by Gwen Hayes
"What a hole," he said quietly, his lips fighting not to grin. "Who'd want to live here instead of in a cabin?"
Her face relaxed a fraction, then even more so when he gave her a little wink. He was learning how to be silly. It might have taken him twenty years, but he was getting there.
She played with the hem of her t-shirt and looked around. "Right?"
"Not a bad place to hang out while a cabin is unavailable, though." He walked right into her personal space and slid his hands over her jaw, tangling one in her hair and leaving the other on her neck. "A sacrifice of principles, of course."
"Of course."
"But for the right person…" He brushed his lips against hers. "For my mate…"
She made a small, desperate sound in the back of her throat. For him? Or for his understanding? It didn't matter. She had both.
"Let me love you," he said, resting his hands on her waist. He was shaking. If he were a lesser man, he'd be embarrassed. If he were a lesser man, he wouldn't be worthy of this second chance.
She crossed her arms between them and in a single, silent flourish, pulled off her shirt. His followed, her hands yanking it up his torso before she wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him down for a kiss.
The room spun around them as they turned, slowly, and by the time they made it to the bed they were both naked and he was flat on his back.
Heather straddled his thighs.
And she had her hand wrapped around his heavy, throbbing cock.
So much for him making sweet, delicate love to his wife.
She licked her lips. "I owe you for earlier."
He shook his head. "I'm not keeping score."
"Maybe I just want a taste of you."
Yes, yes, yes please. "Be my guest," he grunted, trying not to thrust too eagerly into her touch.
Her hair fell around her face as she lowered her head, shadowing her approach. Warm breath was the next thing he felt on his cock, then the brush of lips. Smiling lips, he wanted to imagine.
Fuck it, he wanted to see.
He pushed himself up and reached forward, stroking her hair back and twisting it out of the way. He lingered his touch on her shoulder before falling back on his elbows.
His balls were heavy with anticipation, but even though he was dying for the sweet, wet heat of her mouth, this anticipation was achingly sweet, too.
Her tongue swiped at the first bead of pre-come, and she hummed as she lapped it up. A pulse of desire shot through his core and straight up his erection, giving her more to swallow down.
His body knew what to do to get her mouth on him.
She licked her lips, slicking the way for him to ease inside her mouth, then engulfed his crown with a tugging swallow that nearly made him blow his load.
It was wrong to think about how much he'd missed this. He'd missed her, every bit of her, and mostly her sharp mind and clever…tongue.
Ahhh.
Damnit. That tongue.
He was supposed to be making love to her and she was swirling her head around his erection and it was the best fucking thing in the world.
"Missed this so much," he muttered, because his mouth had disconnected from his brain.
She hummed happily and took him deeper still.
Heat swirled through him as she alternated sucking and licking, all the while keeping a firm grip on the base of his length. Just the way he liked it.
She squeezed him, then stroked her thumb lower, caressing his balls.
The way he loved it.
She was loving him, the same way he wanted to love her. She was giving to him, eager to be an equal part in their reconnection.
He was an idiot for not realizing it until this moment. "Come here," he ordered, harsher than he meant.
She pulled off with a pop and gave him a startled look. "Now?"
He laughed. God that felt good. Even his dick agreed that, yeah, now. "Come here," he repeated, softly this time. "We've got all the time in the world for give and take later. I need you in my arms right now."
"How can I resist that?" she murmured, slinking up his body.
"Dragging your beautiful breasts across my cock is an A+ effort."
"I just wanted…"
"I know. I do. I get it," he whispered, spreading her hips on either side of his. A brush of his fingers across her core told him she was more than ready. But that was her call, wasn't it? He wasn't going to take this away from her. He just wanted it to be for them both.
The first time.
"Love me as you will, woman. Just do it in a way that we can come together."
"I think you're underestimating how hot I get when I'm giving you a blow job." She laughed under her breath as she lifted herself up and teased him by swirling his crown through her slippery folds. "But this works, too."
He pressed his face into her neck as she found him with her entrance and eased down on him an inch, then raised up again. Another press. Again and again until he was buried to the root and she was writhing on top of him, trying to adjust to the stretch of him inside her.
It was fucking tight. Hot, wet, wonderful. And so, so snug. Sliding into her was the best feeling in the world.
He closed his eyes and settled his hands on her hips, squeezing her flesh tightly as she sank down his length. He thrust up into her as she settled each time, seeking that spot inside her that made her squeak and shiver, and when he found it, he took over, holding her in place as he fucked up into her.
There was only so much receiving a guy could do before he just needed to make his wife come all over his dick.
Everyone has limits.
Blindly, Michael licked his way down her chest, seeking the valley of softness between her breasts, then one nipple—so sweet on his tongue—and the other—even sweeter.
Back and forth he nuzzled her breasts until she wrapped her hands around his head and held him to her, their hips moving rough and fast together now. They were chasing it together, the orgasm that would mark their reconnection. It was merely symbolic, and really, did it matter if she came first and he followed? No. It would be a travesty if he couldn’t hold out and make sure she got there first, though. That would…well, there was only so much equality Michael could go in for. Unless it was a morning wake-up blow job, where she'd have him at a disadvantage, maybe.
