A KISS FOR A KISS

by Hunting, Helena

  As the song comes to an end, we do another rotation and I notice that Hanna’s chair is empty.

  The deejay changes the music to something upbeat and guests flood the dance floor, allowing me to step back and survey the room. I don’t spot Hanna anywhere. She may have stepped out to use the bathroom, so I grab a drink from the bar.

  After a few minutes and still no sign of her, I poke my head into the pool house, but it’s empty, so I make my way to the house. The bass of the music vibrates under my feet. The kitchen has already been tidied, thanks to the cleaner that Hanna hired to help manage things today. Another reason for me to thank her.

  I make a stop in my bedroom and retrieve the small gift box, tucking it into my pocket. I hope if she’s having a hard time tonight, this will cheer her up.

  I stop at the closed door to the spare bedroom and knock three times. “Hanna?”

  “I’ll just be a minute. Is everything okay?” she calls.

  I debate waiting in the kitchen or the living room. I decide neither is ideal. “Is it okay if I come in?”

  I’m greeted with silence for a few long seconds before the door finally opens. I slip inside and close it behind me.

  “Are the kids okay?” She wrings her clasped hands. Her eyes have that slightly watery quality about them. The kind I associate with tears.

  “The kids are fine. They’re dancing and drinking and doing what they do when they’re celebrating a wedding and have no idea what the future holds for them, apart from a lot of love.”

  She exhales a relieved breath. “Okay. Good. That’s good.”

  I set my drink on the dresser and take a step forward and put my hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Her focus is on my shoes.

  “Hanna.” I slip my finger under her chin and tip her head up. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me.” Over the past several months, our relationship has evolved in a lot of ways. We share similar histories, although the way they unfolded is very different. But we get each other in a way not many can understand. It definitely doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful, and kind, and fun—both in and out of bed.

  She nods once and her eyes fall closed. She breathes out slowly as her hands settle on my chest. “I know. I just need to keep it together for a few more hours.”

  “If you need to let it out, then let it out. I’m not afraid of tears, Hanna. I raised a teenage girl on my own. If I can handle irrational teenage girl tears, I can certainly handle reasonable, adult emotional tears. Hell, I’ve cried more than once today, and I don’t feel like I need to have my man card revoked for that.”

  She chuckles and then bites her bottom lip as two tears track down her cheeks.

  “Aw, babe.” I sweep them away with my thumbs. “Today has been hard, hasn’t it?”

  “I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” she whispers.

  “Not being able to take the role that’s yours?” I ask.

  We’ve talked about this before—about how her relationship with Ryan has changed ever since he found out the truth about their family dynamic.

  “Logically, I know it’s not my place. I know that. But it just . . . I really didn’t expect it to be so hard. And the mother-son dance. Without my parents’ support neither of us would have had the opportunities we did. I could never have afforded the hockey teams, or the travel, or any of the stuff my parents were able to give him—” She sucks in a tremulous breath.

  “But it doesn’t change the fact that it hurts,” I say gently.

  “I thought I could handle this. I need to be able to handle this. For Ryan.”

  “You have been handling this, Hanna. And you can fake being okay for everyone else, but you don’t have to do it for me.” I pull her against me and press my lips to her temple.

  She melts against me, body shaking, even though her cries are silent. “Thank you for being such a rock, Jake.”

  She lets me hold her for a few minutes, her breathing evening out. The emotion seems to pass as quickly as it came. She inhales deeply and dabs under her eyes with a tissue. I have no idea where it came from, but it’s definitely seen a lot of tears based on how mangled it is.

  She waves her hands in front of her face. “Every time I think I’ve got myself under control this starts up again. I thought teenage hormones were bad. They have nothing on this perimenopausal shit.”

  “Aren’t you a little young for that?”

  She arches a brow. “Now you’re being obtuse.”

  I hold my hands up in supplication. “Seriously. I didn’t think that was a thing before fifty.”

