Free Danny by Margo Anne Rhea Page A

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