by Zoe York
His groin tugged hard. “I thought you were tired.”
She lifted a meatball to her mouth. “Look. Newfound energy.”
After they finished eating, they grabbed dessert to go and headed back to the cabin. As they walked down the path, Frank started laughing as he remembered the look on that poor woman’s face.
“What’s so funny?”
“Zombies.”
Grace chuckled. “Sometimes I can be weird.”
“I like weird,” Frank promised as they arrived at the cabin.
She followed him into his cabin without asking. He put his lemon cake down on the table by the window and she did the same.
The heat between them ratcheted up nicely as she gave him a knowing smile.
“Sometimes I can be dirty, too,” she whispered.
He groaned. “I love dirty.”
“You didn’t get under my shirt at all on the mountain,” she said, sticking her lower lip out just enough for him to bite the pout right off her face.
He did just that, and she laughed. “My apologies for being a gentleman.”
“You should apologize.”
Instead, he slid his hand under her shirt and splayed his fingers wide across her warm skin, pulling her against him. She came willingly, soft and pliant. It took nothing at all to get her on the bed, one hand up her shirt and the other roaming wild and free across the outside of her shorts.
Endless kisses and teasing touches that felt good and made his head spin.
“It’s been thirty years since I did this last,” he murmured as his fingertips grazed the seam between her legs. “Discovered a woman’s body for the first time. You’ll have to tell me if I’m doing okay.”
“It’s been thirty days for me,” she gasped, rocking into his hand. “And you’re putting the other guys to shame.”
He squeezed her thigh, ignoring the way his heart beat thumped harder at that information. She’d slept with someone a month ago?
He hadn’t known her then. It didn’t matter.
But fuck, what was he doing? Could he compete with that?
“You stopped.” She wiggled out from beneath him and pushed up onto her knees. “Why? Because I said it’s been thirty days…” She jumped off the bed. “Seriously?”
His head was spinning. “No. I…”
Her eyes blazed at him as she propped her hands on her hips. “Well?”
“And I just said it’s been thirty years, so give me a God-damned minute.” He swallowed. Of course this wasn’t going to go smoothly. He swore again, this time under his breath, and pushed off the bed.
She stepped back, and he prowled after her. Yeah, he liked this better. The push-pull tension was better than the softness they’d slipped into on the bed.
“Don’t judge me,” she whispered.
“Jesus, I promise I’m not. I was just worried for a minute that I wasn’t going to make you feel good. That I’m out of practice compared to—”
She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in. “No comparison. I promise. But it’s hard to do when we’re not on a bed.”
He grinned, hard and feral. “Oh, my sweet wildflower, we don’t need to be in a bed for me to make you feel good.”
She bumped into the wall. “You aren’t serious. We’re too old for—”
He wasn’t too old for anything. He caged her in, one arm bracing against the wall, the other hand tracing the line of her jaw as she closed her eyes. “Frank…”
“I don’t care if you were with someone else yesterday. Right here, right now, it’s just the two of us. And this feels right. I don’t want to overthink it.”
She exhaled, a breathy little pulse. “I don’t want you to regret this.”
Regret her? Never. “I won’t. At all. I promise.” And there was an easy way to make sure he could stand behind his word on that front. This wasn’t going to be about him at all. He wanted to make her feel good—so good she’d want him to do it again. His pleasure could wait. “Kiss me, Grace. Kiss me and let me touch you.”
She closed her eyes and parted her lips.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against her mouth. “I can’t wait to feel you come on my fingers.”
He swallowed her gasp at the same moment he popped the button on her shorts. She arched into his touch and he let his lizard brain take over. Soft skin, sparse curls, and then slickness. He touched her lightly, working from the outside in. Gentle strokes until she spread her legs, then deeper exploration, dragging her wetness up to her clit and then back down again.
Not until she was begging him in panting, little breaths did he thrust a finger into her. But that quickly escalated to two, and then a teasing third as she rode his hand.
Shameless.
Beautiful.
Stunning.
His cock was leaking in his boxers as her breaths changed. Faster, more desperate. His name on a whisper, her fingers tight on his arm, and then, with a squeak, she threw her head back and everything clenched down.
Stunning.
Beautiful.
Shamelessly perfect.
“That’s so good,” he murmured, kissing her softly now. “So good. Yes. Thank you. Thank you…”
Chapter 9
It was still dark outside when Frank woke up. For a split second panic gripped his chest, but it faded as he came fully into consciousness. No, he didn’t wake up because he was sad, or angry, or guilty.
It took him a minute to sort out the real reason, in part because it was a long-dormant response.
But when his cock twitched against his shorts, and he realized with a start that he was hard—really hard and getting thicker by the second—he laughed.
Fucking hell. He was horny.
Like, reach into his shorts and give himself a good squeeze, which will turn into a slow tug, and eventually get himself off kind of horny.
He wasn’t prepared for this. He didn’t have any tissues at hand, and he wasn’t going to make a mess in camp sheets.
Closing his eyes, he cupped himself through the fabric of his shorts. Go away, he tried to suggest. We can do something about you in the morning.
But his erection wouldn’t be dismissed so easily. He was thick and hard, and unbidden images of Grace wouldn’t stop flashing through his mind. The curve of her thigh leading up to her bathing suit. The way her breasts were heavier in his hand than he’d expected. Her warmth and tightness against his fingers. Eager kisses. Wet tongues.
He groaned and stroked himself faster, then squeezed the crown tight. No. He wasn’t a young buck who couldn’t control himself.
That resolve lasted a minute before he was jacking his hand up and down again. Slowly this time. It felt good. She’d felt good, too.
