25. Arlo
“You left the balcony door open,” Hota grumbles.
It’s been hours since I railed him so hard I saw stars. The chill in the air feels amazing on my heated skin. Hota’s arm brushes against mine as we walk down the hallway closer to the cold. He has an abbreviated gait that makes my chest puff with pride.
I kept him in bed as long as I could, mapping his features like I used to. Only this time, I used my fingers. I actually touched his skin and drank in his warmth.
This time, it is different.
He’s mine.
Even though he doesn’t know what that means just yet, I’ll show him.
“I had more important things to handle.” I kiss his bare shoulder and smack his sweatpants-covered ass. I leave him to close the door and pick up his discarded clothes while I head to the kitchen.
His cupboards are pretty bare. A smile tugs at my lips. That’ll change soon.
I begin thawing some rock shrimp I found in the freezer, along with some broccolini, and then pull some angel hair from the fancy little canister I doubt he’s ever used.
“Fucking and a feast?” His brows waggle as he rounds the island and leans a hip against the counter next to me. “I must have been a good boy.”
“If I gave you what you deserve, you’d still have that ring around your cock.” I point the saucepan at him. “You’re the best boy. The best man I know.” I set it down and step toward him. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
“Arlo.” My name comes out of his mouth thick and weighty.
I’ve seen countless men naked. I’ve watched them fuck, but only Hota sparks the animalistic need to mark him.
It’s the same way with Hailey.
Yes, I’ve found other women attractive, but I’ve never been driven to worship any other the way I worship her.
I place my hand over his heart and lift his palm to mine. His skin feels otherworldly against my thrashing heart.
Where Hailey is soft, Hota is hard. Where she is bright, he is dark. Where she is light, he is heavy. Where they are, so goes my heart.
His throat bobs, and he studies me like he’s never seen me before. Maybe he hasn’t. Not this healing version. “Do you hear what I’m saying, Hota?”
The heat of his exhale warms my cheek. “I hear you.”
“Do you see me?” I practically glare at him.
His gaze narrows. “I see you.”
I press harder against his chest and pull his hand closer to mine. “Do you feel me?”
“I feel you, Arlo.”
I kiss his palm and then release him. “Good. Now I need a large pot filled three-quarters with water with a pinch of salt.”
His thick lips press into a line, hiding his smile from me, before crouching to do as I asked. He’s still hiding. Still unsure. Only time and consistent expression of my love, and Hailey’s love for him, will change that.
Instead of focusing on how much I hate his doubt in me and us, I turn my attention to roasting garlic and onions, cooking for the people I love. I focus on that and the fact that Hailey loves Hota.
When she came home after their night at Crave, it was written all over her face. She practically burst at the seams to tell me, which was a gift in itself. She trusts me completely.
Hota will get there.
We fall into an easy rhythm that comes from a lifelong relationship. He chops the onion while I crush the garlic. We chat about hitting up a Rangers game soon. I’ll have to snag another season ticket to go with the ones we already have.
“Does Hailey like hockey?” Hota asks the question I’m already wondering.
“We can ask her over dinner.”
His fingers still over the cutting board. “She’s coming?”
“If you let her.” There’s no hiding my dirty smile.
Those thick lips I want to be wrapped around my cock purse. “Be serious. She’s coming to eat?” He thinks better of it and adds, “Dinner with us?”
“Yes.”
He sets the knife aside and braces his hands on the counter. His head hangs between his shoulder blades, accentuating the narrowness of his waist, but I can’t appreciate it.
Anxiety is too busy climbing its way up my spine.
Have I read the situation wrong?
I thought he liked Hailey…a lot. More than a lot. I thought they were close and getting closer. I thought?—
“I didn’t mean what I said.” When his gaze meets mine, it’s wet. He gnaws on his cheek.
Relief floods me, washing away the doubt.
He faces me. “I was hurt and scared, and I don’t think she’s a?—”
“Don’t say it.” I lift my hand. “I know you didn’t mean it. I’m sorry I’ve placed that mistrust in you.”
His jaw flexes, and his head shakes. “You didn’t.”
“I did. I have. For a long time.” I wrap my hand around his nape and pull him to me. Forehead to forehead. “Give me a little bit longer, and I’ll show you exactly how I feel over and over and over again until you believe it.”
That shrug I know so well bobs. “I’ll give you forever.”
“That’s all I want.” Even though forever hardly seems long enough. I’ve wasted so much time.
Hota cups my nape, and we hold each other for a long time, just sharing breath and so many unsaid things. Then he blinks. “My water is boiling.”
I wink. “Mine is too.”
He laughs and shoos me back to my tasks.
The lightness in him fills me with helium. By the time dinner is plated, I’m bobbing along the rafters. Then the doorbell rings, and I go higher still.
Hota pauses, setting the last of the silverware on the island. “You want to get that?”
“It’s your home.” I motion him toward the door and turn to grab our drinks.
“It’s your woman,” he counters.
I square him in my gaze, drinks forgotten. “No, Hota. She’s our woman.”