  “Oh. Well, that would be ideal if that were the case, but it can start way earlier than that. Just depends on how much of an asshole your body wants to be.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s bad enough that I cried all over your suit. I’m not going to subject you to the horrors of perimenopause.” She purses her lips. “I really need to stop talking.”

  “I have something for you.” I figure I’ll save her from having to fight her way out of a conversation that’s making her uncomfortable. Sometimes I forget that Hanna is slightly older than I am.

  “What?” She frowns, as if she’s not quite following the new direction of our conversation.

  “A gift.” I pull the small, wrapped box out of my pocket. “Just a little something to say thank you. I meant to give it to you earlier, but I forgot.” I pass her the box.

  “You didn’t need to get me a gift.” She bites her lip. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “You don’t need to get me anything. You’ve been so great with Queenie. With everything. I would have been totally lost without you.”

  “You underestimate yourself. You would have been totally fine.”

  “We can agree to disagree on that.” And I recognize, maybe not for the first time, that through this whole thing, I’ve felt like I had someone I could rely on for support and who was there for my daughter unfailingly.

  My mouth goes dry, and I reach for my scotch, which I set on the dresser when I first walked in. The liquid burns but makes it easier to swallow. The sudden nervousness doesn’t make sense. It’s just a token of my appreciation.

  Hanna pulls the bow and it flutters to the floor. “Oh, wow. I don’t think anyone has ever bought me something from Tiffany’s.”

  “The last time I shopped there was for Queenie’s sweet sixteen.”

  “She’s a lucky girl to have such a thoughtful dad.”

  “She never really had a mother figure. There were things I couldn’t do for her, or be for her, and you stepped in so graciously, even when it was hard for you.” I’m going to miss Hanna’s regular visits now that the wedding is over.

  “I feel the same way. Lucky, I mean, to have you both in my life as well.” She lifts the lid from the box and inhales sharply. The chain is thin, and a small rose gold infinity heart is suspended from a diamond encrusted bar. I didn’t even ask for help picking it out. It just seemed to fit Hanna. The room in her heart for the people she cares about always seems infinite.

  “Oh, Jake, this is beyond stunning.” She blinks several times rapidly. “I’m totally blaming you if I start crying again.” She starts to wave her hands around in the air, so I take the box from her and quickly grab a tissue from the nightstand.

  “These are good tears this time, though?”

  She nods. “This is so beautiful.”

  “Exactly like you,” I tell her.

  “I’m a hot mess.”

  “Well, you’re hot, I’ll give you that. And if you’re a mess, you’re a beautiful one.” I give her a long, lingering once-over.

  “Don’t look at me like that right now. I’m weak, and that smirk is too tempting.” She turns around. “Can you help me with the necklace, please?”

  “Absolutely.” I sweep her thick dark waves over her shoulder. She often wears it up in a messy bun that shows off the slope of her elegant neck. Which is exactly what I’m looking at
right now. The back of her dress is cut in a V. The style of hers is different, the straps slightly thicker, the dip in the back not quite so deep. A bit more modest. But still so damn sexy.

  When she’s thinking, her fingers often drift along the smooth skin. And all I want to do is follow the same path, but with my lips.

  I unclasp the necklace she’s currently wearing and replace it with the new one. We’re facing the mirror, and our gazes meet and lock there. Her bottom lip catches between her teeth as she turns her head toward my mouth and reaches up, fingers brushing the edge of my jaw.

  “Should we head back?” I dip down and press my lips to her collarbone.

  “Maybe not quite yet.” She leans into me, her back meeting my chest.

  I settle my hands on her hips. “I don’t know that I should be starting something I can’t finish for a few more hours.”

  “We could be quick. Take the edge off.” She arches, her butt pressing against my erection.

  “Ah, fuck, Hanna.”

  She spins around and grabs my tie. “I think that’s a really good idea.” She pulls my mouth down to hers.

