6. Heath
HEATH
"Lunch is served," I call out, my voice carrying through the kitchen and into the living room where Hallie had been curled up on the couch watching one of her shows.
Hallie appears a moment later, her midnight black hair cascading over her shoulders as she steps into the room, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Those sage green eyes of hers flicker with curiosity, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head.
"What's for lunch?" she asks.
"Pasta, from scratch," I answer.
"You made this?" she replies, her tone laced with playful skepticism, like she didn't expect something complicated.
I shrug, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed. "I figured I should make you my specialty. Earn some points."
She laughs, the sound light and effortless, and takes the seat across from me at the dining table.
The way she moves is graceful, unassuming, like she doesn't even realize how striking she is.
"You shouldn't have added the last part," she says, tilting her head just slightly, her lips still curved in that teasing smile.
I push her plate toward her, the steam rising from the plate in lazy spirals. "Better to be honest," I say, my voice low.
She eyes the plate with mock suspicion, her nose wrinkling just a little as she leans in to take a sniff. "I don't know," she muses, drawing out the words like she's considering a life-or-death decision. "Smells suspiciously edible. Seems like you put effort into this."
I snort, shaking my head as I take my own seat. "High praise coming from you. But I did."
She grins as she takes her first bite, her eyes widening just a fraction before she schools her expression back into something more neutral.
I catch myself watching her reaction, the way her lips press together as she chews, the way her throat moves when she swallows.
It's ridiculous how much I notice. How much I want to notice.
"It's really good," she admits after a moment, her voice carrying that note of surprise people get when they've been proven wrong but refuse to fully concede the point.
I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs out under the table until my shoes brush against her ankle. She doesn't pull away. "I know," I say, because there's no point in pretending otherwise. I don't do false modesty. Never have.
She rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn't leave her face. "So humble," she teases, shaking her head as she laughs again, the sound wrapping around me like something warm and familiar.
"I don't waste time pretending otherwise," I say, my voice steady, unapologetic.
She takes another bite before reaching for her glass, her fingers brushing against mine. The contact is brief, accidental, but it sends a jolt through me all the same.
"So… what movies do you usually watch?" I say, changing the subject.
She leans back, swirling her fork through the pasta. "Okay, confession, I have a soft spot for old black-and-white films. The dialogue, the drama, the way they make smoking look cool even though we all know it's unhealthy. How about you?"
I grunt. "Give me explosions and a hero who doesn't monologue for twenty minutes before throwing a punch."
She laughs, shaking her head. "You just don't appreciate art."
"Art's fine," I say, shrugging. "I just don't need it to take more than two hours to make its point. That's why I try not to travel when it takes me three hours or more."
Her eyes shift, brightening like she's already somewhere else. "So where does that take you?" she asks, voice quicker now.
I study her for a second, the way her fingers tap the table, the way her lips curve like she's holding back. "Not much. Usually just in the country because I don't have the patience for long flights. You?"
She exhales, almost a laugh, but softer.
"Nowhere, really. Not outside the country, at least." Her gaze drops to her plate, then flicks back up, like she's admitting something she shouldn't.
"I have this list, though. Ridiculous, probably.
All these places I've read about or seen in documentaries, and I just…
" She stops, shakes her head. "I want to see the world. "
I watch the way her cheeks pink, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear like she's trying to hide. "Show me the list," I say.
"Maybe next time." She tilts her head, eyes locked on mine. "Tell me your best memory about your job. The one where you were out there, not the CEO version."
I exhale through my nose, leaning back. "I was sixteen years old, lying about my age.
Up before dawn, home after dark." My fingers tap the table, rough against the smooth surface.
"Sawdust in your lungs, sweat freezing to your skin by noon.
But the view from the top of a skyscraper you built?
" I pause, watching her reaction. "Nothing like it. "
"Isn't that scary?"
"Not if you trust your skills."
She smiles, pointing her fork at her plate. "Is that why you knew this would taste good?"
I raise an eyebrow. "So it does taste good," I say, nodding at her plate. "You devoured that quickly."
She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in exaggerated offense. "I wanted to finish it before it got cold," she says, her expression perfectly straight, like she's reciting some sacred law.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. "That's your defense?"
She doesn't flinch. "I was just hungry."
I snort.
"What?" She pouts.
"Just remembered the squirrel." I chuckle, shaking my head as I slide my plate toward her. "You can have mine."
Her smile softens then, just a little, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. She doesn't say anything for a long moment, just looks at me, her gaze warm and steady. The kind of look that makes my pulse kick up, even though I know better than to let it.
"You know," she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, like she's sharing a secret, "I haven't laughed this much in a long time."
Neither have I.
The realization hits harder than I expect, like a punch to the gut.
For years, my days have blurred together into a monotonous cycle of meetings, contracts, and empty rooms that never felt like home.
Somewhere along the way, I'd stopped noticing the silence.
