Authors: Kelly Jamieson
Krissa wondered if her silk dress had survived that. It thrilled her that he wanted her so much he went crazy with it, couldn’t wait to be inside her. It made her melt and tremble inside.
She smiled and stretched, turned her head to study Nate. “Wow,” she said. “That was hot.”
He opened one eye, but didn’t move. “Sorry.”
She laughed. “You’re apologizing? I just said it was hot.”
“You didn’t come. I always make you come first.”
He always did.
As his words seeped in, the intimation of a history, of a relationship, made her heart swell in her chest to the point of stinging her eyes.
“That’s okay,” she choked out.
He rolled towards her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He studied her, but said nothing. “I’ll make you come again. I’ll make you come so many times you won’t remember your own name.”
She smiled with trembling lips. “No worries.” She slid her hand down over her tummy and between her legs. She needed to come so bad. Nate’s eyes flew open and he made a low, rough sound.
Her fingers slid through the liquid overflowing between her legs, her cream combined with his semen. She was so wet. God. She closed her eyes, rubbed her cream over her clit, throbbing and swollen. She drew in a long breath, which pushed her breasts up, the tips aching, held the air in her lungs while she fingered herself. She felt the beginning of the orgasm, reached for it, let it build, higher and higher. Her thighs fell wider, she breathed in tiny pants, still holding her breath in expanded lungs. Sweetness coiled tighter inside her and then burst, a flare of heat, a shower of sparks through her body, leaving languor and weakness in their wake.
Drifting on a haze of pleasure, she became aware of Nate beside her. She turned her head toward him, opened her eyes and smiled. He watched her intently.
The orgasm relieved some of the tension she’d been feeling all day. Anticipation of the night they were about to spend together—alone—had kept her on edge, arousal and guilt colliding inside her.
But why should she feel guilty? Her husband knew she was here, knew who she was with and knew exactly what they were doing. He approved of it. Could it be considered cheating?
It was just the fact that she and Nate were on their own. This was the first time they’d ever had sex—intercourse—just the two of them. And then they’d both been so overcome by intense sexual need that he’d ripped her panties right off her and she’d had to give herself a fast, hard orgasm. Urgent hunger had temporarily obliterated any thoughts of anyone but the two of them, any emotions besides explosive lust and panting need.
They turned onto their sides and faced each other. Nate cupped the curve of her hip with his hand and she flattened her hand on his chest, felt his heart thudding slow and strong beneath her palm. They lay like that for a long time, just looking at each other.
Krissa reached for his face, stroked his whiskery cheek and jaw with the backs of her fingers, brushed her fingertips across his mouth. His eyes darkened, and his lips parted. She slipped her fingertips inside, stroked across his tongue.
Heat built inside her again, low in her belly. Nate’s hand stroked over her hip and thigh, up to her waist, up under her armpit. Shivery tingles swept out from his touch.
“Mmm. Ticklish.”
“No, I’m not.”
The corners of his mouth tipped up. Then his fingers darted up under her arm. She squealed and rolled away from him. Laughing, he rolled onto her, pinned her down, both hands delving into her underarms, then her waist. She gasped, laughed, twisted beneath him. “Stop! Stop!”
He stopped. He stared down at her, both of them giddy and breathless, then kissed her. His mouth covered hers, moved over hers, pushed her mouth open to take her in. His tongue stroked, teeth nipped her bottom lip. She kissed him back with everything she had, wrapped her arms around him and one leg, too. She moaned, arched against him, needed him again. “Nate, oh Nate.”
He hardened against her and she had to admire his recovery. They rolled together across the wide bed, mouths fused, bodies joined. Her pussy pulsed with need, thick, heavy, aching need, and she rubbed against him, seeking what she wanted. A groan rumbled from his throat. He fisted his hands in her hair, held her head for his long, drugging kisses. She rolled her hips against him in an instinctive, erotic rhythm until he shoved a hand between them to find his cock and pushed into her.
