Beautiful Bastard: Beautiful Boss Part 5

She was never meant to be a wife first and foremost, and I knew that-had always known it, and f.u.c.k, I never expected to want that in a woman-but some unevolved part of me wanted more of her time and her focus before I'd even lost it.

"I thought I fixed that last year," she said. "Jensen got all up in my business. I thought I got out of the lab, got a man, got some action."

I turned us both, leading us to the bathroom to brush our teeth. "Old habits die hard."

She shook her head as she shoved her toothbrush in her mouth, squeezing her eyes closed. "I don't want to talk about it tonight."

Her words were m.u.f.fled and she brushed roughly. But then she said anyway: "You made me mad when you said I should get a teaching job."

Bending to spit, I asked, "What's wrong with a teaching job? It would probably be a more regular schedule, which would be better for us."

She looked at me, mouth foamy, eyes wide and gla.s.sy, and then bent to spit after me, rinsing her mouth. "You're going to make me feel guilty over this?"

"No," I told her, but I had to be honest. "But I guess I have feelings about it after all. I feel like I have no idea what the plan is. Yeah, I can work from anywhere, but it would be nice to have a general region in mind."

She wiped her mouth on a towel and stood there, eyes closed as she took a deep breath. "Okay. We aren't doing this right now. My brain is all blah blah drunk."

With a decisive nod, she looked back at me. "Putting this aside."

I took a step closer, bending to kiss her. "Putting this aside."

When my tongue touched hers, she pulled back, laughing. "Oh my G.o.d, I just remembered I made you kiss George."

"You did."

"He liked it."

This made me laugh. "You think so?"

"Did you?"

"I mean, it wasn't terrible. But it also wasn't you."

I followed her into the bedroom and between the covers. "Do you think he's in love with you?"

I shook my head. "No. I think maybe he just really wants me to f.u.c.k him?"

Hanna laughed and climbed over me, kissing my bare chest. "I bet he'd love to do this." She moved lower, pulling my boxers down and off, tossing them onto the floor of our bedroom. Her mouth came up against the head of my c.o.c.k, tongue teasing. "I love the way you feel on my tongue." She sucked me, drunk and bold. "How wet you get, like your body is begging to come."

I felt my heart take off in a thunder, growling, "Hanna."

"G.o.d, Will. You get so hard." She jerked me, tapping me against her tongue. "You're so perfectly straight and smooth. George would lose his mind."

"I only want your mouth."

She looked up at me through sweetly devious eyes. "But I like having you when other people want you. It makes me feel powerful."

"And that's how I know you're secure in my love. You wouldn't have said that a year and a half ago."

She laughed against me, a warm puff of air. "You're wearing my ring. You're tattooed with my name. You get hit on all the time and turn into an awkward mess. I've poisoned you for other women."

My hips pushed off the bed, needy. "Don't talk to me about other people right now. I like this wild thing playing with me. I want a dirty little plum sucking my c.o.c.k."

She dragged her teeth down my shaft. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You like when I talk about how much I love to lick you here? All hard and soft at the same time." She pulled me deep, popping off to tell me, "I want to suck you dry."

"f.u.c.k." Drunk Hanna had a filthy mouth.

"And down here?" She licked down to my b.a.l.l.s. "You love to be touched here. I think you're pretty bad, William. I think you like the idea of my tongue all over you here not just because it feels nice but because it looks so naughty."

When I groaned in response, she closed her eyes, moving back to take me in her mouth again, deep and up and down, working her lips over me. She'd learned, knew my body so well it was like breathing, being with her like this.

The conversation we needed to have was in the background, waiting.

But it was easy enough to push that worry aside when she was there, warm and wet sliding over me, little growls vibrating down my c.o.c.k. I told her what I would do to her when she was done there, how I would wreck her with my mouth and teeth, how I would take her tonight and leave her boneless with pleasure.

Desperation clawed like a beast beneath my skin.

It scared me, a little, to not feel like I was getting used to this, to instead feel like I was growing more desperate for her every day. I had her. I lived with her. I married her. But my feelings for Hanna were foreign to me in their intensity, and the sheer unknown of our future left me feeling unsteady.

Closing my eyes, I gripped her hair, feeling the solid presence of her over me, needing something deeper and larger than anything she could give me tonight.

Four.

Hanna Still half asleep, I winced against the light. It was morning-barely-late enough for a hint of brightening sky to start seeping along the edge of the shades, but way, way too early to get up.

I threw the blanket over my head, buried my face in the pillow, and squeezed my eyes tight. The streets outside were relatively quiet and Will slept silently beside me, but I could practically hear my headache.

