I roll onto my side, hugging a pillow to my chest. It’s time I got used to this new life. One in which I sleep alone. In which my husband is more of a roommate than a spouse. I have to accept that despite this spark that sometimes charges between us, I’m never going to have his heart.
8
ASH
Iwatch Hannah disappear into the bedroom, my body still buzzing with desire from earlier.
Fuck. I shouldn't have touched her at the house, shouldn't have let my hand slide up her dress. But wondering if she followed her friends’ suggestion about not wearing panties, along with her fierce attitude, standing up to me, demanding respect, it did something to me. Something I had no control over.
The couch beckons, a safer option than joining her in that bed. I grab a pillow and blanket from the closet, trying not to picture her getting ready for sleep. Is she wearing another of those flimsy nightgowns? The thought alone makes my cock twitch.
“Fucking hell," I mutter, punching the pillow into shape.
I stretch out on the couch, but sleep is impossible. My mind keeps replaying moments from today. Her eyes lighting up as she explored the house, her passionate declaration that she won't be disrespected, the soft curve of her ass under my palm…
Ugh. I roll onto my side, facing the back of the couch. This marriage was supposed to be simple. A business arrangement.Get the O'Donnell soldiers, take down the Keans, avenge Meghan. Hannah wasn't supposed to be so… alive. So alluring.
Every time I give in to touching her, kissing her, it feels like betrayal. Not just to Meghan's memory, but to Hannah too. She deserves better than a man haunted by ghosts, obsessed with revenge. But my body doesn't seem to care about what's right. One flash of those green eyes, one defiant tilt of her chin, and I'm gone.
I have to hold fast because once I cross that line, there's no going back. And I can't afford distractions, not when I'm so close to making the Keans pay. That’s what I need to focus on.
Of course, my mind has other ideas as the memory of Hannah's words about not wearing panties flits back. My cock hardens instantly. I shift again, trying to find a comfortable position, but it's useless. The image of her walking around the house without underwear, her dress swishing against bare skin… I groan, palming myself through my pants.
This is wrong. I shouldn't be thinking about her like this. About lifting that dress, sliding my hands up her thighs to find nothing but soft, warm skin. If the real estate agent hadn’t walked in, I’d have likely discovered whether she had panties on or not, and then I’d have fucked her then and there.
How can I control this insatiable need? Maybe I need to stroke one off. It’s not like I haven’t done it before. All I need to do is think about Meghan.
I roll onto my back, unzipping my pants and pulling up a memory of Meghan. The way she used to look at me with complete love and trust. The curve of her neck. The softness of her lips.
I stroke my dick, settling back into the memory of touching Meghan. Tension rises. I look into her face, but it’s Hannah's defiant green eyes that stare back. The flash of heat in her gazewhen I touched her. The slight parting of her lips before I kissed her.
I give my head a shake and stroke myself harder, trying to focus on memories of Meghan. She had a soft body. Perky tits. A sweet, wet pussy.
One friend suggested I could just skip wearing underwear.
Immediately, I’m back in the bathroom, my hand up Hannah’s dress, my fingers finding her pussy, and my dick throbs.
Guilt wars with burning need. What is this control she has over me? What kind of man am I, getting off to thoughts of Hannah while still mourning another woman?
I grab my phone, pulling up an old photo of Meghan. Her sweet smile. Her gentle nature. Everything I should want instead of this defiant, passionate creature who's invaded my life.
But even Meghan's image can't drive away thoughts of Hannah. Of her bare skin under that dress. Of her bold challenge in the bedroom today.
I try, I really do, to keep Meghan’s image in mind. But Meghan's photo blurs into Hannah. How her dress clung to her curves as she walked ahead of me through the house. The fire in her eyes when she told me she wouldn't be made a fool.
My hand moves faster as I remember her pressed against me in that bedroom, her body soft and yielding despite her fierce words. The slight gasp she made when I grabbed her ass. The way her pupils dilated with desire.
The guilt is there, but I can't stop, can't fight the images flooding my mind. Hannah sprawled across the bed, that red hair fanned out like flames. Her pale skin flushed with need. Those green eyes challenging me, daring me to take what she's offering. The thought of spreading her thighs, finding her wet and ready…
My breath catches. I should stop, but Hannah's taken over my mind completely now. The fantasy shifts to her straddling me on this couch, wearing one of those damn nightgowns. Her hands exploring my chest, her hips grinding against mine. Taking what she wants because that's who she is, bold and fearless and so fucking alive it hurts to look at her.
"Hannah," I groan, pleasure building as I imagine her riding me, those green eyes locked on mine. My balls contract, and on the next stroke, my cum flows hot and sticky on my chest, over my hand. As expected, the guilt is nearly all-consuming. But I can't deny the truth anymore. Hannah's gotten under my skin.
I clean myself up with shaking hands, disgust and shame rampant. For the first time since Meghan died, I didn't think of her when I came. It was Hannah's face, Hannah's body, Hannah's voice that pushed me over the edge.
The photo of Meghan still glows on my phone screen, her innocent smile now an accusation. I shut it off, unable to face her. Ten years I've stayed faithful to her memory, channeled all my energy into avenging her death. Not to say I haven’t fucked since then, but they were faceless strangers. I felt nothing but the pop of orgasm.
Now one redheaded spitfire walks into my life and I'm jerking off like a teenager, betraying everything I promised Meghan. Would she think I was cheating? That I was weak? Or is Phoenix right? Would she want me to move on and be happy?