It had become a constant, a companion I didn't question, didn't fight. Just accepted.
Until Hallie.
Now, every conversation leaves the house feeling warmer, like the walls themselves are holding onto the sound of her voice. Every laugh lingers long after it fades, echoing in the spaces between my ribs. She doesn't just brighten the room. She makes the air easier to breathe.
She makes me feel alive again.
And that's the most dangerous thing of all.
The living room is dim, the only light spilling in from the hallway, casting long shadows across the furniture.
Hallie's curled up on the sofa, her knees tucked against her chest, her breathing slow and even. She must've dozed off after lunch, tired from our walk, her body finally giving in to the exhaustion.
I sit beside her, the cushion dipping under my weight.
She doesn't stir, her lashes dark against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted.
The blanket's pooled around her waist, and I hook a finger under the edge, lifting it just enough to see the curve of her hip, the way her shorts ride low on her thighs.
My cock twitches.
I shouldn't.
But I do.
I slide my hand beneath the blanket, my fingers brushing against the soft heat between her legs. She's warm, already damp, her body responding even in sleep.
A soft sigh escapes her lips as I tease her through the fabric, her hips shifting just slightly, like she's chasing the touch.
I lean in, my breath hot against her ear. "So eager," I murmur, my voice rough. "Even in your sleep, you want me."
Her eyelids flutter, but she doesn't wake.
I push her shorts aside, my fingers finding her slick and swollen. She whimpers when I slide two inside, her back arching just a little, her body clenching around me. I curl my fingers, pressing against that spot that makes her moan, her thighs trembling.
"Fuck," I growl, my free hand gripping her hip, holding her still as I work her. "You're so wet for me, Hal. Always so fucking wet."
Her breath hitches, her fingers digging into the sofa cushions. She's close, her body tightening, her hips rocking against my hand. I pull back just enough to deny her, my thumb circling her clit in slow, teasing strokes.
"Mm.," she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep, her eyes still closed.
I chuckle, low and dark. "Do you want it, baby? You want to come?"
She whimpers, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
"Not yet," I say, my fingers stilling inside her. "I want your milk first."
I tug her tank top up, exposing her tits, her bra the only thing keeping them contained. The fabric's damp, her nipples hard and leaking, the scent of her cream thick in the air. I groan, my mouth watering as I unhook the clasp, freeing her.
Her tits spill out, heavy and full, her areolas dark and swollen. A pearl of milk beads at the tip of one nipple, and I lean down, my tongue flicking out to catch it. She tastes sweet, rich, like something forbidden.
"Mmm," she moans, her back arching.
I latch on, sucking hard, my fingers still buried inside her. She cries out, her body trembling as I drink from her, her milk filling my mouth, coating my throat. I swallow, my cock throbbing against my zipper, my balls heavy and aching.
"You taste so fucking good," I murmur against her skin, my teeth grazing her nipple. "Look at you, leaking for me even in your sleep."
She whimpers, her hips bucking against my hand, her body desperate for release. I pull back, my lips glistening with her cream, my fingers still working her.
"Come for me, Hallie," I command, my voice rough. "Now."
She shatters, her body convulsing, her pussy clenching around my fingers as she comes with a broken cry. I don't stop, my thumb pressing against her clit, drawing out her orgasm until she's trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
I pull my fingers free, bringing them to my lips, licking them clean. Her taste is intoxicating, the mix of her arousal and her milk making my head spin.
Hallie blinks up at me, her eyes hazy, her lips swollen. "Heath," she whispers, her voice hoarse.
I lean down, my mouth crashing against hers, my tongue sliding between her lips, letting her taste herself. She moans into the kiss, her fingers clutching at my shirt, her body still trembling from her orgasm.
I pull back just enough to whisper against her lips. "Did you have a good dream?"
She nods.
I smirk. "Let me make your reality feel good as well."
The floorboards creak under my weight as I sink to my knees between her thighs.
Her scent wraps around me, sweet milk and slick arousal, thick enough to taste.
My hands slide under her ass, lifting her just enough to bring her cunt to my mouth.
She gasps when my tongue drags through her folds, her fingers twisting in my hair.
"Fuck, you're dripping," I growl against her, my breath hot. My teeth graze her clit, and she jerks, her thighs trembling. I don't let up, my tongue working her in slow, deliberate circles, drinking every drop of her. Her taste is addictive, the way she whimpers my name even better.
Her thighs tremble when I push them wider, the scent of her arousal thick and intoxicating.
My tongue drags through her slit, slow and deliberate, savoring the way she gasps, the way her fingers twist in my hair.
She's still coming down from her orgasm, her body sensitive, every lick making her shudder.
The sudden metallic click of the front door's lock turning makes me freeze. Hallie's body goes rigid in front of me, her breath hitching in that split second before her mother's voice slices through the quiet.
"I'm home."