Chapter Four

Valen

I’m sipping a glass of Pinot Noir, leaning against the kitchen counter watching Hutch. Men have been in my house before, but never to have dinner and conversation. He declined the offer for a drink, but accepted the cheese and crackers I put out on a wooden platter in the shape of California.

“I’d ask you what you’re thinking right now, but I’m not sure I want to know,” I say, eyeing him over the edge of my wine glass. He’s holding a photo of me and my parents. I was about twelve years old and had Winnie the Pooh emblazoned on my chest. I also had a pixie cut that only favors the likes of celebrities in their early twenties.

“Cute,” he says, returning the frame to the shelf. “Your whole place is cute. I expected something different.” Eyeing my living area I try to see what he finds cute. It has blue hues, all adult furniture, and tasteful décor.

“I put my Barbie dolls away when men come over,” I say, and then drain my glass of wine, approaching him. “Seriously? Cute? What do you find cute about this room?” I ask, waving my arm around the room. I lean down to set my empty down on the mirrored coffee table.

He takes my arm in a firm grasp. “Mostly you.”

I swallow hard as Hutch’s face morphs into something more serious. His eyes narrow and his fun smile vanishes. “But also, you. And you,” he repeats, pulling me closer, my arm a leash.

“What did you expect?” I croak, trying and failing to look at anything except his lust filled gaze.

Hutch lets his tongue slide out to coat his bottom lip. “I expected to not want something cute.” He snakes the arm he’s holding around his neck and then releases his grip. There’s no choice but to sidle closer to his body now that I have an arm around his neck. He’s tall. I’m five foot seven, and he’s encroaching on six foot four or five.

Both of his hands are under my shirt pressed against the lower part of my back—right above the waistband of my low-rise jeans. Pretending I’m unaware of his touch is impossible. Goosebumps prickle anywhere his skin is against mine. Hutch leans down and puts his forehead against mine. “I have to give you credit. I don’t think I’ve ever been called cute before. Hot, sexy, fuckable, en fuego: those are all things I’d expect to be called,” I whisper.

His breaths smell like peppermint and the scent of musky aftershave clings to his skin. I inhale deeply and watch as he smiles in response. “Maybe it’s about time someone calls you cute?” he growls.

I nod. “I like being called cute.” It kind of reminds me of a sixth-grade crush and the stomach fluttering bullshit that vanishes after boys want sex instead of holding hands and passing folded notes in the hallway.

“Do you like it so much you’ll let me kiss you right now?” This isn’t any sort of game I’ve ever been on the receiving end of. I’m not sure how to respond. Men take what they want because I’m wholly receptive of their attentions. My whole body is screaming out for more of him. Can’t he feel it? The crackling of lust exploding around our bodies like cheap fireworks you set off in the front lawn on a drunken Saturday night? I’m singed by his body heat, I’ll probably turn to ash any second. My breaths come quicker.

Swallowing hard, I say, “Did you really just ask permission to kiss me?”

“You’re cute. I’m respecting the cute and asking if you want me to kiss you.” Hutch bites his lip and I have to close my eyes to clear my sex-crazed mind. “You have pretty lashes,” he remarks, his voice a light caress against my skin.

I let my eyes flutter open. “I’m cute, but my lashes are pretty?” I ask, disbelief filtering my words. “Kiss me before you say another word.” His hands slide up my spine in a slow assault of every nerve ending.

He swallows hard and thankfully he obeys me. With both of his hands cradling my neck and face, he leans down and presses his wet lips against mine. I wrap my other arm around his neck and lean into the kiss—into his hard body. He takes control without realizing it and I’m finally in familiar territory. It’s a place I can exist, and be myself, and relish all of the sensations hitting me at once.

His arms encase me, protect me, his lips work against mine in a slow pace. His patience is admirable. I want to climb his body and lose myself to sheer harried lust. Hutch groans and it sends a shockwave of wetness cascading to my pussy. How is it that the most animalistic noises cause such an immediate response from my body?

I slip my tongue into his mouth and let my eyes flutter open long enough to see the pure rapture dance across his features. His eyes are shut tightly, and the thought he might be holding himself back makes me wild with desire. His dick is hard, and pressing against my stomach like a fucking flag pole ready to make America proud. I give him credit for not grinding it against me, as it stands, he’s keeping his hands a massively respectable distance away from my ass. “My ass is cute, too,” I say against his mouth. “If you wanted to respect that cute, you know?”