A long sigh of delight floated out of her mouth as he filled her. He rose up, pushed her knees up and back, opening her wide to him. She gazed down their bodies to where they joined, his thick dark pubic hair meeting her bare pussy. With every down stroke, he touched a tender place deep inside her that was exquisitely sensitive, then dragged out of her against the pull of her pussy on his hard length.
“Sweet, Krissa. So sweet.”
His hands held her beneath her knees, pushed them to her chest as he drove into her. His body gleamed in the lamplight, chiseled muscles, his face dark and tight with desire. She met his thrusts with her own, needing a deeper touch, but with each push sensation flared from her womb and she cried out. Her fingers twisted in the duvet. Her eyes wanted to close but she kept them focused on Nate, although his image glimmered through a haze of tears.
He released one knee and thumbed her clit, sensitized and swollen.
“I love making you come,” he breathed. His intense gaze pinned her to the bed, held her captive. “Love making you feel good, baby.”
She could only whimper a response as the magic of his thumb on her clit combined with the rapture his cock provoked in her womb, the two sensations melding into sublime bliss. Pleasure streaked through her body as heat coiled inside her, low, deep, scorching. It flared hotter, higher.
“Come for me, Krissa.” Nate’s tight jaw compressed the words. “Come with me.”
“Yes.” She let go, let herself fly, felt him pour himself inside her in hot, thick pulses. He groaned, held her pussy, pressed into her, and his eyes fell closed. She let her own drift shut, gave herself over to the enchantment torching her body. Her orgasm went on and on, his fingers on her clit drawing it out, her pussy clenching on his cock.
“You tried to distract me earlier, but I’m not going to let it go.”
“Mmm? Let what go?” His drowsy voice vibrated in his chest where her head lay. She played with the fine line of hair just below his navel.
“Why you haven’t seen your parents for two years.”
His body tensed beneath her. She flattened her palm over his lower abdomen, the wiry curls there tickling the edge of her hand. He drew in a slow breath, let it out even slower.
“There’s something I haven’t told you. About Lauren.”
She kept her head down, sensing it was better for him if she didn’t look at him while he talked. Her hand rubbed gently back and forth over his smooth firm skin, rough hair.
“Lauren was pregnant when she died.”
Now her head snapped up. “Pregnant?” She blinked at him.
“Yes.” His eyes closed against her searching gaze. “We’d just found out a couple of weeks before. We hadn’t told anybody. Wanted to wait a while make sure everything was okay.”
She gave a jerky nod. She felt seized by…fear. Anxiety. Jealousy? Emotions churned inside her.
“But…”
“Yeah. Big ‘but’.” He rubbed his eyes. “I already told you she’d been having an affair. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I was all happy and proud…excited to be a father, but also scared shitless.”
She nodded again.
“When I read her journal after the accident, she talked about her lover. About how—how she didn’t know who the father was. How she’d talked to him about that. What they were going to do.” His voiced deepened. “I’ll never know if that was my baby, Krissa.”
Pain stabbed through her heart. “Oh, Nate.” She stared at him in horror.
“I couldn’t deal with that. After the funeral, everyone was so sympathetic. They kept talking about how wonderful Lauren was, how much she loved me, blah blah blah. I couldn’t stand it. I just…couldn’t.” His voice cracked. “So I left. I just wanted to get away from anyone who knew about it, anyone who knew Lauren. I couldn’t tell anyone how goddamn pissed off I was at her…” The words came out rough and gritty. He squeezed his eyes shut. “How much I hated her for what she’d done. I couldn’t tell people that. I couldn’t tell people how guilty I felt for hating her—she was dead. It was so hard to keep it inside me every time they talked about what an angel she was.”
Krissa moved over him, laid her cheek against his rough one, put her hand on his neck. She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, wished with everything inside her she could make that pain go away for him, wished he’d never had to endure that.
What could she say to him? She, too, had thought Lauren perfect, faithful, in love with her husband. She, too, felt betrayed by Lauren’s infidelity, her shocking, sordid secret affair. And now, that she’d maybe even been pregnant by another man, while married to Nate. Dear God.
