Tattooed Dots

by Kimberly Knight

  I dropped my fork.

  “What? You like a boy?”

  “Yep,” she said, taking a bite of bread like it was no big deal.

  “You’re ten. How can you like a boy?”

  “I don’t know, he’s cute,” she shrugged.

  “Cute? No, no, no, no, no!”

  “Daddy, calm down, we’ve only kissed once.”

  “Oh my God, I think I’m having a heart attack,” I said, clenching my chest.

  “Why? Do you kiss your girlfriend?”

  “Peanut, I’m thirty-one. You’re ten.”

  “So? When did you have your first girlfriend?”

  Lie Easton. Lie!

  “When I was sixteen, your mother and I started dating.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, you’re mother has been my only girlfriend until now.”

  “Hmmm,” she sighed.

  Oh dear God, I can’t handle raising a daughter on my own anymore. Brooke was right. Cheyenne needs a mother to talk to her about this. The more she talked, the more I saw red. She had already kissed a boy! Granted, I was probably six when I first kissed a girl, but this was my little girl—my Peanut.

  “Let’s go back to Brooke. Maybe she can talk to you about boys.”

  “When do I get to meet her?”

  “I’m not sure, Peanut. Maybe in a few weeks?”

  “What does she look like?”

  “Here, I have a picture.” I showed her a picture that we took on the cruise of the four of us. Brooke was in her bikini on my left. We had just gotten out of the pool, my arm was draped over her shoulder, hers behind Nicole’s back and Nicole was clenched to Avery’s waist.

  “She’s pretty.”

  I smiled. “She is.”

  “So, can you talk to her about boys?”

  “I can try, but I’m kinda nervous.”

  “Why are you nervous?”

  “What if she doesn’t like me?”

  “She will, I promise. I told her all about you and how you played softball. Right now, anyone that can help her with softball is a hero to her.”

  “I can’t help now with my stupid tumor.”

  “Baby, she’s ten. You have her whole life to help make her an all-star.”

  We started to drive out of the city to my house. Somehow, God was looking over me because I’d washed my sheets today. I would have been mortified if Brooke had to smell my stinky man sheets—even if they were new.

  “I like when you say stuff like that.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek.

  “Say what?”

  “Talk about us and the future.”

  “Oh, well…there’s definitely an us and a future,” I said, kissing the back of her hand.

  “Good.” I saw her smile glow with the light from the passing streetlights.

  “So, if Avery asks, we went by my parents and all the lights were off, okay?”

  “Why is that?”

  “I talked him into letting me go because I wanted you to meet Cheyenne to prove that I love you.”

  “I believe you love me.”

  “You know what I mean. Cheyenne is the final puzzle piece.”

  “That’s true, but don’t you own the bar with him?”

  “Yeah, but it’s Friday and busy. Kinda putting him out with me gone. Plus, he wanted to leave too since Nicole is there.”

  “Shit, now I feel bad.”

  “Don’t feel bad. He can handle it. It will give him more of a push so we can hire more bartenders for the weekends so we can spend them with you and Nicole.”

  “I thought you worked the weekends to make more money for Cheyenne?”

  “I do. I’ll figure something out.”

  “Okay well, Nicole would kill me if she knew, so your secret is safe with me.”

  “Good,” I said and kissed the back of her hand again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Brooke

  I was nervous as Easton pulled his car into his garage. Why was I nervous? We’ve had sex a handful of times. I followed him up two steps from his garage and into his kitchen. Dark cherry hardwood floors were throughout with white cabinets and white marble countertops. There was light green tile backsplash along the walls under the cabinets that led to a stainless steel gas stove with two ovens.

  “Geez, no wonder you have to work weekends,” I said, looking around in awe.

  “When Dana died, I got money from her life insurance.”

  “I thought you were getting divorced, though?”

  “We were, but she never changed the policy, and we were technically still married.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. I could picture myself living in a house with that kitchen. It was breathtaking. “No wonder you like to cook.” I gave him a smile.

