Crossing the Lines (21 page)

“Happy birthday, Henry.” Jay’s voice, followed by the soft sounds of lips sliding over each other.

“Thank you, my boy. You did a wonderful job presenting your gift.” Henry cupped the back of her head, tipping her forward and bestowing a gentle kiss. Musky, masculine contentment flavored the air between them.

“Would’ve done it sooner.”

A long, slow sigh from Jay—no, maybe a yawn. Opening her eyes wasn’t worth the trouble, not when sleep called her name and Henry’s scent filled her nose.

“But you wouldn’t let me.”

Wouldn’t let Jay what?

“Some things take time, sweet boy. We mustn’t rush them.”

Slow and steady.
S’why Henry wins all the races.

* * * *

She woke to warmth and wetness at her breast.

Moonlight filtering through the shades illuminated the sheet draped over her body and the outline of a head beneath. The sleeping man sprawled to her left proved more enlightening. For once, Jay wasn’t the one with the breast fixation.

She shifted her legs, restless, and hummed quiet encouragement to Henry. He stroked her inner thighs, his fingers long and firm. The extent of her body’s arousal became clear with a pulsing thump and a wet rush.

Henry probably could’ve slipped in with ease minutes ago. A good dream. But now she was awake, and wanting.

She reached unthinkingly beneath the sheets, sliding fingers through his hair and tugging.

And he moved. The sheet fell back as his shoulders lifted and his face emerged over her own. He bucked once, aligning their bodies. She’d given his cock an eager welcome, her legs folding and wrapping around his, before the presence of protection registered.

He must’ve put the condom on as she slept. He’d intended his mouth at her breast to wake her. He’d been waiting on her, arousing her in both senses of the word.

“Nice and relaxed, Alice.” He nuzzled her face, pressing gentle kisses against the corners of her mouth. “Slow, my sweet girl. These last seven months have been your birthday gift to me this year.”

He could’ve demanded something for his birthday. Breakfast in bed. A blowjob.

“You’ve given yourself over to my tutelage again. We may have left the museum behind, but the delights are no less artistic this year, dearest.”

Something centered on his pleasure. Every last one of her previous partners would’ve. Not Henry. No, he lay with his cock unmoving inside her and kissed her.

He pinned her arms in a frame around her head, elbows out, but gently. He gripped her wrists, but his index fingers stroked her palms.

He scared her with how easy he made this seem. How quickly, now, she called up the emotional bond between them, as if their fucking deserved parity with the lovemaking he and Jay enjoyed.

The fear hit her especially when he took her this way, eyes staring into hers and cock thrusting with deliberate slowness. When he increased the pace steadily and kissed her with patient attention. When he murmured in her ear of how her body tightened around him and her muscles tensed beneath him.

When she couldn’t stop his name from spilling out as she came, quaking under his body, and he whispered endearments and encouragement that brought her there again before their hips slowed and stopped.

She’d fallen in over her head. Sex had never held this kind of meaning in her life. Never been so attached to a specific person or feeling. Sex had been the expected thing, a sometimes fun, sometimes frustrating way to kill an hour. But not the way Henry did it.

Maybe his skills weren’t what made the sex amazing. Or not only his skills. If the emotion played a role, too, could she duplicate that with another lover? Or could she only get that from Henry?

He kissed her forehead and thanked her for providing him with a lovely birthday memory. Her body warmed to his praise.

Discarding the condom, he rolled her onto his chest and pulled the sheets around them. He spoke of his plans for the morning, of the birthday breakfast he’d make after they woke Jay and showered. She lay content to enjoy the fantasy, to imagine this life, one in which she kinda sorta wanted something she’d never wanted, and with not one but two partners.

Love.

She almost asked him about the intense emotions. The confusion twisting her thoughts.

But he’d told her that was normal. At the beginning, he’d warned her confusion could happen in this sort of arrangement. Going to him with it, she’d dig herself in deeper. Play codependent girlfriend instead of a trusted friend who appreciated the nuances of what they had together.

She needed to depend on them less, not more.

Her sister’s voice whispered in the back of her head, a remnant from their most recent talk.
I’m not saying you’re not having a good time, Allie. I’m just saying where’s the future here? They have each other. Don’t you want that, too? You gotta go out and look for it.

8

About the time someone ordered a fourth round of drinks, Alice decided she should’ve gone home after dinner the way the family-having members of the team had done.

They had spouses and kids waiting. No one had thought it odd that they’d skip out after the celebratory supper their team leader insisted on buying them all for their elegant solution to a thorny design problem. Happy client, happy company.

Their eight-person engineering design pod, minus the two who’d gone home, stumbled far along the road to sloppy drunk, with a free Friday off to boot.

Partying should’ve been fun after eight months without a single night out. Not because she couldn’t, but because she
couldn’t
.

Awkward discomfort had held her back. The whiff of betrayal. Cheating. She didn’t need another guy to satisfy her. Hell, she was more sexually satisfied now, with Henry and Jay, than she’d been in her entire life.

So why bother sitting at a table with five coworkers—five male coworkers, because she was the only woman on her team—at quarter to eleven on a Thursday night throwing back Black Castles and Black Barrels and black-fucking-anything because the guys loved their Guinness?

Beer made her horny and maudlin, a bad combination for sure. But having her at the table meant the guys claimed more numbers mastered than an MIT grad reciting pi, and they didn’t want her to leave yet.