Hutch raises one brow. “I hadn’t noticed,” he replies, lips on mine, as he lowers his hands down and over my ass cheeks. Squeezing firmly once, he then pulls me against him. On a sharp intake of breath, I let out a tiny squeak. His lips are dragging down my neck and across my collarbone; I have to work to not melt into the hardwood floor.

“It’s a real cute ass,” he says, before tracing the edge of my ear with his tongue.

Sighing, I bring his lips back to meet mine. This kiss isn’t frenzied. It speaks volumes about the difference between what I usually do and tonight. While I think we’d both love this to evolve into something that requires less clothing and more body parts, I know it won’t.

I pull away from his lips. His breathing is ragged and his green eyes are twinkling with a gleam of mischief. Well, I thought I was sure it wouldn’t lead to fucking, but with one look he’s turned that idea on its head. Hutch has a defined chin, tan skin, and cheekbones that could cut glass easier than my hard, ass nipples. His lips are full, pink, and glistening with saliva. I lick my lips. I hold him at an arms distance. “All of a sudden, I’m ravenous. Are you hungry?” I ask, in between jagged breaths.

Hutch clears his throat, and I turn around to head back to the kitchen. Peeking over my shoulder, I confirm the voyeur vibe, he’s watching my ass as I leave. Tossing my head back, I laugh a quick spell. “Ready for that drink yet?”

He groans. “I’m ready for something, I’m not sure it’s a drink though. Too much cute all up in here.” Hutch shakes his head a few times.

“Don’t be a frog hog hog, Hutch.” I ask. I vow to not watch his perfect mouth when he speaks. I’ll keep my eyes on his like a civilized person would. Just kissing tonight, Valen, I remind myself.

He slides a hand down the front of his jeans and I watch his cock move, through wide eyes. I swallow down a lump of anticipation and mentally scold myself for being a fucking barbarian. “Your cuteness had a pretty significant impact. Sorry about that,” he says. He sends a half-grin my way.

“Where are you from, Hutch?” I ask, pouring myself another glass of wine. It’s not a wise decision, but I’ll bemoan my bad choices after he leaves and I’m left with the typical hog guilt.

With a sigh, and after a mouthful of crackers and cheese, he launches into a story about his hometown in the Midwest and how moving to San Diego changed his life so drastically that when he returned back home it was jarring. It all makes sense now. Horses. Cattle. Manners. Oh, Fuck. “You don’t happen to be a mamma’s boy, do you?” I ask.

He chuckles, and works his way around the island separating us. “What if I am?”

“Then there’s the door.” I point to the door with both of my middle fingers. “Homie can’t get down with those Southern boys.”

“Southern? I’m Midwestern. Don’t you know anything about geographical areas?”

I nod, and back away from him a step. “Tell me about yours.”

“We’re nice people. We don’t let our mamma’s get in the way of our other…female interests.”

Clearing my throat, I say, “All I know is that if a man is too nice, typically he can’t be trusted.”

Hutch furrows his brow. “That seems illogical for a woman in the dating world. Wouldn’t you seek out kindness?” Fuck that shit. Greer is the only other woman I know who dated a Southern gentleman. Still to this day she can’t look her Daddy in the eye. Some media asshole emailed him a link of her porno and he watched four minutes before it showed her damn face. I don’t think Greer or her father will ever get over that. Hutch places his hand on the counter, his body now looming directly in front of me. “I can be an asshole if you want, though.”

“No. Just promise me you aren’t a liar,” I say, lost in my best friend’s story. It takes a moment or two for me to realize he hasn’t spoken to make the promise. I peek up at his dark green eyes. “You’re a fucking liar, aren’t you?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve told you about saying that word.”

I push a palm against his wide chest. I wonder what he does to make the muscle so hard. How many hours does he devote a week to working out? Focus, Valen. Essentially, by omission, he just called himself a liar and you’re worried about pecs. “I can’t apologize unless you tell me you don’t lie about things.”

“I don’t lie about things,” he says, standing a little taller. His proximity makes my heart hammer out a love song that connects to my vagina. Thump. Squirt. Thump. Squish. Thump. Splash. Come to mama. “We just met. We should take some time to get to know each other.”