  “‘Like’ isn’t the word I would use. I have to cook because of Cheyenne.”

  “Well, I would love to cook in here,” I said, still looking around the room and running my hand along the marble.

  “Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

  “I am. Nicole and I came straight here. We were going to stop for food, but with the storm, we didn’t want to chance it.”

  “I know just the dish to make us,” he said with a wink. “Let me throw some bacon into the oven and then we can shower and get into dry clothes.”

  “We?” I asked, biting my lower lip.

  “Yeah, to save water, of course.” He smirked.

  “Of course.” I laughed. Easton was always making me laugh. I hadn’t felt happy in a really long time and after the news about the tumor, it was refreshing being in a relationship that I was happy in.

  I grabbed my bag that Easton brought in and followed him to his bedroom. I tried peeking in the dark rooms, but didn’t see anything as we walked down the end of the hall other than his living room. It was just as nice as the kitchen. The hardwood floors were still throughout, and a brown suede sectional faced a massive size flat screen TV that hung over built-in bookshelves that were painted white like the kitchen cabinets.

  Easton turned on his light in the bedroom and once again, I was in awe.

  “Zebra print, huh?” I said, motioning to a small ottoman between two grey chairs at the end of his king-size bed.

  “Yeah…I hired a decorator.” He laughed.

  “Oh, well that explains it all,” I teased.

  A light grey accent wall was behind the off-white cushioned headboard of the king-size bed. White linens covered the bed with black and white accent pillows with different shapes on each. The end tables matched each other, and both had glass-faced drawers and lamps that were in the shape of a circle and were painted a medium grey with white lampshades.

  His home put my tiny one-bedroom apartment to shame. Mine was so bland: white walls, beige carpet, beige linoleum, light oak cabinets and white countertops that I had no clue what they were made of—but it wasn’t marble or even granite.

  And Jesus, his master bath…a large walk-in shower with a glass door sat adjacent to a large Jacuzzi style tub. The cabinets were a dark cherry wood, the countertops had his and her sinks with a darker shade of slab than the ones in the kitchen—like a light beige granite and matched the tile in the shower perfectly, even though one was granite.

  “Damn, I bet the girls never want to leave this bathroom,” I said, placing my PJs on the counter.

  “What girls?”

  “The girls you bring home from the bar.”

  “I’ve never brought any girls here—until you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep,” he said, turning on the shower.

  I guess it made sense that he never brought any girl home before because of Cheyenne, but I just assumed he might have since she stays at her grandparents on Friday and Saturday nights.

  “Let me go put the bacon in the oven. It should be almost pre-heated. Go ahead and get in. I’ll be back in a minute.” He lightly kissed my lips.

  I piled my damp clothes in the corner and stepped into the shower. The wate
r was perfect, especially after being cold from the rain. I heard Easton enter a few minutes later and I turned to face him.

  He started to undress, stripping off his wet clothes like I had. I would never tire of seeing his perfect body. Each part was chiseled just right. His chest was smooth, his pecs firm, his biceps were hard as rocks, and he had an eight-pack that I wanted to lick every time I saw him shirtless. The eight-pack led to the perfect V that connected to his magic stick that worked wonders.

  He slipped into the shower against my back and began running his hands along my sides. “We have thirty minutes.”

  “Then we better hurry,” I said.

  He pushed my hair to one side and began kissing the side of my neck as his hand slipped between my legs and began massaging my clit. I moaned at the contact. It had been five days since I’d felt his touch, and my body instantly recognized it. My fingers didn’t do his justice.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered in my ear.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I said, spreading my legs a little farther apart.

  His left hand cupped my breast, lightly kneading it in his hand and then lightly pinching my nipple. My head fell forward on my arm that was bracing my body to stay upright against the wall. He slipped a finger in while still massaging my clit, my pussy stretching a little to allow his finger to go as deep as it could.

