8. Heath
HEATH
A Month Later…
The scent of garlic and searing steak fills the kitchen, thick enough to taste. My knife hits the cutting board in a steady rhythm, chopping parsley into fine green confetti. The radio hums some old rock song I haven't heard in years, the kind that makes my shoulders loosen without permission.
Then the floor creaks behind me.
Hallie's reflection ghosts across the stainless steel of the fridge door. Midnight hair tumbling over one shoulder, sage eyes scanning the empty kitchen like she's searching for something she already knows isn't there.
"She's out," I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
Hallie's breath hitches, just for a second, before she steps fully into the room. "I know."
I nod, turning back to the parsley. "Left about an hour ago. Said she had a meeting."
A snort escapes her, sharp and bitter. "Right. A meeting."
I glance at her then. Really look. The way her fingers twist in the hem of her sweater, the way her teeth sink into her lower lip like she's biting back words. She's pissed. Not at me.
I set the knife down. "You want to talk about it?"
Her eyes flash. "No."
"Then what do you want, Hal?"
The nickname slips out before I can stop it. Her breath catches, her gaze dropping to my mouth before snapping back up. A flush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks pink.
She steps closer. "I want to help."
I raise an eyebrow. "What do you want to help with?"
"With… whatever." She waves a hand at the stove, the cutting board, the mess I've made. "Just let me do something."
I jerk my chin toward the sink. "Wash your hands."
She obeys, quick and efficient, scrubbing her fingers under the hot water. When she turns back to me, her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, her tits pressing against the thin fabric of her sweater with every breath.
I hand her a knife. "Carrots. Small pieces."
She takes it, our fingers brushing. A spark. A fucking live wire. Her pupils dilate, her lips parting just enough to let out a shaky exhale.
I step back before I do her again.
Just like last night and this morning.
It's been a month of this. Four weeks of using the key she gave me. Four weeks of her milk dripping onto my tongue while she sleeps, oblivious. Four weeks of her body arching beneath mine, her cunt clenching around my cock like she was made for me. Of taking her whether she was asleep or awake.
She doesn't know I've memorized the way her nipples harden when she's close, the way her thighs shake when I tease her clit with my thumb. Doesn't know I've counted every gasp, every whimper, every time she comes apart for me.
The knife hits the cutting board with a sharp thunk. Hallie's hands are steady.
She suddenly stops and looks at me. "You're staring."
"Can't help it." I lean against the counter beside her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. "It's either I stare, or I just let go and take you right here right now."
The knife pauses. A carrot rolls off the cutting board, forgotten. "We just did it this morning."
"I want more." I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath hitches, her body leaning into the touch like she can't help herself.
"Right now?"
"I can wait." I drop my hand. "Keep cutting."
She swallows, her fingers tightening around the knife. "What if I don't?"
I step closer, my thigh brushing hers, my voice dropping to a growl. "Don't what?"
Her breath stutters. "What if I don't want to wait?" The knife clatters to the cutting board. And then—fuck—she leans into me, her tits pressing against my arm, her voice a whisper. "What if I want more as well."
Her words hang between us, thick and heavy, like the scent of her arousal already perfuming the air. My cock throbs against my zipper, aching for the heat of her cunt, the tight grip of her walls.
I don't give her a chance to take it back.
My hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to expose the delicate line of her throat.
She gasps, her body arching into mine, her tits pressing against my chest like an offering.
"You sure about that?" My voice is a growl, rough with need.
"Because once I start, I'm not stopping until you're dripping with my cum. "
Her breath hitches, her pulse fluttering under my lips as I drag them up the column of her neck. "I-I'm sure."
I chuckle, dark and low, before spinning her around and bending her over the counter.
The breath leaves her lungs in a sharp exhale, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the granite.
I don't give her time to adjust. My hand slides under her sweater, rough and demanding, palming her tits through the thin fabric of her bra.
Her nipples are already hard, pebbled against my calloused skin, and when I pinch one between my fingers, she whimpers, her back arching.
"Fuck, you're sensitive," I murmur, my other hand sliding down to the waistband of her leggings. I don't bother with niceties. I shove them down, baring her ass to the cool air of the kitchen. She's not wearing panties.
Fuck.
I slap her ass, the sound sharp and satisfying.