Jesus. His mind went blank as she ground against him, a shudder starting deep inside her and spiraling around his cock, milking him at the same time he was thinking of her mouth…
He gasped against her breast as she pulled his hair, wrenching his head back so she could kiss him.
He slammed into her one last time, holding her tight as he jerked his release deep inside her, their bodies fused as one everywhere possible.
Their kiss slowly, reluctantly ended as she collapsed on top of him. He knew the feeling. He was boneless and heavy, completely spent.
"That was great," she mumbled. "Really…great."
"The best."
"I love you."
"Me too."
After a beat, she giggled. "You got really rough there at the end. I liked it. A lot."
"Six months of pent-up wanting you, I guess," he said.
She giggled. "Here's hoping we don't need to wait another half-year."
No risk of that. "I was thinking of blowjobs," he admitted.
She laughed and buried her face in his chest. "Really?"
"You've got a talented tongue. And I'm still an eighteen-year-old boy inside, who can't believe that this gorgeous, worldly woman is willing to get naked in my dorm room."
She sighed and wrapped her arms around him. He tugged the edge of the quilt up and around her. Even though it was warm outside, the lodge was built from giant logs and was naturally cool.
And they were covered in a well-earned sheen of sweat. Heather had to be cold.
"You've always had more faith in our relationship than I have," she said quietly, her voice cracking.
"Don't." He rolled toward
her and pulled her in tight. "That's the absolute wrong thing to take away from me liking your blowjobs."
She laughed, but it was a small sound. "I'm going to do better in that regard."
"You do just fine." He sighed and kissed her forehead.
"When you asked me out…"
He really didn't know where she was going with this. When had he asked her out?
She rubbed her hand down his arm, squeezing his biceps. "That first day of college. I was so scared you'd overwhelm me."
"What?" He could picture that day as clear as if it were yesterday. He'd seen her across the Green like she was a vision, a flashback to camp. Her hair had been shorter, but it was the same heavy golden waves that made him think of summer and racing to the raft in the middle of the lake.
She'd been wearing a flower print dress, with a jean jacket on top and Doc Marten boots on her feet. She'd looked so cool compared to him, way more grown-up, and he'd stumbled all over his words.
Then he'd asked her out, and in doing so, he'd found his first real courage in life. He'd known she wasn't sure, but he'd thought it was because he was a dork.
"I could never…" He was going to say he couldn't dim her light, but he had, hadn't he? After they'd married? And she'd had to break free from him to find it again.
He pressed his forehead against hers. Under the blanket, heads touching, they formed a secret space. He found her hand and squeezed it there, between them.
"I'm sorry," he said. Enough denial. It was time to forgive and move on. Forgive each other, and themselves, for the mistakes of the past. "I love you. And I'm here now."
She smiled at him. "I'm glad."
"That's the first step." He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the soft skin just above her knuckles.
"I'm always going to want to live in the woods."
"And I'm always going to want you. We'll make it work."
Chapter 10
Heather hummed as she took another bite of her noodles. She’d missed Thai food. If she could only bring one thing to the small town of Briarsted from the city, it would be their favorite takeout restaurant.
Michael cleared his throat. “I’m beginning to get a little jealous. Those noodles are getting the look you usually reserve for me.” Michael thumped his foot against hers. “I hope you and pad thai will be very happy together.”
They were lolling around, half-dressed in her—their—condo in Baltimore, eating takeout and planning cabin repairs. Michael had gone over to his apartment to pack a couple of bags. Eventually they'd need to move his stuff back into the condo, and up to the camp.
Tomorrow, he was going to resign. She could hardly believe it.
She’d come with him for moral support.
And noodles.
She set her empty container on the coffee table. “Any chef we hire has to be able to pass a pad thai test or they don’t get the job.”
“Yes, because pad thai is a well-known campfire staple.”
“Says the man who just tried to convince me we needed a gym in the lodge. Because why hike the nearby forest when you can jog in place like a hamster for twenty-five minutes?”
Michael laughed and took a drink of his wine. “I didn’t say I would use it. But you know stodgy corporate types. They like their routine.”
Heather pushed the notebook off his lap so she could straddle him. “Yes, I know all about those corporate stodgy types.” She leaned and smelled his neck before she nipped the place where it met his shoulder.
Michael responded by snaking his other hand up her t-shirt. She rolled her hips and sighed. He felt so damn good.
“Mrs. Tully, you are insatiable.” Michael pulled her shirt up and over her head, feasting on her breasts while she untangled her arms from the shirt.
“I know. I feel like a character in a porno. I’m turned on all the time.” And she was. The last few days were like a second honeymoon. They would talk business for a few minutes and then next thing she knew, they were naked again. She had a feeling that Camp Firefly Falls might have more of a hedonistic edge to it by the time they were done getting it up and running. She’d love it if people fell in love there—or fell back in love—and hell, what was the use of going to summer camp as a grown up if you didn’t also hook-up like horny teenagers while you were there?
