Tattooed Dots (The Halo Series Book 1)

by Kimberly Knight

  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.

  His left hand cupped my breast, lightly kneading it in his hand 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.”

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

  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 with an orgasm on the brink of exploding inside me.

  He withdrew his finger 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 a fluid motion, gliding against the water of the shower and the slickness 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.

  He stood and I turned in his arms, the water beating down on my back. Taking my mouth, our tongues tasting each other, Easton grabbed my face and kissed me hard as he stepped closer, 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.

  He placed his hands on each cheek and tugged me closer. Grabbing my right leg, he hooked 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 slowly into me, my pussy gripping his cock like a glove.

  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 against the wall and thrust harder into me, my foot lifting 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.

  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, our lips parting, 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. 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 because he was making his specialty—chicken carbonara.

  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. I didn’t want him to worry about me. The less I showed anyone how scared I was, the better. Once I started to freak out, so would everyone else.

  I told Easton 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 biopsies? 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’d eaten, 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.

  He wrapped me in his arms and I tried falling asleep, but my mind was racing. I couldn’t stop thinking about 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 as 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.

  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 multi-colored blouse. 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.

  “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 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 throug
h. 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 would be okay. If I had introduced Cheyenne to someone right after Dana died, she would have hated me. No woman has been right until now—until Brooke.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  She sighed. “As ready as I’ll 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 was 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.

  “Baby, they’re going to love you,” I said once again because it was true. I leaned down and kissed her cheek, then opened the door.

  “Jimmy, they’re here,” I heard my mom scream to my dad from the kitchen.

  Brooke tensed a little and then relaxed. Maybe it was because of her broken home and she never had parents growing up? I wasn’t sure, but I would bet money on it. Shit, maybe I should have fucked her before we left the house so she would be relaxed!

  “Baby, this is my mom, Jane.” I gestured to my mom who was wiping her hands on a dishtowel and coming from the kitchen.

  “Brooke, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” my mom said, engulfing her in a hug.

  Brooke looked a little taken back, but then I saw her relax and embrace my mom. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Crawford.”

  “Please, call me Jane. Jimmy!”

  “I’m coming! Jesus Christ, can’t a man take a shit in his own hou …” My dad stopped in his tracks when he saw us. “Shit, I’m sorry, you must be Brooke?” he asked, sticking his hand out to shake hers.

  “Yes, it’s nice to meet you as well—Jimmy.”

  “Cheyenne is up in her room. Breakfast is almost ready.” My mom turned toward the kitchen. “Brooke, I have orange juice or coffee if you’d like some.”

  “What? You cooked breakfast for once?” I teased.

  “You know I can cook, Easton. I just prefer when you do it.” She patted my cheek. “Plus, we need to leave soon for Chey’s game.”

  “Let me go check on Peanut.” I kissed the top of Brooke’s head.

  “Brooke, I’ll show you where the glasses are. Make yourself at home.” Mom gestured for Brooke to follow her.

  “So, Brooke, East tells me that you live in Boston. Are you a Red Sox’s fan?” my dad asked as he walked with Brooke to the kitchen.

  I stopped mid-stride on the stairs, listening for her response, but I couldn’t hear. I knew she watched baseball, but I wasn’t sure if she was a diehard fan. I almost feared for her life with my dad, but I figured he would let it slide—for now.

  I went upstairs to Cheyenne’s bedroom. Since she spent most Friday and Saturday nights at my parents, she got own room, and she loved it because it meant that she could have two of everything.

  “Peanut,” I said, knocking on her door. It had a sign that read No Boys Allowed and I stared at it as I waited for her to open the door or tell me to come in. She had just told me that she had kissed a boy a few days prior, so I prayed that the sign held true. I needed to talk to my dad—we needed to go to the shooting range and practice.

  “I’m almost ready,” she said from inside the door.

  “Okay, Brooke is here and we’re having breakfast. Hurry up.”

  “I know, Dad!”

  I was in for a ride when she became a teenager. I just knew it.

  My mom made banana chocolate chip pancakes (Chey’s favorite), bacon and a side of strawberries. Of course, bacon was involved; Crawfords couldn’t have a meal without bacon. We sat around the formal oak dining room table that we normally only used for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but my parents had a breakfast table in their kitchen with only had four seats. Usually, it was just the four of us and if Avery came over, one of us would sit at the breakfast bar.

  Cheyenne came down the stairs and plopped into the empty chair across from me. “Well, hello to you, too,” I said. “Cheyenne, this is Brooke.” I reached my arm across Brooke’s shoulders and tugged her lightly towards me.

  “Hi,” Cheyenne said, barely looking at Brooke as she grabbed a pancake.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Cheyenne. Your dad has told me a lot about you.”

  “Uh huh,” Cheyenne replied, squirting syrup on her stack.

