Lost and Found

Chapter Four

“Jesus, Nate. What kind of question is that?” Derek rubbed his face.

“It’s a good question. Answer it.”

Derek shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I wasn’t.”

An unfamiliar tension stretched between them. Derek looked down at his coffee. “Not my business,” Nate finally said. “Krissa’s the one you have to answer to. And thanks again for not picking me up at the airport last night.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek looked like someone was stabbing pins in his eyes. “I completely forgot.”

“I know. What the hell’s going on with you?”

“Fuck.” Derek gulped some coffee. “I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Nate shrugged. “Okay. Let me know if you do. I’m going to…uh…go for a walk.”

Too bad it was such a sunny day. Even with his sunglasses, his eyes would be watering and burning after ten minutes. But what else did he have to do?

He rose to his feet and refilled his coffee mug, took it with him as he left the kitchen through the sliding doors. A multi-level deck backed the house, overlooking the beach and the ocean, a hot tub on one side and comfortable wicker furniture arranged in a cozy grouping on the other. Yeah, this was quite the house.

He jogged down the wooden stairs to the beach. Rocks of all sizes, washed smooth by ocean waves, dotted the pale sand, and he meandered along until he found a wide flat boulder to sit on. He cupped his coffee mug in both hands, warm beneath his fingers, cool ocean breeze floating around him, and stared out at the Pacific Ocean. The water swelled, rose, curled and crashed into a froth of white, over and over again, the rhythmic sound and ceaseless motion mesmerizing. Seagulls cried overhead, soaring in the clear blue sky.

This was pretty awkward. He’d appreciated the offer of a place to stay while he finished recovering from his food poisoning, had actually been happy to be seeing his friends again after being away for so long. He hadn’t expected to walk into some kind of marital turmoil.

He supposed he could have gone to stay with one of his two brothers, or even his parents, in Los Angeles. But he’d pretty much cut himself off from them after his life had disintegrated. He’d cut himself off from everyone, and calling Derek had seemed the easiest choice.

He’d just have to stay out of their way and hope that his goddamn eyes got better pretty fucking quick.

Krissa rinsed the conditioner out of her hair, then reached for the tap of the shower. She cranked it off, opened the shower door and put out a hand for her towel. Derek stood there, leaning against the vanity, towel in his outstretched hand.

He still hadn’t dressed, and despite her anger and sorrow, and despite his obvious hangover, his muscular chest, smooth and tanned, made her want to touch, and the low-riding boxers drew her eyes to the V-shaped muscles tapering down beneath them. His eyes were shadowed, his face lined with fatigue.

Krissa took the towel and dried off, aware of Derek watching her. Her pussy clenched and her nipples tingled. She wrapped the towel around her, tucked the end in to hold it in place.

Water dripped from her long hair onto her bare shoulders, soaked into the thick towel as they looked at each other.

“I know you were hurting yesterday,” Krissa finally said. “But that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like shit.”

“I know. I said I’m sorry.”

“You could have at least told me you were going out.”

“I know. I screwed up, okay?”

She continued to watch him. His eyes, dark with pain, met her.

“Did you tell Nate?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded.

“Were you with someone?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

“I smelled perfume on your suit. Not my perfume.”

“There were women in the bar. I smelled like cigarettes, too, but I wasn’t smoking.”

She nodded. A couple of years ago, they’d had this same conversation. But he’d emphatically denied it, and she’d had no reason to disbelieve him—okay, the truth was, she didn’t want to disbelieve him—so she’d let it go. She didn’t like fighting with him, and nothing else had ever happened, so she must have been wrong.

She didn’t like the suspicion eating at her insides, the fear and worry.

“I love you, Krissa.” He held her gaze.

“I love you too.”

He reached for her, drew her to him with his hands on her waist. She let him pull her closer, rested her pelvis against his as they leaned against the vanity. She stroked her fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild spikes.

Derek’s fingers moved to where the towel was tucked into itself above her left breast and tugged it out. He let the towel fall open and then to the floor. His hands returned to her waist.

Krissa pushed the towel aside with her bare foot and leaned in to kiss her husband. Their mouths met and clung. Derek tasted of minty toothpaste and coffee, still smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. She laid her hands on his shoulders, satiny skin over firm muscle and hard bones, let her fingers curl into him.

They kissed again, and again, Derek’s hands sliding lower to her ass, pulling her against him, his growing erection nudging her tummy. She went onto her toes to rub him there, needed to feel him between her legs where she began to ache.

“I love you,” he whispered, his mouth still touching hers. “I’m sorry, Krissa.”

“I’m sorry too.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, leaned her forehead against his.

“I feel like such a failure.”

“Don’t. Please, don’t. You’re not a failure. We’ll get through this.”

He swallowed hard, then lifted her by her ass. She wrapped her legs around him, feet resting on the cool marble vanity, and he slid a hand between their bodies, found her center and stroked through her wetness. Hot and achy, she let out a moan.

“I’m still a man,” he said, shoving at his underwear until his penis sprang out, hard and thick.

“I know.” Her head fell back. She wrapped her arms around his head and he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked, hard. Hot delight flashed through her. “I…know.” He pushed into her, filling her. He grunted and she gasped. “Yes.” She lifted her hips, tried to open more for him, let his cock surge into her, so deep it almost hurt. Involuntarily she lifted, and he thrust again, harder. “Oh, God!”