  “I’ve missed your pussy, too.”

  “It’s missed you, too,” I said, trying to laugh, but a moan escaped as he pressed harder on my clit at my words.

  He smiled against my neck and then ran his tongue along the slope, moving to the back of my neck and down my spine then back up. My pulse quickened, my heart beating fast and an orgasm on the brink of exploding inside me.

  He withdrew his finger from inside me and added it with the one rubbing my clit. Each finger added an extra bonus—like long strokes that one alone couldn’t do. His tongue went back down my spine all the way to the tip of my crack.

  His fingers worked in fluid motion, gliding against the water of the shower and the slick of my juices. His tongue ran down my right butt cheek and my stomach clenched as an orgasm hit me.

  I knew I wouldn’t last. Just seeing him naked was all I needed for my undoing, but the added bonus of his fingers made me cum hard.

  I turned in his arms, the water beating down on my back. Easton leaned down, taking my mouth, our tongues tasting each other. He grabbed my face like he normally did when his kisses are intense and kissed me hard as he stepped closer to me, our bodies flush.

  I could feel his hard cock on my belly, wanting attention. My right hand began pumping him, using the water as lubricant, and he groaned against my lips.

  “I could get used to this,” he said, not taking his lips off mine.

  “Me too,” I agreed.

  His hands released my face, and he placed them on my hips and then grabbed each cheek in his palms and tugged me closer—as if there was any space between us. He grabbed my right leg, hooking it around his hip and stepped back just enough to tease my folds with the tip of his cock.

  My nipples were hard, rubbing against his chest as my arms circled around his neck for support. He slid his cock slow into me, my pussy gripping his cock like a glove. When I was with him, all thoughts of my problems disappeared and I only saw him. I didn’t have a tumor. I was Brooke Bradly and in love with Easton Crawford.

  His mouth covered mine when he was fully in, thrusting his hips and rocking my core. He held my leg, balancing me as he pumped. He kissed me like he loved me: slow, passionate, hot. My hands went to their place—where they felt comfortable—in his hair at his nape.

  He groaned, breaking our kiss and bent his head down to taste my neck again—a place where I’d come to learned he liked to taste. He rolled his hips, bracing himself with his hand against the wall and thrust harder into me, my foot coming off the bottom of the shower.

  “See what happens when I have to wait a week?”

  I couldn’t speak. Each time we had made love, it was gentle. This was gentle—but more. I couldn’t stand, my toes lightly trying to press into the tiles below my feet, but with each thrust, I slid up the wall.

  I slid up and down, the water gliding my body, Easton’s cock buried deep inside me. His kisses turned hungry as he continued to rock his hips; he was close. He squeezed my breast with his free hand, pinching my nipple just a little. I moaned loud, it was so intense—so fast—so needed. We didn’t have much time or we would burn the bacon and then be interrupted by the fire department.

  It was like we were made for each other. My core trembled, clenching around him as he glided in and out. My insides tightened again, I was close. I knew he could feel it, too. He pulled back, are lips pulling apart and he looked me in the eye as I came around him, squeezing him as my body convulsed. After a few more hard strokes, he came, too.

  *~*~*

  When we stepped out of the bathroom door, I smelled bacon. I loved bacon and apparently so did Easton. The oven timer was going off, as Easton hurried to make sure the bacon wasn’t burnt. Thankfully, it was perfect.

  I offered to help him cook, but was told to sit at the breakfast bar and relax, he was making his specialty—chicken carbonara. He boiled spaghetti noodles, pan seared chicken, made a special cream that I didn’t see all the ingredients that he used, and added a bunch of bacon and cheese before handing me a plate.

  Everything was delicious. I knew why it was his specialty, and I liked that he used bacon instead of pancetta. He poured me a glass of white wine and we talked. Even though I was on narcotics, I still had the occasional glass of wine—it helped the pain as well. I wanted to tell him how scared I was about my tumor, but I wasn’t ready, yet. I didn’t want him to worry more about me. The less I showed anyone how scared I was, the better. Once I would start to freak out, so would everyone else.