Giving up, I rolled over, fingers searching along the sheets for Will and warm skin and- Oof. That might have been a mistake. I counted to ten, breathing in through my nose while I waited for the room to stop spinning. My stomach was definitely not on board with the change in position.

I groaned, squeezing my eyes closed as I managed to sit up. My mouth felt like cotton and I was probably two seconds from losing everything I drank last night, but this . . . okay . . . vertical was definitely the better choice.

Will mumbled something and rolled onto his side, and I looked back at him over my shoulder. He was breathing softly, pillow clutched in his arms, sleeping quietly again. His wedding band glinted against the tan of his skin and I reached out, brushing a finger across the cool metal. A week-he'd been wearing that ring for a week, and I was pretty sure I could handle a million more just like this one.

Pushing off the bed, I shuffled to the bathroom.

I used the toilet and washed my hands, brushed my teeth-thank G.o.d-and drank at least a gallon of water straight from the tap. I never wanted to see tequila again.

Feeling marginally better, I walked back into the room and looked around, my eyes following the trail of discarded clothing that led from the doorway to the bed. Last night had been crazy . . . I thought. I remembered alcohol-lots of alcohol-our friends, some vague recollection of Will kissing George and my being totally turned on by it?-I would definitely need to get the scoop on that from sober Sara-and Will's suggestion that I take a teaching job.

And like that, my head cleared. I felt my skin start to p.r.i.c.kle as I remembered his comments about me living my life in the lab, as if he was so sure that's what would happen. Why was it okay for him to work long hours? To give his career everything he could? Will had always been supportive and proud of all that I'd accomplished . . . Where had this complaint come from? We got married, yes, but I never signed on to be Susie Homemaker or change who I was. I'd sacrificed my entire life for my career, and I was d.a.m.n proud of the balance I'd managed to find since meeting and falling in love with and marrying him. Did he have so little faith in my ability to handle both?

Annoyed all over again, I walked to the dresser, pulling out clothes and slipping into them as quietly as I could manage. I found my shoes under the bed, and my phone, keys, and ID littered around the apartment and strewn throughout the remnants of last night's debauchery. I slipped them all into the zippered pocket of my jacket, walked back into the room, and shut off his alarm clock.

I was going for a run; Will could stay home.

Just like before that first run with Will more than a year ago-if you can call what I did that day running-I paced back and forth, waiting. Over the year we'd adjusted our route, starting at different points to hit the hills at the beginning of the run on some days, the end on others. Instead of the Engineers Gate at Fifth and Ninetieth, I walked back and forth on the edge of the trail near Columbus Circle.

I'm a natural pacer. I did it at home whenever I was stressed about something, and was almost positive I'd worn a path that stretched from the front door of the lab to the opposite wall. When I was little my dad used to say he was going to hook me up to the lawn mower so at least that way he'd get the gra.s.s cut, instead of the kitchen rug being trampled to death.

Knowing it was possible he'd already be up with Annabel, I'd texted Max as soon as I left the apartment. Thankfully, he was, and had no problem starting our run a little earlier. Though "little" might have been an understatement.

It was still mostly dark out-especially here, in the park-the sky smoky and plum colored, the edges glowing brighter and brighter as the sun slowly rose behind the trees.

I loved it here this time of morning, when the air was still cool and crisp and there were hardly any people to navigate, nothing to do but shut off my brain and move my body. Will and I had jogged these trails almost every day since that first morning, and were joined by Max and Annabel soon after the little girl was born. He claimed she slept soundly on days when he took her out for a jog, but we all knew better. Max loved these moments with his daughter and Sara loved the baby-free time she got in the morning.

Today, I heard the wheels of the stroller before I saw Max headed toward me.

"Morning, Mrs. Sumner-Bergstrom," he said, stopping in front of me. And despite my current annoyance with Will, my stomach did a little flip at the sound of my married name.

"Morning." My cheeks warmed as I shifted blankets around and bent to kiss the adorable baby strapped into the elaborate running stroller. "And good morning to you, Miss Anna. How is the prettiest girl in New York? How is she?"

Annabel giggled, reaching for the loose ends of my hair and tugging to bring me closer.

"Well rested," Max said. "Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the rest of us in the house."

I let out a dramatic gasp. "Did you wake the hungover adult up, sweet baby?" I asked her, pretending to gobble up her little foot.

Max groaned. "Up at the ruddy crack of dawn and then slept the whole way here. Happy as a clam now."

"Well wouldn't you be?" I said, standing. Attempting to make some sense of my hair, I smoothed the tangled strands back with my fingers and used an elastic from around my wrist to secure them on the top of my head. "She's got someone pushing her around Central Park and catering to her every whim. We should all be so lucky."