And if the baby had been his, how tragic. Well, it was tragic no matter whose baby it was…but she felt Nate’s despair as if it were her own, sharp and deep. And he would never know the truth now.
Her tears wet both their faces and she kissed his mouth, tasted salt, stroked the hot skin of his neck and jaw. Desire to comfort him swelled inside her, engulfing her, a wrenching helplessness dragged at her. Words of comfort and love rose to her lips.
But she couldn’t say them. She could only show him how she felt with her mouth, her hands and her welcoming body.
They made love again, this time slow, lush and impassioned. When Nate moved down her body to kiss her between her legs, she felt as though he were worshipping her. His small, suckling kisses over her sensitive folds held reverence and awe. His gentle licks and sighing breaths against her clit spoke of care and tenderness. Tears filled her eyes even as an agonizingly sweet tension tightened in her, a swelling heat. Everything inside her constricted, pulled up, up, up into a sharp peak of excitement and when she came, she came hard and long. Shudders wracked her body, and she held his head at her pussy while pleasure exploded through her veins. She cried out, bit her lip to keep words from spilling out of her.
When he moved over her, Krissa pushed him to his back and poured everything she felt into each stroke of his face, every caress, her clasp of his erection. She took her time to explore his body, every dip and hollow, every hard muscle and strong bone, with her mouth, her lips, her tongue. She inhaled his scent, warm and male, licked his balls, tasted his cock. She pressed kisses to his quivery belly, sucked and licked at his sharp nipples. When she moved over him and they came together, a shimmer of white heat surrounded them. Their eyes met and held, Krissa on top, riding him, hands on his chest, taking him deep.
The connection between them sparkled and flashed, a coalescence of intense emotions neither of them could—or would—name. Krissa swallowed the words that rose up in her throat, let them shine through her eyes instead.
She cried when she came, tears stinging her eyes, tracking down her face. She blinked through them, wanting to watch Nate, looking for a reflection of her feelings, and when she saw it, she lost her breath, lost her mind, lost her heart.
In the morning, when she awoke, she watched Nate sleep. He was so beautiful. She studied the slant of his thick eyebrows, the full curve of his lower lip, the perfect wedge of his nose. Something inside her soul was tearing in a long, painful rip, the pain almost making her gasp. Her eyes still gritty from last night’s tears, she refused to weep again.
He shifted in the bed, and his eyes fluttered open and found hers. They gazed at each other. She sensed him holding back, felt the emotion gripping him too. When his mouth opened to speak, she put her hand over it. Her eyes remonstrated him, begged him, stopped him.
When pain darkened his eyes and he closed them, she rolled away. She lay on her back, stared with burning eyes at the ceiling, then got up and went into the bathroom.
While Nate had breakfast with his family in the hotel restaurant, she left the hotel and walked the sidewalk sightlessly. After a couple of blocks, she realized she was in front of a small coffee shop, so she went in and ordered coffee and a muffin. She sat in the front window, the morning sun warming her chilled body. She didn’t taste the coffee as she sipped it, ignored the muffin.
Was it possible to love two men?
She crumbled the muffin as she pulled it in half, then stared out the window blindly. She was married. Her marriage wasn’t perfect, but she loved her husband. She had to love her husband. But now Nate had entered their lives—no, more than that. He’d entered her heart.
And her world had transfigured into a bewildering tangle she couldn’t begin to unsnarl.
Nate and Derek sat on the deck that evening while Krissa worked on dinner in the kitchen. Nate itched to be inside with her, helping her, laughing with her, debating over whether to steam or roast the vegetables, reliving the excitement of the show the evening before.
“So,” Derek said. “This is great that your eyes are better. You’re probably dying to get back to your photography.”
“Yeah.” Except…he wasn’t.