What they hadn’t done, yet, was make love in their bed at the condo. They’d gotten in just a few hours ago and this was the first time they’d been here together in six months. It had been their home once, but it didn’t feel familiar. It didn’t feel like a home.
Michael pushed both her breasts together, but paused half an inch from sucking her nipples into his mouth. “Where did you just go?”
“Nowhere. It’s not important.”
He inched back a little more. “Of course it’s important. Is something wrong? Did I do–?”
“No,” she interrupted. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I was just thinking we haven’t been here together in a long time. We haven’t made love in our bed.” In a long time.
He let go of her breasts but kept his hands on her skin. The weight of his hands grounded her, kept her in the here and now when her mind was trying to take her on a trail of “what if”.
“Do you think we should move this to the bedroom? Reclaim our marital bed? Or do you want to stay here?”
She was going to cry. Why was she going to cry? “I don’t know. I don’t even understand why I am upset.”
“It’s just a bed. It’s not us.” He wiped a tear away from her cheek with his thumb.
“It feels like some stupid symbol. I’m giving it too much power, aren’t I?”
Michael pushed her hair away from her face and cupped her cheeks. “We got lost. But we know where we are now, and we know where we are going. But we can’t expect to just magically end up on the right road. We have to backtrack a bit to get there. So, we’re going to have to look at some of the things we passed going down the wrong way.” He kissed her nose. “Also, my analogy is getting weird. It’s just a bed, baby. It doesn’t have special powers to break us up. But if you never want to sleep in it again, I’ll throw it off the balcony.”
She laughed. “Let’s just christen the damn thing again.”
“Excellent idea.” He went back to sucking her nipples and she arched into his hands like she couldn’t get close enough.
BAH-BAH-BAH BADDAH-DUM, BADDAH-DAH.
Strains of the Imperial March sounded from the coffee table, interrupting them. He raised one eyebrow and let her breast plop out of his mouth. “You changed my ringtone again, didn’t you?” he asked.
She giggled as he stretched over her to grab his phone. She’d been adjusting his ringtones since 1997. “Your mom is calling.”
Michael sent her a very serious glare as he tweaked one of her nipples and answered his phone. “Hello, Mother.”
He leaned against the couch and Heather stood up, pulling down her panties to give him a show. Let him try and carry on a conversation now.
“Any chance I can call you back tomorrow? Heather and I…yes, I’m with Heather. We’re reconciling.”
Oh, she bet that made the old battle axe happy. She’d probably been hoping for a quiet divorce so Michael could marry someone more suitable and pop out baby country-clubbers.
The color leached from his face. “Is he okay? Which hospital?”
Heather paused in mid-shimmy. “Michael?”
“I’ll be right there. It’s okay, Mom. I’m on my way.” He set the phone down and scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s my dad.”
He was already getting up, looking for clothes.
“What happened?”
Clearly out of it, he stared at the shirt in his hand like he didn’t know it was hers and not his. “He had a stroke. He’s…Mom found him. They don’t know how long he was unconscious already. He’s…he’s not waking up.”
Heather took the shirt out of his hand. “Sit down.” He protested. “Michael, sit down and catch you
r breath. I’m going to gather your clothes for you. Then we’ll get dressed and I’ll drive us to the hospital. Don’t argue. Sit.”
She got them into the car, into the hospital, and into the corridor in front of his father’s room with hardly a word from Michael.
His mother stood and straightened her suit. “You’re here.”
“Of course, Mom. Of course.” He held his stiff mother while she told them the prognosis. It wasn’t good.
Heather got coffee for them both, ran interference when the nurses tried to get them to sit in the waiting room, and made calls to numbers she hadn’t used in a long time. Michael’s uncle, her father-in-law’s administrative assistant, his sister in Tucson, and to comfort her mother in law, the reverend who’d married them. Michael reached for her once, squeezing her like she was the only thing holding him up. And then she watched him morph from the scared son to the man his mother needed him to be. He dealt with everything else then. Providing comfort to his family with a reserved demeanor. Dealing with business calls and arrangements to handle whatever things his father had been working on. He was still pale, but he didn’t look scared. He looked terrifyingly capable.
Chapter 11
Michael was in shock. He could feel it from the inside out, an oppressive cloak that had fallen over him the second his mother had said those fateful five words. Your father's had a stroke. The cloak kept all his feelings on the inside and everyone around him at a strange, arms-length distance.
It was easier that way, really. He could snap out orders about what needed to be done. An emergency board meeting. Lawyers had to be called. There were protocols in place for such an occurrence, but they'd want to make sure they were acting appropriately.
He looked up from one phone call, looking for Heather. She was across the quite luxurious private hospital room, watching him from the small couch under the window. She gave him a small smile. He nodded.
This would be awkward for her, sooner or later. He should tell her to go home, get some sleep.
Before he could go to her side, the door swung open and in walked a team of people in scrubs. "Could we have the room alone with just family, please?"