He drove into her, and she rubbed her swollen clit against his pubic bone on each push, driving her higher, the pleasure spiraling inside her, higher. She held on tighter, focused on their image in the mirror behind Derek, blurred by steam. She could make out the bulge of Derek’s biceps as he held her up, the ridges of muscles down either side of his smooth, tanned back, her hands gripping him. She squeezed her eyes shut. Water dripped down her naked back, making his hands slide on her body as he pumped into her.

He turned, sat her on the vanity, the marble cold beneath the warm flesh of her ass, his hands on her hips.

“Krissa, Christ, Krissa.” He kissed her nipples, hard and pointy and aching, and she peaked in a delicious spasm, arms and legs tightening on him. Then he went over, too, holding her against him as he pulsed inside her in hot jets.

Her legs shook as he lowered her to the floor, the terry bath mat soft beneath her soles. She draped her arms over his shoulder and rested her face against him, both of them breathing hard. When she opened her eyes, she met her own eyes in the foggy side mirror, saw the flush on her cheeks, the heaviness of her eyelids.

“We need to talk,” she said.

He let of a long breath. “Yeah.”

“But now Nate’s staying with us.”

“Yeah.”

“I felt humiliated last night, in front of him.”

His body tightened. “Jesus, how many times do I have to say it? I’m sorry!”

He set her away from him with his hands on her waist. She sucked in air, bent over to pick up the towel. He yanked his boxers up over his penis, still half hard and wet with her cream and his semen.

“I have to get to the office,” he muttered and she watched as he threw open the bathroom door and strode out.

Krissa leaned her hands on the edge of the counter, looked at herself in the mirror. Her body still pulsed from her orgasm but her heart hurt. He felt like a failure. Like less of a man. She had to remember how this was impacting him, needed to understand. But her own aching heart made it difficult.

She felt bad leaving Nate all alone in the family room watching television through dark glasses after they’d eaten dinner. But she and Derek had to talk. This was their life and they’d barely said ten words to each other since the doctor had delivered the devastating news.

Krissa closed the door of her office, actually the fifth bedroom of their home. She sat at the chair in front of her desk, and Derek slumped on the futon against one wall.

He’d changed into cargo shorts and a T-shirt after arriving home from work. They’d eaten dinner and he and Nate were going to go out for a beer after this little “talk”.

“Tell me what’s going on with you,” Krissa said. She leaned on one arm of the chair, studied his face.

Derek groaned. “God, Krissa. What the hell do you think? I was just told I’ll never father a child.” He covered his eyes with one hand.

“There are other ways to father a child,” she said quietly.

He didn’t move, didn’t say a word for a long moment heavy with tension.

“Not for me.”

She blinked, sat up straight. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to adopt. I know we talked about the possibility, but the truth is…I don’t want to raise someone else’s child.”

“But…if we adopted a baby…it would be ours. You’d love it as much as if it were our own.”

“No.” He lowered his hand and met her eyes. “I don’t think I would.” He paused as if searching for words. “I don’t think I could.”

Krissa’s heart contracted painfully. How could he say that? They’d talked about adopting and he’d sounded as if he was open to it. She rolled her lips in to keep them from quivering.

“Then we can try artificial insemination.”

Derek’s head moved slowly from side to side. “No. I don’t want to do that either.”

“What!” She jumped out of the chair and stood there, hands clasped tightly, staring at him. “But Derek…that’s our last hope.”

“It’d be the same thing…I’d be raising someone else’s child.”

“It would be my child! You’re my husband, so it would be your child. I don’t understand.” Thoughts skipped frantically around in her head. “Derek, we can pick the donor based on physical characteristics. We can choose someone who’s tall and blond and brown eyed, like you.”

His face tightened and his gaze slid away from her. “It would be someone else’s sperm. A stranger. His genes, not mine. I’m sorry, Krissa.” His voice cracked. “I just can’t do it.”

“But…that means…” She couldn’t get the words past the aching constriction in her throat. She squeezed her hands into fists at her side. “Derek.” Hot liquid slid down her cheeks.

“I know.” Agony tore at his voice. “I know, Krissa. But I’m being honest here. I’d rather have no children than adopt or use a stranger’s sperm.”

She gazed at him, his face wavering in her tear-filled vision. He couldn’t be serious. This couldn’t be the end. They still had options.

She could convince him. She moved across to him on stiff legs, sat beside him and put her hand on his bare knee. “Derek,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“Christ, Krissa, you always have to make things so complicated. Don’t make this worse than it is.”

She flinched, looked down at her hand on his knee and drew it away.

“This has been hard enough,” Derek snapped. “All these years of trying…of failing…and now knowing I’m the cause.”

Krissa pulled in a long breath, sat with her head bowed. It was him. She had to think of him. She lifted her head, pushed her hair back and put a hand on his cheek. He covered it with his own, held it there, closed his eyes. “I just want this to be over,” he whispered raggedly.

She swallowed. “But I don’t.”

He opened his eyes and they shared a long look. She saw her pain mirrored in his dark eyes, etched on his face in the grooves beside his mouth.

“I need to have a baby,” she choked out. “It’s all I want, Derek.”

“More than you want me?”

Her eyes widened. “Are you…saying I have to choose?”