On the drive home that afternoon, he’d been amazed to realize that he didn’t need the sunglasses. He wore them anyway, because it was California and it was sunny, but he could take them off and only feel a minor prickle. He should have been ecstatic. He was happy. All along, that’s all he’d wanted. He’d been demolished to think he may never be able to take photographs again.
Yeah, it was a huge fucking relief to know that his eyes were going to be okay. They still weren’t a hundred percent but they were a helluva lot better. And yet—the idea of leaving again was about as appealing as having open-heart surgery.
“We need to check into the sperm donor thing,” Derek said. “See if you can still do that. Just in case.”
Nate gave a crooked smile. “Yeah. Just in case. Just in case I’m shooting blanks, too. Who knows?”
“You know you aren’t,” Derek said. “You got Lauren pregnant.”
Nate opened his mouth to reply. He paused with his coffee mug half way to his mouth.
Everything slowed…faded away…stopped.
He stared at Derek. What the fuck?
“What did you say?”
Derek turned his face back from gazing out at the ocean and met Nate’s eyes. Nate could actually see the horrified realization sliding over him—his eyes widen, then narrow, his mouth open, then close.
“Uh…”
Nate rose slowly to his feet. “How the hell would you know Lauren was pregnant?”
“You…uh…told me.”
Nate shook his head. “No. We hadn’t told anyone. She didn’t tell anybody. Except the man she was screwing around with.”
Derek’s face reddened. His eyes shifted sideways.
“Jesus Christ.” Nate just stared at Derek. His mind reeled. His lungs froze and his vision grew dark.
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. He rubbed his face, shook his head. “You fucking son of a bitch. You were having an affair with my wife.”
Derek’s eyes darted to the sliding doors into the house, no doubt worried about Krissa overhearing this. “Shh,” he said.
Fury swelled up in Nate. He was shushing him?
“You…you screwed around with her. While I was in Thailand. How could you do that?”
“You’re screwing around with my wife right now.”
Nate’s chin almost hit the wooden deck. Derek was throwing that in his face? Now?
It was true. Dear God, it was true. But, Christ, it was nowhere near the same thing.
Or was it? Sharp heat flashed over him like a blowtorch.
He shook his head slowly. “You fucking asshole. You asked me to screw your wife.”
“How did you know Lauren was having an affair?” Derek asked, brows drawn together. “Did she tell you?”
Nate glared at him with disgust. “No. She never told me. After she died, I read her journal. She had written pages and pages about the man she was in love with. Pages about what they’d done, what they’d said. How they’d talked about her being pregnant and whether it was his or my baby.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I guess we know the answer to that question now.”
“Uh…yeah.” Derek’s face crumpled. He covered it with his hands. “Jesus.”
“Yeah. All these years of wondering.”
“You weren’t the only one wondering,” Derek said heavily. “Do you know how guilty I felt because I may have knocked up someone else and couldn’t even get my own wife pregnant?”
Nate stared at him. “I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Are you out of your mind?”
Derek grimaced.
“That was my wife you could have ‘knocked up’,” Nate ground out, his throat tight and aching. “But now we know it wasn’t you. Now I know I had a child who died in that car crash along with my wife. Fuck!”
He thrust his hands into his hair, held his skull and turned away from Derek. This could not be happening. This was a bad dream. Not real.
Then he thought about Krissa. “You haven’t told Krissa, have you?”
“No. Of course not.” There was a pause. “You’re not…”
Nate swung around and studied his friend contemptuously. “That woman is so incredible—she’s sweet and loving and beautiful. She lives to please you, Derek. She’d do anything for you.” His lip curled as he recalled the things she’d done. “Anything. And you did that to her. Christ.” He shook his head.
“I love her,” Derek said hoarsely. “Don’t tell her. Please, Nate.”
Nate gazed at him for a long moment. A million thoughts ran through his mind.
And he knew then—he loved her too.
He should tell Krissa. She should know the truth about her husband. About her marriage.
But how could he do that to her? She loved Derek, was committed to her marriage and to the child she could be carrying even now.
At that moment, Nate’s gut churned and he had to swallow hard several times, saliva accumulating in his mouth.
