Danny
Danny
Margo Anne Rhea
Danny
Copyright © 2013, Margo Anne Rhea
All rights reserved. Ebooks are not transferable.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
system without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Tricia Kristufek
Cover Art by Suzannah Safi
Book design by Ashley Christman
Publisher’s Note:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.
First Entranced Publishing, LLC electronic
publication: 2013
Entranced Publishing, LLC
Minneapolis, Minnesota, United States of America
www.entrancedpublishing.com
Paige Warren is sure she’s come to terms with her
impending divorce, until she wakes up in bed with her soon-to-be
ex, Danny. Worse yet, the bed belongs to Stacey, the sexual
surrogate Paige and Danny have been sleeping with for months -- and
Stacey’s not there.
As much as Paige tries to deny it, she soon realizes
she’s still in love with Danny. Now she’s torn between him and the
woman who holds them together. Should she risk hurting Stacey to
rekindle a monogamous relationship with the man she once thought
she’d spend the rest of her life with, or should she learn from
past experience?
Danny is a sensual, erotic novella following one
woman’s struggle between a love she thought was over and a
relationship that’s barely begun.
THE MORNING I REALIZED
I still had feelings for Danny was a rainy,
gloomy one. Just like all those lazy, stormy Saturdays he and I
used to spend in bed together--before Stacey. A hand slid up my
thigh, pulling me from sleep. I stretched into the caress, reaching
out for her. My muscles ached with that well-used, morning-after
feeling. How like Stacey to wake up wanting more.
I crawled sleepy fingers across linen until I felt
warmth, smooth skin, a hipbone. Goose bumps rose under my hand, and
I traveled north for more fun. The corners of my lips turned up in
a smile as I anticipated cupping Stacey’s full breast, her taut
nipple tickling my palm.
But instead I was fondling a very flat, very male
chest. I’d like to say I shot off the bed faster than I’d ever
moved before. But I didn’t. Instead, I lingered, breathing in time
to his heartbeat. I would know that cadence anywhere. I’d laid my
head on that chest and listened to that heart beat a million times
before, but I pried my eyes open and focused on him, just to be
sure.
The sight that greeted me was all too familiar: lean
muscles; smooth, tan skin; dark, military hair. His square jaw
clenched tight, and his brown eyes narrowed in an unreadable
expression. Yep, I was in bed with my husband--my naked, estranged
husband. And our girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Stacey?” I whispered the words. Maybe I was
afraid I would spook him. Maybe I was afraid I’d spook myself. I
still hadn’t taken my hand back.
“Work, early.” The old Danny would have made sure I
knew when she’d left, when she would be back, and every detail in
between. Of course, the old Danny wouldn’t be married to one woman
and sleeping with another.
I sighed and reclaimed my hand; his was still on my
leg. Three years of marriage had been reduced to two-word sentences
and mistaken caresses. I slid to the edge of the bed, keeping the
ecru sheet stretched securely over my nudity. Danny traced my spine
with his fingertips as I turned my bare back to him and kicked my
legs over the edge of the bed.
He exhaled heavily. “Don’t go.” His voice was soft
and gravelly. I froze at the sound of it. “Paige, stay.” He tried
again, but all his entreaty did was spur me into motion.
My panties were on the floor by my feet, and I
wasted no time yanking the pink lace up my legs. The sheet slipped,
falling with a soft whoosh onto its fitted counterpart as I stood
to pull those panties into place. He moaned the second my ass was
covered.
I had no idea where the rest of my clothes were, but
I needed to get something on; Danny’s eyes were boring through me.
Grabbing the closest article of clothing, I slipped it over my
head, only to realize, just a moment too late, it was Danny’s
soccer shirt, the one he’d thrown on after showering last night. I
resisted the urge to raise the fabric to my nose and inhale deeply.
His scent had haunted me for too many nights after we split. I
would not get sucked into that again.
Turning to face him was my downfall. He’d flopped
onto his back and now surveyed me with his hands tucked behind his
head and confusion glimmering in his eyes. Uncovered from the navel
up, he was the picture of male seduction--all sinew and tanned
skinned, with rippled abs and a chiseled chest. He might as well
have been an incubus, prepared to entice me to my death. And I was
drinking in the sight of him, from the muscled torso to the
evidence of his arousal where it bunched the sheet into a peak just
below his waist. He didn’t try to hide it, and I didn’t try to look
away.
Danny dropped a hand onto his stomach and moved it
ever-so-slowly under the edge of the sheet. Memories flitted
through my mind, images of tracing that very path with my tongue,
of feeling corded muscles tense beneath my fingertips when I closed
my mouth around him. Warmth grew between my legs, and I shook my
head to dispel the images invading my brain. Just thinking about
sucking him made me wet.