  Every time I kiss her it’s the same. It’s like the first bite of a piece of cake snuck from the pantry when no one is looking. The delicious anticipation of having something you’ve waited for, only to discover it’s infinitely more decadent than you expected.

  I wrap one arm around her waist, savoring her moan as we tip our heads and open wider for each other. Lust overwhelms, and I feel like I’m being caught up in a vortex. Even after all these months, we still consume each other with the same fierce desperation, like each time is the first and last. Because even though we know we probably shouldn’t be indulging in each other like this, we can’t seem to stop ourselves.

  I break the kiss long enough to grind out, “I want in you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Perfect Distraction

  Hanna

  IN THE BACK of my mind, I recognize that now isn’t the best time for this. And that Jake and I need to have a very real discussion about what exactly we’re doing and that it should also probably stop, but today has been difficult on so many levels, I can’t find it in me to put the brakes on. I need this. I need him. Which is its own problem. One I’ll have to tackle before I leave on Sunday night.

  But for now, I give myself over to sensation, to feeling good instead of conflicted, or sad, or lost.

  “We can’t go back out there rumpled,” I mumble into his mouth as I loosen Jake’s tie.

  “Good call.” His hands roam my curves with familiarity.

  Because we’ve been doing this for months now. And tonight I feel a heightened level of desperation for him, knowing we can’t keep sleeping together indefinitely, that it’s going to end. And I feel a lot like I’m losing something else. Something bigger than I want to admit.

  I quickly and carefully unbutton his shirt, all the while we’re still kissing. He tastes like scotch and faintly of cigar, probably because someone handed him one earlier and he wanted to be polite. I’ve never seen Jake smoke anything before.

  I finally manage to get the last of his shirt buttons undone. I pull his tie over his head, messing up his hair in the process. I try to run my fingers through it to smooth it back into place, but he shakes his head.

  “Don’t worry about it. You know your hands are going to be in it again anyway in a minute. I’ll fix it after.”

  I’d say something cheeky, but he’s not wrong. I toss his tie on the chair and push his shirt over his shoulders and he helps by tugging it free from his arms. Just like his suit jacket, he pauses to carefully drape it over the chair in the corner of the bedroom.

  For a moment, his back is turned, so I do a quick breath check, relieved that it mostly smells like the mint candies I’ve been eating all night to keep me from drinking too much wine and becoming even more emotional than I already am. Wine and feelings are a lethal combination for me. While I’m checking my breath, I’m also checking out Jake’s back and his backside.

  It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen him naked dozens of times, I never get tired of the view. He’s in incredible shape. All toned muscles and broad back. He has the body of an athlete. Which I suppose makes sense since he works out with the boys he manages on a regular basis.

  He’s also an avid swimmer and golfer. And every time we’ve gotten together for family events, summer parties, and that one weekend we all spent in Texas, he and I have ended up in bed together.

  He turns back to me and I take a step forward, running my hands over his shoulders and down his chest. I lightly skip over his abs, fingers cresting the dips and planes until I reach his belt buckle.

  Jake’s gaze dips down to where my fingers dance along the waistband of his dress pants.

  “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about this today, Hanna.” His voice is low and gravelly.

  “About me ogling you while I undress you?” I pull on his belt, freeing the clasp.

  He chuckles and exhales a long, slow breath as I pop the button and drag the zipper down. “About getting you out of this dress.” He takes my face in his hands. “About kissing you.”

  He slants his mouth over mine, groaning as his tongue slips between my lips. I want to savor this experience. Drag it out and make it last. We haven’t had much alone time since I’ve been down for the wedding, and the past twenty-four hours have been a lot of heated looks and fleeting touches. It’s been building all day, like a symphony reaching its crescendo, bringing us here, to this moment.

  I dip a single finger beneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and graze his erection, which kicks behind the cotton. I slide my hand inside the fabric and curl my fingers around his length. The first time we were together like this, I did a mental cheer, along with a virtual roundoff, backflip, and a booty shake, because, as I’d hoped, Jake does not disappoint.

