears, Richard cupped her chin with his hand, lifting her face until she couldn’t avoid meeting his stare. When her chocolate eyes met hunter green, she knew she was completely wrong.
They flashed fiercely, narrowed and dark, and the way he stared made her feel breathless.
“I need—” Like Richard, she couldn’t finish her sentence to let him know what she wanted. She didn’t have to. His hands cupped her ass, fingers pulling at her shorts until they were softly dragging against her thighs, leaving her exposed and desperate. Cool air met damp skin, making her buck a little, trying to create friction from a vacuum. Her thighs were sensitive and clammy as he dug his fingers in, gently prising her apart.
That felt so good.
His fingers dipped, caressing the damp skin in the crease of her thigh. He pulled her apart, until she was more exposed than ever, gliding against her, then pushing until her body released, inviting him in. This time she moaned; a low, pleading half-breath, flexing her hips until his fingers were inside her.
Richard moved down her body, his lips finding her core, tongue pointed and strong, dragging against her and making her buck in time to his rhythmic movements. The dizziness in her head had nothing to do with the wine she had consumed, and everything to do with the sensations he was creating. Her hands ached to touch, and she let them flutter toward him, sliding them into his hair, tugging until she could feel him groan against her.
Hanna’s eyes opened wide, her mouth wider, and she let out a noise somewhere between a scream and a cry. Richard pushed a third finger inside as she began to clench against him, intensifying the pleasurable sensation until her knees began to quake.
She was so close.
As soon as he withdrew his hand she felt empty. His leg slid inside hers, his knee brushing against her calf. She reached around fumbling at his buttons, her fingers slipping like an over-excited child opening a birthday present. Finding purchase, she pulled his fly apart, feeling his zipper unhook, tugging at his pants until he got her message, wriggling his ass to help her pull them down.
Richard took over the task, pushing them down past his calves, and she followed him with her hands. She caressed his flesh, feeling his hard thigh muscles stretched under taut skin.
“Take off your top.” He knelt on the bed, pulling at his shirt. She dragged her tank over her head, flinging it across the floor in her desperation to be naked. His knees were on either side of her thighs, caging her in, making it hard not to stare at the outline of his hardness through his dark shorts.
Reaching out a finger, she traced a line down to his balls. He grew a little harder, the head of his erection emerging from his shorts, and she watched as a small bead of pre-come formed there. Leaning forward, she licked it off, and a strangled groan escaped from Richard’s lips. She did it again, running the blunt end of her tongue against him, and then twirling it around, kissing and sucking him with her mouth, using her hands to push his shorts a little farther down his hips.
Richard reached his own hand around to cup the back of her head, encouraging her lips into a steady rhythm. Dragging her tongue down the underside, she pulled her mouth back up, licking, kissing, tasting.
“Stop.” He steadied her head, and for the first time she looked up and caught his eyes. Her lips were still wrapped around him. His own mouth was swollen, still glistening, slightly parted to allow his short breaths to meet the air. “I want to be inside you.”
His words hit her blood like a shot of heroin. Hanna moved her head back, watching his hardness spring against the defined muscles of his stomach, then grabbed at his shorts, desperate to pull them from his body.
“Lie down.” He placed his palm flat against her shoulder, pushing her back onto the mattress, sheets soft and silky against her back. Kicking his shorts from his ankles, Richard moved over her, hands caging her head, until she was unable to turn, cornered like a hunted animal.
She was almost too wet. His hips pushed against her tender thighs as he lined himself up against her, pausing for a long, drawn out moment, before thrusting, pushing inside.
“Richard.” Her words were little more than breath.
He kissed her again. She could taste herself on his lips. His hips flexed, and he withdrew, dragging himself against her like a bow against a violin. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep her response under control.
“Open your eyes. I want to see you,” Richard’s movements were steady, but his words were not. He felt like heaven between her thighs, and she squeezed them tighter, hooking her heels around his back, dragging him in.
She was drowning. She wasn’t sure if he was going to save her or push her under.
“Are you close?” Richard’s breath was getting harsher, his movements erratic, and she knew he was nearing release. Hanna opened her mouth, but her words were drowned out by the sensation of his finger rubbing her, making small, delicious circles, drawing out her pleasure like an artist.
She cried out, burying her head in the dip of his neck, feeling his clamminess against her lips. His hips crashed against hers, her moans stifled by his flesh, her body clenching hard against him.
His groans amplified as he moaned against her ear, and even if she couldn’t feel him pulsing inside her, she would have known he was coming from the change in his breathing. He whispered a soft oath as he peaked, and she felt herself spasm again, grinding against him, as they clung to the long moments like slaves to sensation.
Then it was over.
Her wet, sticky thighs cradled his hips, his skin heavy against her body. Their harsh pants became longer, thinner, like stretched-out breaths, as they both crashed down. Reality hit them like a wrecking ball.
Lying naked beneath the man who she was all kinds of fucked up about, still hard inside her, Hanna knew she must look like shit. Her brown hair was crazy against the light blue of the pillow, her makeup skewed from a day of crying and a night of over-consumption.
His hips lifted up as he withdrew, and Hanna let her head fall back onto the mattress, as she stared up at the silver and glass light fixture above the bed, letting the brightness of the bulbs burn into her retinas. Even with her eyes closed she could still see them, like a ghost of what could have been.
“Hanna, I…” He sounded as awkward as she felt, all stuttering consonants and drawn out vowels.
She blinked a couple of times, burned-in images turning from black to white, making her eyes sting. Richard rolled over beside her. She watched as he reached out, and then stopped himself, hand hovering in mid-air.
“Don’t.” Her voice was low and scratchy. She swallowed hard, feeling the dry wooliness of her throat. She wanted him to pull her into his arms.
“I’m sorry. I had no right to take advantage.”
“You didn’t, I wanted it, too.” She bit down on the inside of her cheek. The pain felt good.
Richard rolled onto his back, flinging an arm over his face, covering his eyes. She allowed herself to look at his body, her gaze moving from his neck, down to the taut, flat skin of his abdomen. Only moments before, that body was pressed down on her own, creating a burning fire as flesh touched flesh.
Now, she was shivering.
“Come here.” He pulled her against him, and her eyes fluttered shut. She wanted him to leave, but was desperate for him to stay. Knowing he was so close and yet so far away was achingly painful, numbed only by the sweet surrender of sleep.
Rather than think anymore, she submitted to its siren call, her need for oblivion stronger than ever.
WHEN SHE WOKE the next morning, Hanna tried to pretend it was a dirty, alcohol-induced dream. But the ache between her legs was too real, and she didn’t have to reach down to feel the evidence of last night’s activities. She only had to inhale Richard’s scent to remember what happened in clear, vivid detail.
She lifted her hand up and ran her fingers through her hair, her progress hampered by the knots created by rampant sex and restless dreams. Daylight forced its way through the thick fabric of the curtains, slithering through the area above the rail.
