7. Halo

Arianne stands at the foot of my bed. That damn tour T-shirt I've had since I was sixteen years old skims those beautiful smooth thighs of hers.

"I'm cold, Halo," she mutters. Which is wild because it's the middle of summer.

"Take it off," I instruct, and she immediately fingers the hem and starts to lift it over her head. The dominant in me kicks into gear when she does as I ask. My heart thuds loudly in my chest every time the T-shirt lifts an inch.

I watch as her smooth skin is revealed. Her pussy has a thin strip of hair, her stomach flat. Juicy tits jiggle as she raises her arms to slide the T-shirt over her head. It slithers to the floor, and her hair swings.

"Crawl to me, kitten." I place one arm behind my head and, with the other, adjust my cock beneath the covers. I'm already hard.

Her eyes hold mine. Connection is something you can't force if it's not there. Sure, you can become friends with a person. You can even sleep with them and enjoy sex. But connection is bone deep, and I know Arianne is mine as truly as I know the sun is going to rise in the morning.

"Will you keep me safe?" she asks.

The uncertainty in her voice, the subtle waver in it, fuels my anger and lust. A heady combination. "With my life."

"Will you keep me warm?"

"With all that I am." My answer sounds like one of those quotes Rae throws at King all the time.

Arianne smiles at this, and I know it's the right thing to say.

"Then fuck me, Daddy," she says, and?—

I snap awake.

I suck in a breath and rub my hand over my face. "Fuck," I mutter as I reorient myself in my bedroom.

Alone.

My cock aches, and I reach for it. It's hard, and it's impossible to not think about Arianne in the bedroom next to mine. It would be so easy to find my way to her. Instead, I satisfy myself with the idea she's close.

I imagine her on the other side of the wall with her fingers between her legs, thinking of me.

Frames from the dream flash through my mind. The slow and steady strip of the T-shirt. Palming my cock, I stroke it up and down firmly.

Shit, it feels good.

I raise my knees and spread my legs a little wider as I tug from base to tip.

The clock on the bedside table tells me it's close to three in the morning, and I wonder if I shouldn't just get up and head back to the club. I bet a few of the club girls are still hanging around and would willingly take care of this for me.

But even as I think of Penny and the others, my interest in sex with any of them drops. My cock knows what it likes, so do my dreams apparently, and they both want Arianne.

Discipline is my strong suit, but today I seem to be all out of it as I give in to what my body wants. Being in barracks, during deployment, you become a fucking wizard at jerking off in silence and fast.

I close my eyes and shift my thoughts back to Arianne. The way her long hair would look so good around my fist. How soft her plump lips would feel.

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 I sleep 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."

And that's when I know I'm gonna kill that cunt of a husband. "Accidents happen. Like I already told you, I've never raised a hand to a woman in anger, kitten." I feel like now isn't the time to tell her that I have soundly spanked a woman, with her permission, for pleasure. "I appreciate you making me breakfast. Nice feeling to have someone looking out for me. And I bought this table because it was easy to clean. So go serve up that breakfast that smells fucking delicious, and I'll take care of the spill."

If I had a magic wand, I'd get rid of the distrust she has of me. It's not personal, I know. It's ingrained. Tells me that whatever was going on at home was way worse than what she's told me or than what I imagined.

Seeing she isn't gonna believe me yet, I stand and get some paper towels to clean the coffee up. When I return to the table, she's still standing there, a look of confusion on her face, like she can't believe what just happened.

"Arianne." Her name comes out on a growl, which I'm sure is less than helpful. "Breakfast."

She jumps at her name and scurries to the counter, where she starts whipping things out of the oven while I clean up the spill. It takes a few minutes before everything is placed in front of me. "It's a tomato and caramelized onion frittata. But in case you didn't like it, I also made bacon and sausage and whipped up a quick batch of banana pancakes." She's wringing her hands, and her shoulders are up by her ears. "We can use anything we don't eat as leftovers."

