Page 21 of The Souls We Claim
I blow out a harsh breath as I imagine the way our bodies would line up if she had crawled from the bottom of the bed and laid her naked form against mine. The warmth of her skin, the pressure of her tits and hips.
Every pussy feels different, and I wonder what it would feel like to ease her down onto my cock.
Tight, is my first guess. Body like that and a cock like mine, it’s bound to be a stranglehold.
Wet, is my second. But not dripping. Thick and creamy.
I huff as my cock twitches in my palm, and I reach for my balls, squeezing and tugging on them. Like a switch, I know my orgasm is on its way. My spine tingles, my balls ache, and my cock leaks.
“Fuck.” The word escapes my lips in a harsh whisper as my back arches off the bed and I come in thick spurts all over my stomach. I make no move to catch it.
Instead, I lean back and enjoy it, easing myself down even as I see stars in my peripheral vision. Fast harsh strokes become slow and lazy ones until I’m done.
Eventually, I grab a fistful of tissues from the nightstand and clean myself up. Once I’m done, I close my eyes and let sleep reclaim me.
Six hours later, I awaken to the smell of bacon, and for a second, I can’t figure out why.
Then I remember with a devastating clarity that there’s a woman in my home. I never bring club girls or anyone else Isleep with here. My nightmares can be too unpredictable. It’s not PTSD, because I’d be the first to go seek treatment if it were. Lost too many SEAL brothers to it to worry about my ego. But they come. Ops gone wrong. The two times I was captured and beaten.
I’ve processed them. Know my role in them. Dealt with the survivor’s guilt.
But occasionally, usually when I’m down about other shit, like Dad being murdered, the dreams reappear. Some things you just can’t unsee once you’ve seen ‘em.
A quick cold shower drowns the embers of sleep and morbid thoughts. I tug on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and head across to Lola’s room, only to find she isn’t there.
When I reach the kitchen, Lola is sitting in her high chair, munching on mittfuls of bananas. She squeals when she sees me, lifting her mush-covered hands. “Nanas.”
“I see that, Lollipop. Are they good?”
She answers me by smushing another piece into her mouth.
I bend down and kiss the top of her head. Not sure what it is about the smell of babies’ heads, but it’s a comfort.
“Morning,” Arianne says, turning away from whatever’s sizzling in the skillet. Those eyes of hers short-circuit my brain as they crinkle in a smile. It tugs on the bruising, but I’m glad to see the swelling has gone down a little. “I thought I’d say thank you for letting me stay by cooking breakfast for you. Hope you don’t mind me using stuff from your fridge.”
“If you’re willing to cook it, you can use whatever you want.”
She’s still wearing my T-shirt. The one I dreamed about her taking off. Her feet are bare. “You should have shoes on,” I say. “I did the basic clean-up for the glass last night, but I need to vacuum.”
Arianne tips her head to the dustpan and brush by the closet door. “Don’t worry, I took care of that too.”
A timer beeps, and she jumps, placing her hand over her heart. “Take a seat. I’ll serve it right up. How do you like your coffee?”
She opens a cupboard, then another, until she finds mugs. Annoyingly, the hem of the T-shirt rises, giving me a glimpse of more thigh. I’ve always been an ass man, but suddenly I’m all about Arianne’s legs.
“Cream. No sugar.”
I tug a chair out from the table and take a seat, making faces at Lola, who giggles. Anyone looking in through the sliding doors I installed to the yard last summer would think it was the ultimate domestic scene.
In reality, we’re three individuals whose lives have been irrevocably enmeshed because of others’ actions. We barely know each other, and yet we’ll be in each other’s lives until the day we die.
She places the cup down on the table, but it sloshes over the rim as I notice too late that she’s shaking. “I’m sorry, I’ll get a cloth.”
I reach for her wrist, but she snatches it away.
“Hey. Arianne. Look at me.” Her eyes meet mine.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spill it. I’ll be more careful next time.”