"I'll agree with you there. Though I imagine William would do the same for you if you asked nicely enough."

"Ha." I looked to the side, out at the seemingly endless stretch of trees.

"Speaking of . . . where is your Will today?" he asked, following my gaze out into the park.

"Oh . . . he's . . . still sleeping," I said, making a show of dusting off my knees and turning toward the trail. I didn't miss the edge in my voice . . . I'm sure Max didn't, either. Will was still asleep because I wanted a chance to run without fighting the urge to push him into the reservoir. I definitely wouldn't be mentioning that to Max.

"Still asleep," Max repeated, clearly pleased. It didn't take a genius to know that later today he'd be either congratulating Will or giving him epic s.h.i.t.

"Ready to go?" I asked, and Max nodded, polite enough to ignore my weirdness.

We started at the USS Maine statue-Max and Anna at my side-heading down the path that led to the main loop. The trail went from a downward slope to a steady climb up Cat Hill, and I concentrated on the pounding of my feet on the ground, the whir of the stroller's tires on the pavement next to me, all the while preparing for Harlem Hill.

Harlem Hill had always been a good barometer of the kind of day I was having. On a decent morning I could make it to the top and still manage a few curse words along the way-just enough to make Will laugh. If my week had been particularly rough, I'd push on with barely a word, brain empty of all but one thought: Run yourself into the ground.

Will knew me well enough to gauge my moods, and apparently so did Max.

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down there, Bolt," he said from just behind me.

I'd been running-flat-out sprinting along the trail-and poor Max was struggling to stay next to me.

"Sorry," I mumbled, slowing to a walk and waiting for him to catch up. "I sort of forgot you were here. And pushing a stroller. G.o.d, I'm an a.s.shole."

Max waved me off and we fell into step beside each other again to cool down. "I may not be in as good of shape as whatshisname, but, Jesus, Hanna, you were running like your a.r.s.e was on fire. What's wrong?"

"I got a little lost in my head," I said, and it was only once we slowed that I noticed the way my quads were burning, the churning of my stomach. "Ugh, I feel like I'm going to barf."

"Feeling a little rough this morning, I take it?" Max asked, laughing lightly.

I groaned. "You could say that."

"And would this be from the tequila or the husband?"

"Both."

He made a sympathetic sound in the back of his throat.

Anna started to fuss and Max reached down, adjusting her blankets. "Sounds like there's a story there."

"I'm not used to being annoyed with Will. We never fight, so maybe that's why I'm a bit . . . unsettled by it."

"That's understandable," he said, moving off to the side and smiling at another man running past us. "Though if I'm being honest, what I heard last night didn't sound much like a fight to me."

"We get along so well and I'm absolutely not used to him being annoyed with me. My brain misfires when there's a hiccup like that."

"Hanna, getting married is huge. Finding a new job is huge. Moving is f.u.c.king huge. Doing them all together might make you certifiably insane. Give yourselves a break, right?"

Nodding, I kicked a rock near my shoe. "I know. It's just weird when we don't handle everything easily."

Max shook his head. "I never thought I'd find a couple who fit in such an odd f.u.c.king way as Bennett and Chloe . . . but you and Will just might have them beat. Though it is possible you two could be robots. Looking into it, actually."

"Very funny," I said, and slugged him in the shoulder. "I can't believe Will thinks I should take a job without any research component," I added. "Doesn't he know that I love the lab? Doesn't he know it's been my dream my whole life to run a lab?"

"Well, he's a.r.s.e over t.i.ts for you, and being in love turns even the smartest man into an idiot. No doubt you all have some scientific jargon to back that up." He glanced over at me and barked out a laugh. "You do, don't you?"

"I mean, there's basic neurochemistry involved in falling in love-or l.u.s.t, for that matter-and it has definitely been shown to affect brain function . . ." I realized what I was doing and gave him a guilty grin.

"You two really are b.l.o.o.d.y perfect for each other."

I didn't say anything and instead looked out at the path in front of us. Max was right; Will and I were perfect together. At least it felt that way, and I'd never been happier in my entire life than I had in the time we'd been together. But my career was important to me, too, and if anyone was going to understand that, I thought it would be him. The lab was important to me. My research was important to me. But so was he.

Why couldn't I have both?

"So how are the interviews going, anyway?" Max asked, snagging my attention back into the conversation. We were nearing Columbus Circle again, and the number of people on the trails and in the park had definitely picked up.

"Good," I told him. "I leave Wednesday for Berkeley."