“This isn’t the only time you’ve cheated on her, is it?” It was a bad feeling he’d had since he’d arrived in Montecito. “Never mind.” He held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
He shook his head again, trying to clear it, walked to the railing of the deck and gazed out at the ocean. Big puffs of white scudded across the evening sky. The wind roughened the ocean, deepened the waves crashing onto shore below them. He gripped the railing so tightly he felt the wood digging into his palms.
Then he turned, had to get away from Derek, ran down the stairs to the beach. His feet clattered on the wooden steps until he hit the sand, and he almost staggered as his feet sank into the softness. He took long, uneven steps over the beach till he reached the smooth firmness of wet sand. He gulped in the sea air, tipped his head back, pushed a hand through his hair.
What the fuck was he supposed to do?
He walked until he reached his rock, sank down onto it, cool and hard beneath his ass. He faced the ocean, but didn’t see it. The breeze blew his hair back off his face but he barely noticed it. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, held his head in his hands. If he’d thought he’d felt pain and betrayal when Lauren had died, it was nothing compared to this. And it wasn’t even for himself that he felt the worst. He ached for Krissa.
He tried to weigh things in his mushy mind, tried to make sense of it. He couldn’t help the thought that if Krissa knew about Derek and Lauren, she’d leave Derek. She could be his. His alone.
Hope and excitement leaped in him at the thought.
He loved her. He wanted to be with her, always. If she knew Derek was screwing around on her, she’d leave him. They could be together, just the two of them. Fuck Derek.
He turned that possibility over and over in his mind for long, pleasurable moments.
Then he faced reality. She was married. She loved her husband. She and Derek had survived the last two years without her knowing. They could probably spend the rest of their lives together without him ever having to confess what he’d done. And if she never knew…it wouldn’t hurt her.
How could he be the one to tell her Derek was a lying, cheating asshole?
He stared at a boat, way out near the horizon. It bobbed on the water, seemingly unmoving. He watched it. Measured its progress against one of the oil rigs. Yes. It was moving. Slowly, but it was moving. He stared at it until it had moved a considerable distance.
Clouds raced past the sun, shifting him from light to dark and back to light again. He idly noted that even when the sun came out it didn’t hurt his eyes. Great.
He should be ecstatic. He was finally getting what he wanted ever since he’d gotten sick in Costa Rica. Ever since he’d arrive in Montecito, he’d wanted his eyes to get better so he could leave and get on with his life. His miserable, lonely life.
He blew out a long breath, still amazed at the pain deep inside him, the empty crater that was his gut.
He had to leave.
He sat there a while longer, wishing he could think of some other way. He couldn’t tell Krissa, and there was no way he could stay there with the two of them in this cozy threesome with the loathing and disgust he now felt toward Derek. He could never pull that off.
What about the baby?
Did he still want to do that? Of course, it might be too late. She could already be pregnant. He closed his eyes, mouth as dry as if he’d picked up a handful of sand and swallowed it. After last month, he didn’t have as much hope that they’d been successful this time. Likely not. His only chance at being a father had probably died in that freeway crash two years ago.
He put a hand to his chest. Fuck, it hurt. Why did it hurt so much, now, thinking about that? Thinking about Lauren and their baby. About her betrayal. And now…finding out his best friend had done something so heinous—cheated on his own wife, with Nate’s wife, betraying both of them. Jesus.
He heaved himself off the rock, feeling heavy and stiff, and headed back to the house with jerky, uneven steps. He stopped to look down at some seaweed washed ashore, a tangled black mess, complicated and impossible to unravel without breaking it up.
He climbed the stairs to the house on shaky legs. Derek still sat on the deck. Nate paused, shot him a glance, his heart constricting. Then he continued into the house, through the sliding doors. Krissa stood in the kitchen, doing something with some food at the counter. He ignored her, didn’t want to see her, didn’t want her to see him, and headed straight up to his room and shut the door.
