by JC Harroway
The erotic sight burns into my brain.
I squeeze the fingers of her one hand, powering into her again and again, my jaw clamped tight. Savouring, slowly worshipping, making love—I tell myself that’s not my role. Not what she wants from me. But I can give her what she said she needs.
She wanted a leg back up into the saddle. That’s all. And it has to be enough.
Sweat breaks out on my neck and chest. The bed thumps the wall and I’m about to pull back, to lessen my pounding hips, when she cries out, her legs wrapping around my waist so she can cling, lift her pelvis from the bed and angle her sweet pussy up to meet my thrusts.
‘Drake, I want to come again. Take me there.’
Her demand thrills me. I’ll give her anything in that second. Sucking deep on a well of previously unknown stamina, I give her my all, hips pistoning, one knee braced on the bed to provide a twist of my pelvis that must bash her clit because she grips my cock tighter. I just have time to clamp my lips on that nipple she’s torturing, adding flicks of my tongue to the roll of her fingertips, before she explodes, coming with a hoarse cry, her stare blazing into mine until pleasure overwhelms her and she closes her eyes.
I could happily die in that moment. But I’m right behind, fire racing down my cock as I fill the condom. I ride out the convulsions, my face in her wild hair as I suck the essence of her into my lungs and christen this moment the best of my life.
CHAPTER FIVE
Drake
MY VISION SHARPENS into focus as the incredible high fades. I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling; Kenzie’s at my side, her head heavy on my arm—a weight I feel in every part of my body.
What the fuck have I done?
Her breath tickles the hair on my chest and I tense, my stomach in knots of my own making, trapped by the magnitude of what just happened.
I lie still, breathe, testing my conscience.
Do I regret it? Hell, yes. But also, hell, no. Because, fuck, it couldn’t have been better, every fantasy pale and lifeless in comparison to the vibrant reality we’ve just created. But is perfection perfect if you can only experience it once?
Kenzie stirs, pads softly to the bathroom and then returns with a wad of tissues, which she hands to me with a sheepish smile on her flushed face. ‘Fancy that glass of wine now?’
She’s breathtaking with afterglow, the skin of her chest and neck and cheeks red from the scratch of my beard. Even her inner thighs are a little dusky where she writhed against my five o’clock shadow.
Fuck, yeah!
I nod, taking the tissues. The thought of leaving hollows me out, even though I should get the hell away before I have the urge to do that again and again and again... It’s already there, a flicker in my softening cock and an obsession in my Kenzie-craving mind.
I shut down the thoughts, convinced one time with Kenzie will never be enough.
She slings on the robe and moves to the kitchen, while I remove the condom and clean up.
‘Have you eaten?’ she calls. Her place is so small I hear her clearly from the bathroom, where I’m washing my hands.
‘No.’
Just you—all the sustenance I’ll need for a while.
My still-hard dick perks up and I grit my teeth, willing the erotic replay of the last half an hour from my mind. I’m tempted to splash the greedy fucker with cold water, not that it would help. I’ve done it now—tasted forbidden fruit. Too late to go back.
By the time I emerge, she’s back, relaxed on the pillow, her glass of wine in her hand and one for me on the bedside table.
Her smile is sad, as if she sees the conflict in me as clearly as the colour of my eyes. The idea that she feels similar turmoil smacks me in the solar plexus. She must be thinking about Sam and regretting what we just did to his memory. I don’t think I can hear what she’s about to say... Well, that was great, Drake, but we should never have done it...
It’s only what’s pinballing around inside my skull, but I’d rather tear off my ears than hear confirmation when I’m still aroused, still reeling from our incredible intimacy and chomping at the bit to make the same mistake again.
My stomach twists again—it’s like fucking emotional macramé in there. I paste neutrality onto my face to hide my confusion, for her sake and my own sanity.
Kenzie taps the bed and I join her, manning up to the consequences of my actions. I had my perfect, once-in-a-lifetime moment and now she’s done with me. I should feel relief but I taste bile.