  I told him about the biopsy results and he was just as confused as I was. How could a doctor not get enough sample? Especially one that specialized in them? He tried to lighten the mood by telling me that it was probably some sort of mass that was actually a superpower. Wouldn’t that be nice?

  After we ate, we crawled into bed with our bellies full. I knew I shouldn’t go to bed until the pasta digested, but I was beat. It was past one in the morning and Easton had Cheyenne’s softball game at ten, plus we had to be at his parents for breakfast—a weekend ritual when Easton normally worked.

  He wrapped me in his arms and I tried falling asleep, but all I thought about was meeting his parents and his daughter in just a few hours. I thought about what I was going to wear and if I’d packed anything worth meeting his parents in. I thought about my sailor’s mouth and gave myself a pep talk to not cuss so much when I saw them—if at all. I thought about Cheyenne hating me and as Easton started to snore slightly, I thought about spending the rest of my life with the man curled behind me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Easton

  When my alarm went off, I was curled around Brooke’s back—the same way I fell asleep. I didn’t want to get out of bed. She was warm, soft, and my dick was so hard, I wanted to pin her down and make her moan over and over in my ear—but we didn’t have time.

  I tried thinking about the game—anything to get my dick to calm the fuck down. It wasn’t working. I watched as Brooke changed, putting on jean shorts and some sort of blouse with different colors on it. She was gorgeous, and her legs—her fucking legs—even though they were short, they still made my cock hard when I thought about them wrapped around my waist.

  Jesus Christ, I was pussy whipped. I always joked with Avery about being controlled by the pussy, and lo and behold, I was. I would do anything Brooke wanted.

  Brooke fidgeted with the skin around her fingernails and stared out the window as we drove to my parents’ house. She really had nothing to worry about, but I suspected meeting the parents and daughter was a big deal.

  “Baby, they’re going to love you,” I said, taking her hand in mine.
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  “Uh huh.”

  “Why do you think they won’t?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, looking over to me. “What if I cuss in front of them? What if they think I’m not good enough for you? What if Cheyenne thinks I’m trying to be her mom?”

  “First off.” I laughed. “Cuss all you want in front of my parents. They are just as bad. We don’t have filters except in front of Cheyenne. Second, I don’t really care if they think you’ll be good enough for me. I actually think my mother already loves you…”

  “What? How?”

  “When I talked to her about you, she got all excited.”

  “But she doesn’t even know me.”

  “I know you. We didn’t hold anything back on the cruise and plus, it’s kinda a big deal that I’m bringing a girl over. They never thought I would really date again.”

  “You didn’t, either.”

  “I know and that’s why this is huge. If I love you, they’ll love you, too. I promise.”

  “What about Cheyenne?”

  “She’s never really said anything to me about replacing Dana, but I see how she is around her friend Courtney’s mom—I know she wants a mother or at least someone to talk with about all the woman shit you women go through. And seriously, I need you. I thought I was having a heart attack when she told me she had kissed a boy.”

  “You’re probably right. She’s probably not at that stage where she hates her parents so there shouldn’t be a reason to hate me.”

  “Exactly.”

  The more I thought about Cheyenne meeting Brooke, the more I thought that everything was going to be okay. I thought that if I had introduced Cheyenne to someone right after Dana died then she would probably be a different kid and hate me. No woman has been right until now—until Brooke.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  She sighed. “As ready as I will ever be.”

  I took her hand as soon as I rounded the car. The closer we approached my parent’s front door, the more nervous I became. I wasn’t expecting to be nervous, but shit, my Peanut is meeting my girlfriend. I squeezed her hand a little when I placed my hand on the doorknob and she looked up at me. I saw terror in her eyes, the same look she had when we walked into the hospital for her biopsy.