I press pause on the ballad throbbing in my crotch to broach the subject at hand. “We’ve kissed. We may need to slow things down. I have a hard time believing you don’t have a wave of women lining up to date you. That’s where we should start,” I say. Men who seem too good to be true, usually are. My experience has been that God doesn’t grace one man with everything. There’s always some fatal flaw hidden inside the glorious, glowing, meat and muscle package.

“We should have dinner and discuss,” he replies.

Hutch helps me serve the meal I’ve prepared. He brings the plates into my formal dining room and I make sure to have him seat us on opposite sides of the rectangular table so I don’t have proximity wetness. I’ll already need to change my panties halfway through this date. I sit in the squish and dive into the recipe Greer gave me. It was some protein laced bowl that has healthy grains.

“This is great,” he says, raising his fork in my direction. “Well done.”

Smirking, I dust the imaginary dirt off my shoulders. I let one brow raise.

“Women don’t line up for men like me because my situation is complicated, Valen. Most run the opposite direction, or want something too casual.”

“Which is what I usually do—the casual thing. Do you ever do casual?”

He sighs. “Honest War?”

“Is there another kind of war?” I ask.

“I have done casual. But recent circumstances forced me to realize that life is too short and messy for casual anymore. I’m old. The bar scene is tired and there are so many women who put on facades.” He nods at me. “Like you.”

Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “I don’t put on facades. I’m pretty up front about my life and the things I want.”

Smiling he says, “You think you know what you want based on superfluous notions about a SEAL career and stereotypes pulled straight from Urban Dictionary.” He notices my scowl. “Remember the rules of Honest War.”

I take a bite and chew slowly. “I think I’ve just been lucky, honestly. It’s just that every SEAL I have been with…sexually, has been satisfying. It fed into the fictional ideal I have in my mind. Is it a possibility to have that kind of sex and a stable, functional relationship? While you may think I’m obsessed for the wrong reasons, they’re my reasons. You’re here right now and that means I’m interested in you enough to not have stuffed my panties down your throat the second you kissed me. I wanted to, just so we’re clear.”

He smirks. “You’re on the other side of the table for a reason, and it’s not because you want to fantasize about Beauty and The Beast,” he remarks, one brow rising.

Even though I feel rage simmering just below the surface, I tamp it down because I want to continue this conversation. “Honestly, I want to fuck you. You’re in my house, you kissed me like a goddamn starving man, and you’re being sweet. Yes. Everything leads me to one conclusion: I have to separate myself from you so I don’t flood my house.”

“You want me to dam the flood gates?” Hutch asks, taking a sip of his ice water.

“You’re saying if I stuffed my panties down your throat, you would have fucked me in the living room?” I tilt my head to the side, toward the sofa.

He grins, and takes a bite. Hutch shakes his head while he chews and swallows. “No, we’re still getting to know each other, but I could probably find a tampon somewhere if you’re going to gush.” My stupid vagina actually clenches at his offer.

“Please tell me you don’t think the pee hole and the flood hole are the same hole,” I say, letting my fork clank against my plate. “I may not know you very well, but I will school the shit out of you if you need vagina knowledge.”

He laughs. “Of course I know you have different holes. We have gotten so off topic that I’m not even sure what we were supposed to be talking about.” He pauses for a moment or two, eyes narrowed in my direction. “Oh, yes. Dealing with men like me.”

Sighing I finish the last few bites. “Let me hear your sob story. How it’s so hard to be you.”

“It’s not hard to be me. It’s hard to be with me.”

I know we’re playing Honest War, but it still takes me back. I nod for him to continue. “Valen, because I’m a SEAL I’m gone most of the time. The divorce rate in the Teams is upwards of seventy-five percent. It’s hard to keep a relationship functioning when most of the time I’m not even in the same time zone. Did you consider that when you pegged down your fantasy? A life of absence and solitary living? That’s what it is for the most part.”

I swallow hard. It’s not that I hadn’t considered deployments before, I guess I never broke it down to the micro level. “The thing is that I’m a very independent person. I’ve worked hard to build my career, buy a house, maintain stable friendships, and I want the best in the relationship arena as well. I understand what you’re saying, but what I’m feeling is that I can handle these things. And while dealing with deployments and trips isn’t ideal, it could be…worth it.”

He nods. “You’re right. It could be worth it. It could also crash and burn. I’m not one to slip a pair of rose hued glasses on and not consider every possible outcome, Valen. Relationships haven’t worked out for me in the past.”

I clear my throat and drain my wine glass. “Because they haven’t been with me.”