She’s made a platter of cheeses with what looks like crumbly homemade-looking crackers, quartered fresh figs drizzled with oil and dollops of tapenade. I grab some cheese, grateful for her efforts, dousing it with a mouthful of wine. If I’m going to throw up I’ll need something in my stomach.
‘Did you make these crackers?’ They’re good—walnut and some sort of herb, perhaps thyme, perhaps what I smelled when I arrived.
She nods, slathering a cracker with tapenade and licking some stray olive oil from her fingers. ‘And the tapenade—it’s my favourite.’ She hums with appreciation, the sound calling directly to my balls. I watch her eat for a few heartbeats—savouring every bite with gusto, vocal in her pleasure for food, her tongue lapping up any stray morsel.
My body rouses, a glutton for punishment. I hide the urge to touch her behind a compliment. ‘You’re an amazing cook—never doubt that or let anyone in the industry steal this—’ I hold up the cracker ‘—your passion for food.’
She flushes, finishing her swallow. ‘Thank you.’ She looks away, as if my words prick her vulnerability more than all the physical intimacy we’ve just shared. ‘I guess I’m not used to focussing on myself, my goals. I’m trying, though.’
My hand twitches in my lap with the need to cup her breathtaking face. A bigger need shifts in my chest—one to protect her from arrogant arseholes like Rod. ‘Good. There’s nothing wrong with prioritising your needs.’ Of course she’s not just reclaiming her dormant sexuality. She’s rebuilding her life, coming to terms with Tilly leaving home, fighting for the career she wants...
I relax. Perhaps I’m over-complicating this, allowing my guilty secrets to cloud my judgement. She said she only wanted sex, all I can give, and the no-strings variety is my forte. But this is Kenzie. Normal rules definitely do not apply. Because even a casual one-off comes with a price—it was that good.
My zone-out must have lasted a while because she breaks the silence. ‘What about you—do you miss the army?’
I stiffen, so many topics between us fraught with triggers. ‘Sometimes. At first I missed the camaraderie... But without Sam...’ I shrug, thinking of my friend while reeling from the best sex of my life, which happened to be with his widow, twisting me up like hot metal. I rush on. ‘Working with my brothers has brought us closer, and the family business needed me—we’ve taken over more and more from Dad, who has largely retired and spends most of his time on the golf course.’
She studies me, brushing a crumb from the corner of my mouth. ‘Yes, you’re lucky to have Reid and Kit. Tilly is my rock—I don’t know what I’d do without her.’ Tension tightens her mouth.
I want to kiss it away. Instead I ask, ‘How is she doing?’ I recall a socially isolated teenager that looked a lot like Kenzie, with a love of animals and all things Harry Potter.
Kenzie smiles. ‘She’s good. It’s so awesome to see her spread her wings. Make friends.’ Her eyes glaze and she traces the pattern on the duvet cover with a finger.
‘You miss her.’ They’re close. Tilly has been Kenzie’s focus for most of her adult life. A constant.
Unlike Sam...her parents...
A half-shrug, half-nod. ‘I’m just adjusting to her not needing me quite so much. This is the first time we’ve ever lived apart. But I’m so proud of her overcoming some of her everyday challenges. Mum and Dad would be proud, too.’
&
nbsp; I reach out and take her hand. She’s lost so much. No wonder she’s struggling with her new role in Tilly’s life. No wonder she’s keen to carve out her own path.
‘Of you both—you weren’t much older than Tilly is now when you stepped up to the caretaker role.’ And now Tilly is naturally breaking away from Kenzie, too. An ache settles under my ribs, my own guilt compounded. I tell myself I ate too much cheese.
‘Anyone would have done the same.’ Her eyes stay downcast.
‘Not everyone—some people are all about themselves.’ The burn in my lungs returns, Sam’s secret and my own breath-stealing. My friend was a good man, but he would have hurt her, too, if he hadn’t died. Just like I’ve caused her pain, but can’t ever confess.
Kenzie prepares a cracker with tapenade and holds it up to my mouth with a questioning brow. ‘Try my tapenade...’
I’m not hungry, but she wants to change the subject. Me too, the veer of my thoughts never far from dangerous when she’s around. And I want her again. Stuffing my face seems as good a plan as any to stop me touching her once more.