  In fact, he’s firmly rooted in the boyfriend dick department—not so big that walking is a chore for the next week, but ample enough that I’ll be pleasantly sore for a few days.

  Jake breaks the kiss, one hand leaving my face to pull the waistband of his boxer briefs down, exposing his glorious erection, and threads his fingers between mine.

  I have what he calls piano hands: long, slender fingers and narrow wrists. So his hands, which are athlete-style large, make mine look even more delicate than usual. And he really, really loves my hands on him. With his fingers between mine, he guides my strokes, moving slowly, unhurried despite what’s going on beyond the door of this bedroom.

  His gaze shifts from our hands to my face and back down. His forearm is taut, the veins bulging, looking like baby snakes writhing under his skin. The arm porn is out of this world, and while I can’t wait to have his hands on me, watching him like this, seeing the way he reacts to my touch, is a heady, empowering feeling. One I’m going to miss.

  He’s still cupping my cheek with the other hand, and his fingers glide along the edge of my jaw, slipping into my hair, anchoring there. His mouth finds mine again, hungrier this time, and his slow strokes falter. He squeezes his hand around mine.

  “I need you, Hanna,” he groans into my mouth. “Naked.”

  “Same,” I mutter, then smile a little. All this time spent with twenty-somethings means I’ve adopted some of their lazy language habits.

  He untwines our fingers and goes to work on unzipping my dress. If I’d had time and a plan, I would not be wearing Spanx right now. I’d expected to have time to freshen up, maybe put on something sexy before we ended up in bed together at the end of the night. But I didn’t expect him to come looking for me. And maybe I should have, because he’s always in tune with how I’m feeling.

  He carefully slips the straps over my shoulders, but there’s double-sided tape keeping my bodysuit fixed to the dress. Nothing is worse than your bra strap peeking out. “Hold on, I’ll get it.”

  Jake steps back, and while I peel the tape free, he loses his shoes, socks, pants, and
boxers. The pants get hung over the arm of the chair and my dress goes carefully on top.

  While he’s distracted, I peel myself out of my bodysuit. On the upside, I wore the lacy, pale pink one, so it’s not nearly as unattractive as the other, plain, skin-toned one I own.

  His eyes roam over me in a hot sweep and then we’re back to kissing, skin to skin, hands caressing. Hunger and desire take over, and he walks me backward to the bed, lifting me onto the edge of the mattress. He runs his hands up my thighs, and I open, allowing him to step between them. The head of his erection bumps against my stomach, close to my navel.

  I drag myself backward so I’m in the center of the bed and Jake climbs up after me, settling into the cradle of my hips. The smooth, hard length rubs against my clit, and every muscle below the waist clenches deliciously. I need this, him, this connection and distraction from everything else.

  Jake’s mouth descends on mine again and he rocks against me, the head sliding across my sensitive skin, hot and hard and oh-so-stimulating. I roll my hips in time with him, creating decadent friction that sends little jolts of pleasure zinging through me.

  He nips along the edge of my jaw and nibbles my earlobe, his voice a low growly-whisper. “I want to taste you.”

  I don’t really process his words. Not at first. He starts kissing his way down to my breasts, his stubbled chin scraping over my nipple, sending a wave of heat flashing through me. His tongue circles the taut flesh, lips closing over it, applying suction before his teeth graze the tip. He gives my other breast the same attention before moving lower.

  Which is when his words finally register.

  Jake is gloriously gifted in all aspects of the bedroom, and particularly talented with his tongue. And I’m eternally grateful that I took advantage of the spa day with the girls and treated myself to the complete works in the pampering department, including a Brazilian wax. I’m smooth as smooth can be below the waist.

  “Do we really have time for that?” Even as I ask, I grab a pillow and shove it under my head, carefully arranging my hair so I don’t mess it up and also don’t have to strain my neck as Jake kisses and nips his way past my navel.