I knew the exact moment he wrapped his hand around
himself. His eyes closed to half-mast, and his hips jerked in an
almost imperceptible movement. A minute later, he began a slow,
steady stroking. He was going to do it; he was actually going to
lay there and rub one out in front of me. And I was so tempted to
watch.
I needed to get out of there. Now.
I backed away, unable to take my eyes off him as I
shuffled across the cherry floor. The sheet shifted with every
languid movement of his arm. With only a few strokes, the sheet
slipped over his hips, coming dangerously close to exposing his
moving hand. But I didn’t let that stop my inch-by-inch retreat
toward the safety of the bathroom.
I was almost there, about to step over the threshold
onto the cold tile, when he spoke. “I think about you when I do
this, you know.”
Dear God, that was not what I needed to hear. Not
after six months of separation and whatever the hell we had going
on with Stacey. What would she think of this--would she consider it
cheating for me to watch Danny masturbate while she wasn’t
there?
“What about Stace?” The question was out of my mouth
before I could stop it, and I lurched backward, trying to get away
from the weight of it.
Danny’s arm stopped mid-stroke. His eyes widened and
then closed in an expression so shameful I half expected to see
tears when he opened them. “Fuck!” He didn’t open his eyes.
Instead, he threw his free arm over his face and released his grip
on his erection.
I darted into the bathroom and shut the door just a
little too hard. I leaned back against the wall and took a long
look at myself in the mirror. Reflected back at me was a woman
well-loved. My hair, which usually hung in sleek, blond waves, was
frizzy and tangled. Last night’s mascara was smudged under my eyes,
highlighting the gray-blue of my irises. My lips were puffy and
red, and was that stubble-burn on my cheek? I pressed two fingers
to the red area below my right eye, remembering Danny’s kisses.
Fuck was right. I’d been trying to deny it--ever
since the day I left him--but I still wanted Danny.
****
I emerged from the bathroom an hour later, freshly
showered and covered, neck to calf, in Stacey’s robe to find Danny
cooking something delicious. He’d at least thrown on some jeans,
but the sight of him standing with his back to me at the stove,
humming quietly while he fried bacon and eggs, reminded me so much
of our life before.
I wanted to walk up behind him and wrap my arms
around his bare waist, wanted to press my cheek against his back
and hug him tight. I went to the refrigerator for some O.J.
instead.
By the time I poured myself a glass and returned the
carton to the fridge, Danny had set a heaping pile of food on the
table next to my juice. He watched me until I sat and began eating,
then claimed the chair across from me and dug into his own plate.
We ate in silence, but I kept catching him looking at me when he
thought I wasn’t paying attention.
Our divorce would be final in just a few weeks. We
had finally gotten to a point in our separation that was
comfortable. We may not always have looked each other in the eye or
tried to make small talk, but through Stacey, we were
communicating, getting along even. Not to mention getting laid.
Now he had to go and mess things up. I didn’t want
to want him, didn’t want to be sitting there thinking about running
my hands and mouth all over his hard body, wrapping my fist around
his rigid cock, sucking him into my mouth. But I was stealing
glances of my own, taking in the sensual curve of his lips as he
licked them, or the way his eyes closed every time he took a
bite.
He cleared his throat to let me know he’d caught me
staring. “We should talk about what happened,” he told me, his
expression somber.
Talking about it was the last thing I wanted to do.
I nodded and shoved my last bite of egg into my mouth.
“I care about Stacey.”
Well, he was off to a great start. Of course he
cared about Stacey; we both cared about her. That was how we’d
ended up in this situation, but it still hurt to hear him say the
words. I feigned an intense interest in the yoke remnants on my
plate, drawing little designs with my fork.
“But I still care about you, too, Paige.”
My heart constricted. Dammit. Why now? “You’re about
six months too late.” My chair scraped the floor as I stood,
leaving my dishes on the table, and made for the bedroom. I threw
on one of Stacey’s sundresses and a clean pair of panties, praying
the whole time that Danny hadn’t followed me.
As I turned to leave the room, he stood filling the
doorway, arms crossed over his chest. I could tell by the erection
tenting his pants he’d watched me dress. Awesome.
I shoved past him, practically running to the front
door of the condo. Thank God I’d kicked off my sandals and dropped
my purse by the door yesterday. It made my escape much easier.
****
After three days of avoiding Danny--which meant
avoiding Stacey, too--I had convinced myself I’d read too much into
the situation. He wasn’t trying to get in my pants, wasn’t trying
to cheat on Stacey. Wasn’t trying to get me to cheat on her. I must
have misheard him when he copped to fantasizing about me. He
probably wasn’t even jacking himself off under that sheet--maybe
his upper thigh itched.