The ferocious need is still there, undiminished.
She smiles, desire lingering behind her wary eyes. ‘So, I’m not going to thank you for sex.’ She grins. ‘But thanks. You have no idea how badly I needed that.’
I grip her wrist, steering the offering a little closer while I stare at her over the back of her hand. ‘You are most definitely welcome.’ I smile, despite myself, happy to be her prize stud. Her breath shudders as I wrap my mouth around the bite-sized cracker, my lips grazing and then licking her fingertips clean.
‘Delicious.’ I’m not talking about the food.
Her pupils flare and she leans in, pressing salty lips to mine. She tastes of wine and sharp cheese and the sex we just enjoyed.
Curiosity gets the better of me. ‘So you haven’t met anyone else?’ She’s too young to be alone and has so much to offer. Of course, the cheese and crackers take an expected trip around my writhing stomach—I may not like her answer.
She shakes her head. ‘For a long time just thinking of the possibility didn’t feel right—I still felt married to Sam.’ Her eyes flick to mine and then shift away. ‘And I didn’t want to expose Tilly to any of the dodgy randomers filling the dating apps, which seem to be the only way to meet people these days.’
I tense my muscles, telling myself it’s relief that she avoided meaningless hook-ups with potential psychopaths, not jealousy, that makes me shudder. But isn’t a meaningless hook-up exactly what we’ve just had?
No—I care about this woman even though it can’t be more than sex.
Her next question knees me in the balls. ‘I...I know I put you in a horrible position. Are you thinking about Sam?’ A small frown pinches her brows together.
The cheese curdles. I should be thinking about Sam. I feared she’d want to talk about him. Perhaps she needs to process what we’ve just done in the context of moving on. I swallow. I’d rather tear out my own vocal cords than talk about Sam while I’m still naked in her bed, the scent of sex all around us. Because I’m half tempted to drag her under me or over me and go again. At least we won’t have the breath to talk. Her delicious crackers may as well be razor blades in my stomach.
‘I...’
I don’t want to lie, but neither can I offer complete honesty. But she’s intelligent. Perceptive. Senses my shifty demeanour. I’m considering excusing myself to the bathroom so I can get my nausea under control, when she touches my arm.
‘It’s okay.’ Her eyes grow sadder, any hint of the spent passion I put there long gone. ‘You were such a good friend to him.’
No, don’t say that... I betrayed him with thoughts of her. I let him down. I made her a widow.
I want to clamp my hands over my ears like a fucking toddler who doesn’t want to hear the word no. But listening is my penance.
‘And, although I asked you to cross a line, I hope...perhaps we can be friends...’
I hold in a splutter. Friends...? Is that how she sees me? I wince at the hypocrisy. Temporary fuck buddy is no better, especially now I’ve had a taste of what I’ve always wanted and I’m struggling to remember who she was, who she is.
Sam’s wife.
‘Of course.’ I smile despite the feeling I’ve been cleaved in two. Because, while I’ve just enjoyed the single best sexual encounter of my life, it’s payback time. I’ve always craved more than her friendship, but that’s exactly where my head should be and clearly her end goal.
I can try. But friends are there to make life better, not worse. Friends don’t keep secrets. Friends don’t inflict pain. She trusted that I wouldn’t hurt her.
‘Do you miss him?’ she whispers.
I keep my gaze steady on hers, my nod almost physically painful, because it’s true. ‘Yeah. He was my best friend.’ We shared laughs, tears, a love of craft beers and fast cars. We argued over fuck-all and ribbed each other mercilessly. Missing him never fades, the ache wrapped up in years of tortured, convoluted feelings.
Her wobbly smile slides from her face and I feel like I’ve physically struck her. I grip her hand, my fingers curling around hers, which are cool to the touch.
If Sam were still here, I wouldn’t be. I wouldn’t be in Kenzie’s bed. Wouldn’t be touching her. Wouldn’t be having this conversation—the most intimate one we’ve shared.
He’d rip my head off for touching his woman. For even thinking about her... I’ve always chastised myself for wanting Kenzie.