"Get a plate. Take a seat. And we're gonna eat this amazing spread. And then you and I are gonna talk." When she blanches, I curse. "Not that kind of talk. One where you and I figure out what we're gonna do about Lola and you."

She lets out a breath, then rolls her neck from side to side. "Okay. What can I serve you, Halo?"

And…just like that, my cock is back in bed, ready for her to climb on top of me. "That sounds good coming from your pretty mouth," I say before I realize it.

I'm about to apologize when I see the slight hint of pink hit her cheeks and her bite down her lower lip to hold back the fixing of a smile.

None of it does anything to help the boner the table thankfully hides.

"All of it, please," I say.

"All of it?"

"Yeah. A serving of everything. I'm a growing guy." Especially my cock right now. "What can I say?"

She serves me up a generous helping of everything and places it in front of me. Within two bites, I know Arianne can cook. I shovel forkful after forkful into my mouth like I haven't tasted food in days. Crisp bacon, tender sausage, pancakes that literally melt in my mouth.

"This all tastes so good," I tell her once she's served up a small plate of cut-up pancakes and eggs to Lola and a plate for herself.

"Thank you. I used to enjoy cooking."

There's a wistful tone to her words. "Used to?"

"Before…before the stress of cooking for Patrick."

"What made it stressful?"

"All of it. If it wasn't served on time. If it wasn't hot enough. If it was too spicy. If there was too much. If there wasn't enough. He hated waste. Said I was irresponsible with money if we had to throw things out."

"Well, Patrick's a cunt if he didn't thank you for making it and enjoy what you put in front of him, because this is amazing."

She puts a hand over her mouth and chuckles.

"What?" I ask.

"Well, I've never heard Patrick summed up quite so succinctly. He is…that."

"A cunt?"

She nods. "Yeah. That."

I put my knife and fork down for a second. "You ever call him that? Out loud?"

"God. No. If I even rolled my eyes at him, he'd have…" The smile disappears, and she blows out a breath.

"Say it." My words are firm. She seems to respond to those best. Like they cut through the noise and bullshit for her.

"Say what?"

"Say, ‘My soon-to-be ex-husband, Patrick, is a cunt.'"

Arianne gestures to my plate with her fork. "Eat your breakfast. It's going to get cold."

"You want me to eat my breakfast? Say it."

She shakes her head. "I don't need to?—"

"Say it, Arianne. It'll feel good. And unless I'm wrong, I think all this polite ‘oh no, I can't' is fear."

"Fine. My soon-to-be ex-husband, Patrick, is a"—she glances over to Lola and whispers—"cunt."

I grin at that. "He sure is. I think you should say that, even if only to yourself, at least three times a day."

"That sounds very prescriptive."

I nod. "When you get medicine to heal from the doctor, they usually say to take it three times a day with food, right? Calling your husband a cunt three times a day with food is going to make you feel a hell of a lot better. I promise."

At this, Arianne shocks the hell out of me by laughing. She winces a little when the gesture hurts the side of her face, but she places her hand to her cheek and continues to chuckle. "My soon-to-be ex-husband, Patrick, is a cunt," she repeats, then bites down on her lip. "Shockingly better. Thank you, Dr. Halo."

See? Brat.

My phone vibrates next to me, and I give it a cursory glance before snatching it up off the table.

Unknown: You need to tell your man to stop trying to find me. I'll come for you when I'm fucking ready.

It's the same number as before.

I dial it immediately.

It rings, but there is no answer and no voicemail.

I dial it again. Letting it ring and ring and ring.

"Come on, motherfucker. Face me," I grumble as I try again.

"Is everything okay?"

I remember Arianne and Lola. "Listen. I gotta go. Something urgent has come up. Stay here, help me out with Lola. We'll figure out a place and job and shit. But I need to go." I kiss the top of Lola's head, then glance at the table. And for reasons I don't comprehend, I kiss the top of Arianne's head too.

"Thanks again for breakfast."

And with that, I head to the club. Because somehow, Collins knows Vex has been trying to find him. And I need to know how.