He hadn’t even unpacked the bag he’d taken to L.A., but he had other clothes in the closet, in the dresser. He shoved clothing into another bag, not caring how he packed. He balled up a pair of jeans and stuffed them in, then strode into his bathroom to gather his toiletries. He stared at himself in the mirror, for once not wearing the damn ugly glasses. He looked…naked without them. Vulnerable. Pain and betrayal stared back at him.
When his gear was packed, he dragged it out into the kitchen. Krissa was setting the table for dinner, wearing a pair of long shorts that made her calves below their hems look adorably small and smooth, and a long-sleeved hooded sweater. She looked up at him and smiled, and the sweetness and love in that smile sucked all the air out of his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He stopped.
He watched her face cloud as she took in his bags, her smile faltering.
Derek came to the sliding door and opened it, stepped in. He, too, looked pale and strained as he observed Nate’s stuff.
“I have to go.” Nate’s voice sounded weird to him, rough and sandy. He struggled for control of his raging emotions. He took a step toward Krissa, stopped. He forced a smile. “My eyes are almost better, so I have to get back to work.”
He watched expressions flicker across her face—her lips parted, she blinked at him.
“Now? You’re leaving right now?”
His whole body tightened. He wasn’t even sure if he could get the word out past the obstruction in his throat. “Yeah.”
Her mouth opened wider along with her eyes. “I don’t understand. Why do you have to go tonight?”
“I…” He resisted glancing at Derek. His lips twisted into what he hoped was a smile. “Sorry for the short notice, Krissa. I’ve been thinking about it all the way back from L.A.”
“No.” She pressed her lips together. She glanced at Derek, then back at Nate. She shook her head, moved toward him, one hand extended. God, if she touched him he was going to come apart. He saw the confusion and pain in her eyes, and it sliced through him like a blade. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered.
“I know this changes the whole baby plan,” Nate said, striving for lightness in his voice. “I’m sorry about that.”
She stared at him, green eyes huge and dusky. Long dark lashes framed her eyes, giving her a starry-eyed look. She still moved her head slowly from side to side. “But…but, Nate. We…” Her gaze went to her husband again.
“I’m sorry,” Nate choked.
He could see her trembling. He could feel her distress. He sensed how she wanted to beg, plead…even argue with him. And damn it, hadn’t he been encouraging her to fight for what she wanted? But not now. If she tried to stop him from leaving, he’d fall apart.
He wanted to kiss her goodbye. Hold her one more time. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to ever let her go, if he did. But he had to feel her one last time, so he closed the distance between them, took her in his arms and wrapped her up in them. He held her small frame like that, pressed his face to her cool, silky hair, inhaled the scent of the peachy shampoo she used that would be forever imprinted in his olfactory memory as Krissa.
He opened his eyes, met Derek’s, saw pain there too. Good.
He drew back, tipped Krissa’s face up. Oh, Christ.
The anguish in her tear-sparkled green eyes cut into him, all the way to his soul, the deepest, most searing agony he’d ever experienced. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he bent his head to kiss her mouth, one lingering, gentle kiss. Then he released her, and stepped back to get his bags. His eyes burned and he lowered his head so Krissa wouldn’t see.
“Thanks for everything,” he choked out. “I…” He didn’t know what else to say. He’d said he was sorry, although she had no idea how sorry he was. He couldn’t tell her what the last few months had meant to him, what she meant to him…couldn’t say any of the things that spun around in his head. So, knowing he looked like an ungrateful jerk, he grabbed his gear and walked out the door.
It was the baby. That’s why she was so upset about him leaving. Because, one more time, he was taking away her chance at being a mother. Another knife stabbed into his chest.
He had to get out of there before he completely fell apart. He was unraveling, little by little, faster and faster. He’d felt this way since the first night he and Krista had had sex. The coming apart had started then, inexorably rolling along like a ball of string down a hill. All he could think of was getting away from there, maybe finding a motel room somewhere and checking in, and then disintegrating into a puddle of grief where nobody could witness his humiliation.