  Why does she have an attitude?

  “I like your uniform,” Brooke said.

  Cheyenne’s uniform was white with the word Lightning written in blue script and a yellow lightning bolt behind it. She’d followed in my footsteps and wore the number thirty-five.

  “Thanks.”

  “What position do you play?”

  Cheyenne finally looked up at Brooke. “I don’t know. Ask my daddy, he’s the coach.”

  “Cheyenne, that is no way to speak to our guest,” my mother scolded her.

  “It’s okay. My sister was the same way at ten.” Brooke gave smiled at Cheyenne.

  “Fine, Grandma,” Cheyenne huffed. “I want to play shortstop and third base, but my Daddy said that I’m starting on third today.”

  “I played Rover when I was your age,” Brooke said.

  Rover was the tenth position was created for young players. It was mainly in the back of second base on the grass line, but used as a floater and could play in the outfield or infield as needed. Rover was used because most kids Cheyenne’s age couldn’t catch or throw well, so the player was used to shorten distance between the defense. Since Cheyenne had started at a later age, she would only be on the team for one year that used Rover. The next year, she would be with the faster thirteen and under group.

  “What did you play when you got older?” Cheyenne asked.

  “I actually played a lot of positions, but my favorite was third.”

  “Really?” Cheyenne’s eyes lit up.

  I squeezed Brooke’s knee under the table. I knew softball was the key to open Cheyenne up.

  “I did. My favorite part of playing third was diving for a line drive and catching the runner trying to steal home.”

  “Wow … I’m not that good, yet.” She frowned.

  “You will be,” Brooke told her.

  “Maybe you can teach me?” Cheyenne asked Brooke.

  Brooke tensed a little. I knew what was running through her head—her tumor. “Sure. Next time, I’ll bring my glove.”

  “Awesome!”

  “Eat up, Chey. We need to get you to your game,” my dad said.

  I squeezed Brooke’s knee under the table and she smiled up at me. My two girls were already bonding and it went better than I thought it would have.

  We took my parent’s Escalade to the field. A game was already in progress and Cheyenne’s would start shortly after that one finished. It was good for Cheyenne to watch others play. I saw Phil standing on the third base side and we walked over to him. Cheyenne ran to Courtney as soon as she saw her, hugging her as if she hadn’t seen her in a year. “Hey man,” I said, shaking his hand. “This should be fun.”

  “Yeah, always is. Hey, before I forget, we’re going for pizza after the game if you and … Cheyenne want to come,” he said, looking at Brooke standing next to me.

  “Yeah, that sounds good. This is my girlfriend, Brooke.”

  They exchanged handshakes.

  “I’m going to go sit with your parents.” Brooke gestured to where my parents sat.

  “Okay, I’ll see you after the game.” I kissed the top of her head.

  She left to sit with my parents in the bleachers. They were sitting at the top; the best seat in my opinion. My parents were pros at watching games
and always brought padded bleacher chairs, an umbrella to shade the sun, and an ice chest with drinks and snacks.

  As I turned to go over to Phil, I saw Avery and Nicole enter the gate of the park. I didn’t know they were coming, but I knew Cheyenne would be very happy to see them. I walked over to Cheyenne and Courtney; they were throwing the ball back and forth, warming up.

  “Uncle A is here,” I said to Cheyenne.

  “Awesome!”

  “Don’t forget to stretch.”

  “Yes, Coach!”

  Phil and I planned what position each girl would play. There were twelve girls on the team, ten would play the field at one time and each girl would bat. After we’d decided which girls would start and then rotate in, we planned the batting order.

  I missed playing. I didn’t regret not going to college and playing; possibly playing in the major leagues—I got Cheyenne out of the deal and she was my world. Things have a way of working themselves out. If I were in the major leagues, I would probably be married to a gold digger bimbo that got pregnant on purpose to trap me.

  The game that was underway when we arrived at the field finally ended and Phil told the girls who would start. Each girl ran onto the field once it was raked and ready for the next game. Phil hit grounders to the infield, warming them up and I threw balls to the outfield for them to catch. Balls rarely went far into the outfield, but we wanted our girls ready for anything. Phil and I both were trying to form all-stars.

  We were home, so the other team batted first. Courtney played first and Cheyenne started at third. Another girl wanted to play third, so she and Cheyenne would switch off. Cheyenne would also switch off with the girl at shortstop, so she could determine what position she wanted to play.

  I was fine with whatever, but I knew she would choose third. Dana played third and so did Brooke. Brooke could teach her things that I couldn’t. It would be good bonding for my girls.

  My weekend with Easton and Cheyenne went better than expected. Cheyenne played extremely well, always getting on base when she would bat and only missed a few balls between her legs. I was proud of her. Easton had told me so many stories that I felt already close to her.