I’d been at the right place at the right time and invited her to crash at my place. This house was too big for just me, anyway, and my job paid plenty, so I was able to take care of her every need. Physically and emotionally. She took on more than her fair share of cooking and cleaning—I’d never asked her to, but she didn’t want to feel like a charity case, so in a sense she took care of me too, I supposed.
And since I definitely wasn’t looking for love either, we were a good match. With no interest in messy entanglements that could lead to commitment, I ensured my world didn’t involve heartache. Two distinct events had led me here, and the six years I spent on the world’s deadliest battlegrounds sealed the deal. I only wanted easy, good times from here on out.
I lived in the moment, and right now, my mission was to enjoy life without getting tied down. Take advantage of my newfound freedom away from the military. Screw whatever women caught my eye. I gave Daniella what she needed to feel safe and satisfied, and in return, I had a live-in fuck buddy to take the edge off whenever I needed it. Daniella was a broken woman who was learning to be herself again, and knew how to have fun . . . in more ways than the usual roommate. We had worked hard to get our relationship to where we were today.
I left the bathroom, not bothering to wrap a towel around me. Daniella had finished resting and was getting dressed. She glanced at me as I passed her bedroom, idly curious, now in her black satin bra and panties.
“You on your way somewhere?”
“I’m going to meet Lacey in half an hour,” I replied, pausing at the door to watch two sets of Daniella’s curves—one in the flesh, the other in the closet door’s mirror.
She ogled my muscular, naked body, her eyes drawn down to my generous cock, and I couldn’t help but smirk. I knew she liked what she saw, along with nearly every woman in our small Texas town. But a little female appreciation never got old.
Finally, she laughed and broke our staring match to put on her tank top. “You’re helping her unpack right now? It’s kind of late.”
“Not right now. We’re having a drink.”
Daniella hummed, giving me knowing smile. “Oh, I see. Pussy patrol.”
I grunted in acknowledgment. With Lacey, I doubted it was going to be so easy, but that was the general idea.
“Is she a frog hog?” Daniella shimmied into her baby-blue scrubs.
I didn’t much care for that term, but it was commonly used to describe women who chased after Navy SEALs strictly for the bragging rights.
“I don’t think so. Even if she is, I’m a few years past the expiration date.” And thank fucking God for that. Six years of ground-pounding in the world’s hottest crisis zones had been more than enough misery. I did my time, and had the battle scars to prove it.
Daniella shrugged. “Those girls don’t give a shit. All they hear is Navy SEAL and their panties drop to their ankles.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” I said, lips twitching upward. After all, I’d had my share of fun with tag chasers before I quit the service. Why the fuck not?
“Nah, of course not. Just seems like a lot of competition for . . . what, two thousand guys in the whole world?” She brushed her hair in quick, hard strokes and tied it up in a high ponytail. “Anyway, if you’re going on the prowl tonight, I think I’ll grab a quick bite with the girls before we carpool to the hospital.”
I chuckled at the mental image—a gaggle of pastel-clad nurses invading the greasy spoon around the corner. “You want me to drive you?”
“On your way to the bar? Where you’ll be drinking? With another woman? Hell no. Wouldn’t want to impose on your date.” She waved me away. “Now, stop staring at my ass and go have fun. You’re going to be late unless you get going soon.”
“Christ, woman, sometimes I wonder if you’re really submissive.”
With a wicked grin, she turned toward me and held up her arms, showing the not-quite-faded marks on her wrists. “This is all the proof I need.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Daniella had an insatiable appetite for rough sex—biting and clawing, spanking and paddling, nipple clamps, hot wax, butt plugs, and especially bondage. Everything I knew about BDSM, I had learned from her.
Knowing that she was right and I needed to get moving, I headed down the hall to my own bedroom. When I opened the door, the fat English bulldog on my bed woke up with a wheezy snort. One look at me and he started grumbling for attention.
“Hey there, buddy,” I said, rubbing his wrinkled back. “Have a nice nap?”
Sutton stared up at me dolefully. He was lying so flat that his face was sunken almost entirely into his jowls.
“Sorry, man. It’s gotta be this way.”
I’d learned to shut Sutton in his bedroom while Daniella and I were playing. She wasn’t fond of the drooling, farting beast, and a cold wet nose on the ass would kill anyone’s mood. So I always coddled and reassured Sutton afterward to make up for the missed attention.
After a few minutes of my petting and praising him with a steady stream of nonsense talk, the old dog was grinning and wiggling like a puppy. I finished with a couple of hard pats on the flank, and then swept my hand in a shoo gesture.
“Okay, now go. I need to get the hell out of here.”
Sutton jumped off the bed with a heavy thud. He lumbered into the living room, favoring his bad hip, puffing and blowing as he tottered along unevenly.