I half closed my eyes, gravity—or my lust-drunk heart—pulling me closer to him, still clutching the yogurt, preparing for my world to be laid to ruin.
But he didn’t kiss me. He let out what could be defined as a sigh but was so much more violent than that.
When that powerful sound broke the moment, he didn’t rear back or close off. He rested his forehead against mine, wrapping me in his presence, his scent, the warmth of his breath. I stayed frozen for the scant moment he lingered there, unspoken needs, wants, and regrets passing through us.
Then he stepped back. But he took me with him, his palm flat on my back.
“Fuck, Hannah,” he hissed as he began rubbing my back. “You’re freezing. I’m so fucking sorry. I just…” He stepped back, dragging a hand down his face.
“You just…?” I questioned, not feeling any chill, solely the burn of his touch.
When he lifted his head, my nipples pebbled in need at his blown pupils, the tightness to his mouth and shoulders, the dark desire coating him.
“Daddy!” Clara exclaimed.
We both jumped at the small person who had entered the kitchen with us being far too deep in … whatever this was, to notice.
My desire was doused with ice.
And Beau’s form instantly transformed. His features softened, mouth turned up, posture relaxed, giving his daughter his full attention.
“Yeah, baby?” He crouched down on his knees to sweep back her hair.
And then the moment was gone. We were back in our defined roles. Father. Nanny. Separate.
BEAU
I was fucked.
Not in the way I wanted to be. I hadn’t known blue balls could be this bad. After I divorced Naomi, I’d thrown myself into being a father, had a one-night stand here and there, but then, when Clara was diagnosed, my needs disappeared overnight.
I didn’t miss sex. I’d turned that part of myself off. Without difficulty.
Then came Hannah.
My iron-clad control shredded into tatters the moment she walked into my house. But I managed to hold it together. Until the fucking night everything changed. The night I let my beast out of the cage and changed everything between us. I told her some of the things I wanted to do to her. Not even half the things. If I had told her all the things I wanted to do to her, I’d scare her away. I scared myself.
I wanted to claim her. Own her. Fill her up with my cum until she couldn’t walk without it dripping down her thighs. I wantedher on her knees, choking on my cock. I wanted my face between her legs, devouring her pussy until she begged me to stop. No, I didn’t say all the things, but I did say the things that had driven me crazy.
And her eyes had lit up, face flushed, pert nipples pushing through the flimsy fabric of her shirt.
She was sin embodied. Nirvana encased in a tight little package.
Clara was the only thing holding me back. Barely. I’d told myself the best way was to go back to my indifferent cruelty. But I couldn’t do that. Not to Hannah. Not anymore. It was a crime against nature. My body was unwilling to cause anything but looks of want or happiness on her face.
I only wished I could gaze upon it after I’d fucked her and satisfied her so thoroughly she could barely speak.
“Whoa, what did that grill ever do to you?” Elliot asked from behind me.
I didn’t turn to look at my fucking perpetually cheerful brother.
It seemed to come so easy to him. Happiness. The concept had always been so abstract to me. Until I held seven pounds, eleven ounces of pure happiness in my arms.
Not that being a parent was as simple as being happy. It was exhausting, complex, a total mindfuck. That wasbeforethe diagnosis.
I should’ve been happy. With Clara close to being in remission, a full life ahead of her. I was ablaze with it whenever I laid eyes on her, but it was like holding on to smoke. Happiness was not my natural state.
It was my brother’s.