‘Me too,’ she says. ‘I think the hardest part is not idolising him in my memories—he wasn’t perfect. But he’s not here for me to find irritating or argue with.’
A creep of apprehension crawls up my back. Does she know about his affair? Sam and I only talked about it one time. He confessed his indiscretion and I slated him, making him promise that he would come clean to his wife during his next leave.
But then he died, leaving me to juggle the slippery, leaden burdens of his secret and my own. My skin writhes, raising every tiny hair—I’m no angel. I’ve just shit on my dead friend’s memory, broken my promise to him by being with this woman, and I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.
‘No. None of us is perfect.’ Especially me, although she’s pretty fucking close. I swallow bile and search her face for a sign she’s figured out Sam’s infidelity, certain the confirmation will scour the inside of my skull like acid.
I’m torn.
If I tell her he cheated, I’ll always be the bastard who tainted his memory. If I keep the knowledge to myself, I’m complicit. As good as a liar.
I’m fucked either way, as I deserve.
‘Do you remember his coin?’ Her eyes shine when she returns them to mine and I’m trapped anew.
I nod, my neck so brittle it could snap. ‘Of course. I lost many a bet to him with it.’
I lost the possibility of you. I lost him.
Sam’s lucky fucking coin is the reason he’s not here and I am. The reason she’s his and not mine.
‘Yeah, me too.’ She smiles and I’m certain the crackers will make a reappearance. ‘He carried it everywhere—bloody drove me crazy.’
I swallow past the brick trapped in my throat and nod. I force my breathing to slow, force myself to stay and listen even though I want to pierce my own eardrums rather than hear fond memories of the man she loves. But this is the price of sampling nirvana. Atonement for acting on my attraction.
‘Tea or coffee—a coin toss.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Movie or pub—a coin toss. Spain or France—a coin toss.’ A sad twitch of her beautiful mouth.
My free hand, under the duvet, makes a tight fist so my nails bite my palm. I’ve been a selfish prick by staying away. I was his friend—his best friend. With the exception of this woman, I knew him better than anyone. She clearly needed to talk about Sam before today and who
better than the man who’d always been by his side? The man there at the end?
As if she’s read my tortured mind, she says, ‘Do you think you could...?’ She looks away and then looks back. ‘I’d like to hear about it...some time.’
My blood freezes in my veins. My face must reflect the horror I feel.
Her hand squeezes mine. ‘Not now. Just some time...when you’re ready. If you want to.’
I swallow, my throat on fire, and tug my hand from hers. ‘I should go. It’s late.’ I look away from the pain still glimmering in her eyes—pain for the loss of another man, pain I put there, pain I share because, despite his shortcomings, I miss him, too, and it’s my fault he’s gone.
I slide from under the duvet and reach for my boxers with wooden movements.
‘You don’t want to stay?’
Her voice catches, with a vulnerability that gives me a second’s pause.
My heart thuds against my ribs. I can’t. Not when I feel like I’ve just survived the best night of my life, and one of the worst, all wrapped up together in a sickening swirl of doubt and remorse. Not when waking up with her in my arms tomorrow would be like Christmas morning, until it hits me with the force of a sledgehammer that this particular gift isn’t mine to keep. Not when I need to grapple this thing between us back under control.
I turn, cup her face, press a soft kiss to her mouth, one I hope softens my rejection. This isn’t her fault. It’s about me. The shitty choices I made and have to live with. ‘I should go.’
Her teeth plunder her lip and her eyes dart to the floor. ‘Did...did I guilt you...into...that?’ Even now she’s thinking about me, when I’m the fraud.
She thinks she coerced me into the best sex of my life? She thinks I’m that loyal to Sam, that it was little more than a pity fuck...? I wince, her misconception the polar opposite of the truth. But I lock down my inner feelings, which are only succeeding in tying me in knots.
She loves Sam. Whether she knows he cheated or not.
How would she feel to hear the man she just slept with, the first man she trusted with her body since him, was so caught up in his own cravings, he gave not a second’s thought to his best friend...? That the same man is the reason her husband, perfect or not, isn’t here?