Honey Red (26 page)

Later she laid awake, listening to Ian’s soft snore, realizing that Nick was tossing and turning, tussling with a nightmare. She touched his face, saw his jaw clench and drew her hand back, remembering the story of that night when he woke and nearly beat Ian to a pulp in his sleep. But he calmed as she ran her finger down his cheek. Her skin was raw, her lips hurt, and she felt like she’d just had a killer workout. But at this moment, nestled between the two men she would claim to love, she had never felt more complete. She propped herself on her elbow, watching Nick struggle through the dream. 

She brushed her fingertip over the small globe and eagle Semper Fi tattoo on his bicep. He flinched from her touch, then sighed and rolled over, away from her, muttering about “Dan,” and “fire.” Then he seemed to settle. But now she was wide awake. So she wandered out to the kitchen for some water, leaning on the sink, pondering how she’d landed herself in this particular bizarre situation. She’d never been more physically fulfilled in her life—couldn’t even fathom how it could be better on that front. She sighed, pulled her hair up in a ponytail, trying to pinpoint what was bugging her, how to quell the near constant ache she’d developed deep in her chest whenever she wasn’t with them.

“Hey,” Nick’s voice behind her made her jump and turn, her hand to her throat.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he sat, Brutus at his side, snuffling around until Hannah started patting him. “Damn dog. Such an attention whore.” But he smiled at her, before putting his head down on the table.

“What’s wrong?” She rubbed his shoulders. “Nick?” He sat up, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Headache? Need a pain killer?”

“I miss him. So much,” he muttered, running a hand across his face. He had gotten comfortable not wearing his sunglasses at home, around her and Ian. She touched the burn marks around his eyes trying to soothe away the stress on his face.

“Miss who, honey?” Her heart pounded. Finally, she could get his whole story—maybe.

“Dan.” He said simply. His shoulders shook, but no tears fell. She touched his face again, and he gripped her hand, held on as if his life depended on it. “I miss him every fucking day of my life.”

“Tell me about him.”

“We were together for nearly two years. And I loved him. I was rotating home, finally. He had another year, maybe two. But we were…shit.” He put his head back down on the table. Hannah stood behind him, kept massaging his neck, shoulders, and arms.

“Tell me more.” She whispered in his ear. Something about this moment felt like exactly what she needed to get her head around Nick as a partner.

“He was smart, scary smart. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall, even taller than Ian. A young innocent guy from Ohio. An only kid. Barely eighteen years old. He wanted to….” Nick’s voice broke.

Hannah sensed tears pressing against her eyes. She kissed his rough cheek. “Go on.” She said, threading her fingers in his hair, frightened by the depth of emotion rolling up from her gut.

“He wanted to open a bakery. His parents were chefs. They…they accepted him. Mine didn’t. My father kicked my gay self out of the house and told me I was not welcome anymore.”

“When?” Her heart was ripping in two at the thought of him, alone.

“Junior year of college. About the time I managed to get seduced by a married male professor who popped my cherry and made me fall in love with him, or so I thought.” He took a long breath.  “I’m not mad at him anymore. It was…all it needed to be. But I just dropped out after that and joined up. Made it through basic and got assigned in Counter Intel. I’m a computer magician, it seems.” He sat up, pulled her into his lap. She went, loving his words, his lips, his smell.

“Tell me more about Dan,” she whispered into his neck.

“He loved books. Would read out loud to me—Hemmingway, Faulkner, Salinger, King, all of it. I loved the sound of his voice. It was musical.” He ran a hand down her neck then lower, cupping her breast. “He played soccer in high school. We used to play together, when we got bored. It was a great excuse to have contact. God, it was terrifying. We tried so hard not to get caught. But I loved him and we were going to be together, forever.”

She stood up, got them both a glass of water. He gulped his down. His face was tense. “I was not supposed to be there that week. On that fucking stupid convoy. But I went because Dan was going, and he said he wanted my help. We were headed into some god forsaken city that had been identified as a potential terrorist nest but abandoned. They’d left behind something like twenty computers, a giant hard drive. Shit that required our expertise. So, I went.” He sighed. But Hannah stayed silent, leaning into his shoulder, the deep rumble of his voice in her ear. “Straight into a fucking trap. We drove a dozen very smart Marines directly into it. And I was one of three who lived,” he put his forehead to her shoulder. “I can’t stand myself most days. That I lived. You know? Even though I’m ruined, can never have a normal life again, thanks to the attack. But honestly I didn’t care. I wanted to die with Dan.”

She put her hand to his cheek, brushed his hair off his forehead. “I’m glad you didn’t die, Nicholas,” she said, pressing her lips to his, tracing their outline with her tongue. “So very glad,” she shed the robe she’d been wearing and straddled him. Her need to comfort, to fix, to make him smile again nearly overpowered her.

“I’m not so sure,” he said as he settled his hands on her waist his face still pensive, distracted. “I held him. Heard his last words. It was the worst thing…ever….” He hesitated. “Although this has been pretty amazing, and not something I ever thought I’d want. Now, somehow, I feel guilty; like I shouldn’t be allowed anything this…wonderful, ever again.”

“I know what I want,” she whispered in his ear, never more sure of anything in her life.

Nick held onto her, his head still pounding with the residual nightmare and the confession session. He smelled her arousal, sweet, heavy, sexy, just like he had first identified it—like thick honey but with an undercurrent of something new, something that made his libido roar and his heart pound with need. She kissed him, traced his lips with her tongue, whispered to him. And he tried very hard to dispel the images of Dan from his head.