She served as bait. A statement that at least four guys at the table were unattached, but friendly enough and not so rowdy that a single girl couldn’t feel safe. Nice guys. The kind of guys girls gave their numbers to or gyrated with on the dance floor or took home and fucked, depending on their own rules about sex and romance.

Right now, she wanted to go home and get fucked.

Thursday. Fuck.

Tomorrow she’d be in Henry’s hands. A guaranteed good time. She pressed her legs together under the table. Waiting until tomorrow might be optimistic.

Her coworkers wandered off to dance and flirt or step outside and acquaint the gutters with their stomach contents. Had she been less drunk, she’d have chased off the newcomer.

As it was, he claimed the chair next to her with quiet stealth. She raised her half-filled glass in a salute. Round six. Maybe. Counting had gotten harder.

“You’re not dancing.” He leaned in as though he knew her.

Or wanted to know her. She laughed.

“That’s funny? I’m a comedian, sure, but it usually takes some warm-up work before I get the ladies laughing. I’m Scott. Since you’ve already got a drink and you’re lacking a partner, you wanna take a spin on the floor?”

His slick patter failed beside Jay’s charm and Henry’s elegance. Comparing every guy she met to them was probably inappropriate.

They didn’t own her. They didn’t want to own her. They wanted to fuck her. Sometimes. Not tonight, though.

She slugged back the rest of her beer. She didn’t want to wake up in a strange bed. Just Henry’s.

“Thanks, but I’m seeing someone.” Okay, two
someones. Whom she wasn’t exactly seeing at all. She had two friends. Every other Friday, she fucked them.

Allowed herself to be fucked, mostly. Because even if she wasn’t perfectly submissive, she hadn’t taken a dominant role, either, which suited her fine so long as Henry anticipated her needs. He’d probably intuit when she wanted to be more active.

“I’m not seeing anyone with you now.” The stranger flashed a charming smile.

She couldn’t tell this guy any of that. It was private. Not because she was ashamed, but because talking about her relationship with Henry and Jay meant
talking
about her relationship. With Henry and Jay. To define it beyond the boundaries of her contract and rock the boat. She liked the ride the way it was, thank-you-very-much.

“You sure you don’t want to dance?”

She pretended Jay sat here with her, playing a new game for Henry, who watched them from across the room.

“I do, actually.” She stood. “Let’s dance.”

She led him to the floor. The fast music meant she didn’t have to touch his sweaty hand or the rest of him for long. Not skin to skin, at least. Their bodies brushed often.

Turning her back to him made it better. Easier. Let her pretend.

He crowded her more with each song. Warning bells played a tune smothered by alcohol and wishful thinking. She gave off the wrong—right—
wrong
—signals. His hand rested on her hip after the first song. His breath warmed her neck after the second.

The tables near the second-floor railing teased her after the third, promising a man who wasn’t present, the one she wanted watching her. She closed her eyes through the fourth song and said nothing when the hand at her hip curved around her, splaying out over her stomach.

Mmm, Jay.

He’d go for her breasts next. He loved to play with them. In his hands, in his mouth. Henry, in a playful mood, might duck his head and suck on a stiffened nipple. He’d tug at her until the world narrowed to nothing but slick, throbbing skin and the aching need between her legs.

The body behind her shifted closer, the firm ridge of a denim-covered erection grazing her back above the curve of her ass.

A voice whispered in her ear. “You wanna get outta here?”

Oh, fuck.

She stumbled forward, out of the embrace. That wasn’t Jay’s voice, and it wasn’t Henry’s voice, and she’d been practically fucking a stranger on the dance floor.

“I can’t—I’m late—he’s waiting for me at home.” She turned, flashing an insincere smile. Best stick with the lie, get the fuck out and go the hell home alone. “Sorry. Like I said, I’m seeing someone.”

“Someone who lets you go out and rub up against other guys for fun? He sounds like a real catch. Whatever.” Face hard, the guy stalked toward the hall to the bathrooms. “Fucking cocktease.”

Her heart hammered. That could’ve gone way worse.
You are so fucking lucky, Alice Elizabeth Colvin.

She called for a cab and grabbed her coat from the check girl on her way out the door, standing in the circle of light near the club’s doorman until her ride showed. It was fucking freezing, cold enough that her breath formed fog in front of her. The temperature shock after the heat of the club gave her a headache. It’d get worse when alcohol dehydration set in.

Fifteen minutes later, she stood outside her door. Her key ring carried two house keys, and one would open the door across the hall. Even at one in the morning. Even eighteen hours before her…appointment.

That’s all it was to him, wasn’t it? Satisfying sex, but no more than that. He didn’t want to intrude on her relationships. He’d said so. Made it clear in their contract. She could’ve gone home with whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was, and it wouldn’t have meant shit to Henry.

Her key was for emergencies only. Friend emergencies. It wasn’t a license to walk in and slide into bed with Henry and maybe Jay as well, because who knew where he slept? Not her, not on nights she wasn’t there. Maybe he slept in Henry’s bed every night and kept his own chaotic bedroom as a formality and dumping ground. God. She wanted to know so badly. Wanted the right to know.

The mocking key ring didn’t offer any answers. She laid her forehead against her door.
Work it out, Alice.