She yelps, her body jolting forward, but her hips roll back, seeking more.
"Did you plan this?" I taunt, my fingers sliding between her thighs. She's already wet, her arousal slicking my fingers as I drag them through her folds. "Teasing me."
She moans, her head dropping forward, her hair spilling over her shoulders. "Please, Heath?—"
I don't let her finish. I drop to my knees behind her, my hands gripping her hips as I bury my face between her thighs.
She tastes like sin and sweetness, her arousal coating my tongue as I lick her clit.
She cries out, her fingers tangling in my hair, her hips bucking against my face.
I groan, the vibrations making her shudder, her thighs trembling around my ears.
I pull back just long enough to growl, "You want my cock? You want me to fuck you right here on this counter?"
"Yes," she gasps, her voice breathless. "Please, I need it."
I stand, my hands rough as I yank her leggings the rest of the way off.
She steps out of them, her body trembling, her tits heaving with every ragged breath.
I undo my belt with one hand, my cock springing free, hard and aching.
I line myself up at her entrance, my hands gripping her hips as I slam into her in one brutal thrust.
She screams, her body arching, her nails digging into the counter. I groan, my head dropping forward as her cunt clenches around me, tight and hot and fucking perfect. "Fuck, you feel good," I growl, my hips snapping forward, my cock pistoning in and out of her. "So tight. So fucking wet."
She moans, her body rocking back to meet my thrusts, her tits bouncing with every snap of my hips. I reach around, my fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight circles as I fuck her. She cries out, her body trembling, her cunt fluttering around my cock.
I grip her waist and lift, her ass hitting the cold granite with a gasp.
She wraps her legs around me, her heels digging into my lower back as I slam into her again.
The counter's edge bites into my thighs, but I don't care.
All I feel is her, hot, tight, milk-swollen tits pressing against my chest.
Her sweater's in the way.
I yank it up, fingers rough as I drag her bra up with it. Her tits spill free, heavy and flushed, nipples dark and dripping. My mouth waters. I latch onto one without warning, sucking hard.
She cries out, her back arching, fingers tangling in my hair.
The first pull of milk hits my tongue, warm, thick, sweet.
I groan against her skin, my hips pistoning faster, my cock buried deep in her cunt.
Her walls clench around me, milk trickling down my chin as I switch to the other nipple, my free hand palming her ass to keep her steady.
"Oh god," she gasps, her thighs trembling. "Heath, I?—"
I bite down, just enough to make her whimper, then soothe the sting with my tongue.
"Let go," I murmur, my voice rough. "Come for me. Come all over my cock."
She shatters with a broken cry, her body convulsing, her cunt milking my cock as she comes. I groan, my hips stuttering, my cock swelling as I spill inside her, my cum filling her in thick, hot ropes.
I don't pull out. I stay buried inside her, my hands gripping her hips, my breath coming in ragged gasps. She's trembling, her body still twitching with aftershocks, her breath hitching in her throat.
I press a kiss to her shoulder, my lips lingering against her skin. "Fuck, you're perfect," I murmur, my voice softening. "So fucking perfect."
She looks up, her sage eyes meeting mine. There's a vulnerability there, a softness that makes my chest tighten. "Heath, that was?—"
I cut her off with a kiss, my lips crashing against hers, my tongue sweeping into her mouth. She moans, her body melting against mine, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair.
When I pull back, her lips are swollen, her eyes dark with desire. "Again," I murmur, my cock already hardening inside her. "I want you again."
She shakes her head, her breath hitching. "I-I need a break."
I groan, my forehead dropping to her shoulder. "You're killing me."
She laughs, soft and breathless, her fingers tracing patterns on my arm. "Tonight," she promises, her voice teasing. "You can do it as many times as you want."
I chuckle, my lips brushing against her skin. "Then I'll wait for tonight."
The key turns in the lock with a quiet click, the sound sharp in the stillness of the night. I push the door open, the hinges whispering against the silence. Moonlight spills through the curtains, painting Hallie's sleeping form in silver and shadow.
She's curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath her pillow, the other draped over her waist. Her midnight hair fans across the sheets, a dark river against the pale fabric.
The rise and fall of her chest is slow, steady.
She's deep in sleep, the kind will be hard to wake her up from, not even when the world crashes around her.