“It’s like, if you’re going to be blind, it’s better you start out that way. So there’s no memory of sight.” She held him close as he spoke, her breasts against him, her warm welcoming sex on his as he kept talking. “I remember Ian. I saw him. But I never got to see you. And I hate that.”

“Here,” she put his hands on her breasts then moved them up her arms, tangled them in her hair. “You can see me this way. I want you too, so much,” she sighed into his skin, making him shiver.

He gripped her hard. “Hannah,” he pressed his face to her neck, sucking in huge breaths of her amazing scent.

“Shh,” she said, shifting slightly against his now painfully hard cock. “It’s okay.”

His hands roamed all over her, his lips slid down her neck, nestled into her breasts as he gripped her ass. “God, I need to be inside you. Is it…okay?”

Hannah smiled into his hair. Ian had been so insistent on the condom thing. He was crazed about it, but Nick had been stubborn. He liked to feel Hannah without the latex. So they’d had physicals and tests, proven their health and Hannah had gotten a diaphragm because the Pill gave her migraines. At that moment, something in him reared up with a need so powerful it terrified and compelled him all at once. It was beyond a compulsion for release. It was more elemental than that. She wrapped her arms around his neck, found his lips.

“It’s fine,” she said, angling her hips and allowing him to penetrate her, stretch her, forcing a moan of pleasure from her lips. “Yes,” she hissed, grinding down on him. “Please. Nick, I need you.”

“Hannah, Jesus,” he sighed, thrusting high, gripping her hips and seeking her lips. “We can’t.”

Nick was on fire. This whole thing was insane. She made him mad with lust, made him want to fuck her into oblivion then hold her all night long. A woman—who would have guessed? She rolled her hips, gripped him hard, clutched his face and kissed him again. He got lost in her, her scent, her flesh, and something gut deep and primal pulled at him. He stood, sweeping anything that might be in the way on the table to the floor and dropped her onto it. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he dove into her with his cock, into her mouth with his tongue. He was not just blind, he was deaf and dumb to everything but her.

 “Nick!” she cried out, arching up. He caught her nipple in his mouth, sucked hard and went with her over the orgasmic edge. They cried out, he went up on his toes and pounded into her, filling her, as she clutched at him, her body seeming to hold him even deeper than usual. His entire self connected with hers, the act taking on purpose with pleasure.

They kissed, calmed, and he pulled her up. “Wow,” he sighed, edging towards the blessed rest he always got post orgasm. “Take me to bed you minx before I fall asleep on the kitchen floor.”

He heard her then, the hitch in her breath, the distinct sob she was holding back to prove how tough she was. He put his palm against her face. “I love what you’ve done to me, for me, and with me.”

She nodded, her tears wetting his fingers.

“Jesus, you two,” Ian’s scratchy voice behind them made him jump. “Nice show. Thanks. Now, let’s get some fucking sleep, okay?”

Ian took his hand and pulled him to the bed. He slept, finally, dreamless for hours.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The next morning Ian rolled over, draped his arm over Nick’s hip and sighed as his brain prodded him awake at the usual ungodly hour of five a.m. He kissed the man’s neck, sat up and saw Hannah curled into Nick’s other side. He smiled, wondering how in the hell he got this lucky. Even when he caught them fucking on the kitchen table last night all he got was a warm, tingly feeling instead of any kind of possessive jealousy that might seem more obvious. He stretched, and sat, thinking through the day. He needed to get Jamie from Gavin and Alyssa’s and he had promised to take all the kids to a movie tonight—trading out for keeping his son last night. A worthwhile swap, he mused, as he stood and stared at Nick’s bare torso, rising and falling in a calm sleep. Besides, now that Gavin’s boys had received and accepted the presence of Alyssa in their lives they were much calmer, less demanding and more fun to be around.

He jumped in the shower and let the pounding hot water bring him more fully awake as he mentally flipped through his to-do list. He needed to check in at the brewery on some of the projects they had going for judging at this year’s National Beer Fest in Colorado. He felt like they had a lock on a couple of categories but his natural inclination was to baby the brews along, checking on them day and night. He toweled off, threw on some fresh clothes and wandered into the kitchen, shaking his head at the mess Hannah and Nick had made when they decided to screw around on the table.

He cleaned up the floor, and rooted through Nick’s pantry for ingredients to make pancakes. After assembling everything in a big bowl, he set the griddle on high and sipped some coffee. He loved the quiet order of a morning kitchen. His mother had imposed that on him, with her insistence on a sit-down breakfast every day of his life until he left for college. He and Gavin had never had the same one twice in a row, between fresh blueberry pancakes, omelets, homemade biscuits, muffins, the works. “Start the day right,” she’d say, kissing their father good bye at the door. When the day arrived that the man did not come home from his job at the insurance company, disappearing with the secretary and about ten thousand of the company dollars, Moira had set her lips in a thin line and coped, like she always did and always with a belly full of breakfast.

“Smells good in here,” Hannah leaned in the doorway, hair all over the place, wrapped in her soft robe. He pointed to the coffee maker.

“Yeah, help yourself. These will be ready soon.”

She poured a cup, set it down and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. Ian felt his heart pound a little faster. “Just sex.” That was the arrangement and he, for one, had originally hoped to keep it that way. Although in the last week or so, the simple domesticity of their time together had felt even more comfortable. He would not admit it to anyone, but if there were a way to wake up every day like this, together, as three, he wouldn’t reject it.

Utterly impossible, Donovan. Get a grip. What the hell do you tell your son? “Hey, uh, Jamie, here’s your new mom…and Uncle Nick sleeps in dad’s bed, too. Okay?”