He wanted her again. He wanted her now. Wanted to crawl into her bed on the other side of the building and wake her up with slow, intense kisses. Thrust into her and hold her down while he—
Throwing back his blankets, he stalked to the shower. He couldn’t sneak into her bunk, but he also couldn’t tell himself not to come right the fuck now.
There was a part of him, now awake again thanks to Grace, who was absolutely a young buck.
It took a minute for the water to heat up. He welcomed the cold sting on his back, but it didn’t do anything to shrink his erection. And once the steam wrapped around him, he braced one hand against the wall and let the other squeeze his cock tight.
It was her squeak that got his blood really going. That gasping, needy little sound as she climaxed. He’d heard it and felt her shudder around his fingers. He could easily imagine how good it would feel—and sound—if her limbs were wrapped around his body and he was buried balls-deep in her pussy, too.
She was sexy as hell.
Grace Bennett. Jesus Christ.
He grinned as he remembered the smile. The zombie hunting threat. And the way her eyes flashed as she bit into that meatball. Energy. Hell, she had energy for days.
His eyes drifted closed as hi
s own orgasm approached. His legs shook, and his balls pulled tight, then pulsed as his mind went blank. Fuck. Yes.
The release was perfect. Blissful and draining.
He stood under the hot spray for another minute, then grabbed the soap and scrubbed up as the spots in his vision receded. Maybe now he’d be able to get a few more hours of sleep.
Much to Grace’s delight, Frank didn’t have any second thoughts about their fling the next morning.
They spent most of the day on Wednesday making out like teenagers.
A long, breathless kiss good morning before breakfast. A secret press-against-the-wall in the boathouse before kayaking. A gentle brush of lips-on-lips, right out in the open, before a picnic lunch on the lawn.
They even had a mid-afternoon nap together, their clothes staying on, because there was a special evening entertainer that night—an illusionist, which sounded quite excellent.
That night, Heather Tully waved Grace over as they entered the amphitheatre for the magic show. “Hey,” she said breathlessly. “So, this might be good news, if you’re interested in surprising Tegan and Wyatt. This guy happens to be free tomorrow night. He’s not heading on to his next gig until Friday. So if you wanted to hire him for a second show tomorrow night, for the early wedding arrivals…”
The camp director kept talking, but Grace stopped listening. A loud buzzing had taken over in her head. Her daughter was arriving tomorrow. She’d just gotten Frank halfway past second base, damn it.
Priorities, Grace. Right.
She smiled graciously at Heather. “That sounds fantastic.” It did. Just…their time together was coming to an end just as it got started.
“Are you okay?” Frank asked as they settled into seats halfway back from the stage.
She nodded. What could she say that wouldn’t come off as clingy?
He kissed her cheek, and she focused her energy on that. The sweetness of the moment, the promise for the end of the night.
Soon the lights dimmed, and as dramatic music started, they came back up, revealing a man in a tuxedo in the middle of the stage. He introduced himself as the Wicked Maestro. “Or Wick for short. I’ll also respond to Maestro, and Hey You if you’re holding a twenty.”
The room chuckled.
“Or even a crisp one. Let’s be honest, I’m easy if you want my attention. Now who here has been to a magic show?”
Frank leaned in, brushing his lips against Grace’s ear. “With a crowd this age?”
Everyone’s hand went into the air.
Wick cleared his throat. “Okay, so I’ve gotta do some new tricks. Err….”
That got another laugh.
And sure enough, his first couple of illusions were ones Grace had seen before. A floating table, a couple of card tricks. But then he surprised the crowd with some unexpected tricks, many of them pulling people from the audience.
Grace found herself clapping and laughing along. “He’s good,” she murmured to Frank.
Wick disappeared behind a screen, then came back juggling two balls and a…gun. An extra long one. Not quite a rifle, but longer than a pistol. Shocked reactions and nervous laughs rippled through the audience.
Grace shared their surprise, her whole body tensing up.
“That’s a paintball gun,” Frank said quietly in her ear.
Oh, well that was better than a real weapon.
“And for my next trick,” the illusionist said as he continued to juggle. “I need a volunteer who knows their way around firearms and is used to taking orders. Because I need someone who will, on my order, shoot me right in the face.” The crowd gasped. “Is anyone here a police officer? Anyone with military training?”
Grace pivoted her head towards Frank. His neck darkened just above his collar, and she jerked her attention back to the stage, but it was too late. Wick had noticed, and whoever was operating the lighting had as well. A spotlight landed on Frank.
Wick came closer. “You, sir. Are you a police officer?”
Frank cleared his throat. “Navy.”
“Excellent, excellent. Come with me, if you don’t mind. You’re just the man for this trick.”
She felt Frank’s discomfort viscerally. I’m so sorry, she thought. He reached over and patted her knee, giving her a half-smile before standing up. “We need to work on your poker face,” he murmured.
“You don’t need to do this,” she whispered up at him.
“It’s fine. If the man wants me to shoot him with a paint pellet, who am I to say no?”
She still bit her lip.
But as Frank strode to the stage, her nerves on his behalf fell away, and she sat back in her chair. It was hard not to appreciate his presence. His grace for his large size, the way he commanded the stage. She could imagine him in his uniform, but even out of it, with a few days of camp scruff on his jaw and wearing nothing more than a faded t-shirt and cargo shorts, he looked in charge.
The magician—who had requested Frank, after all—even looked a little nervous.
That’s right, buddy, Grace thought. You want him to shoot you in the face. Crazy pants.
Wick explained to the crowd that what he was going to hand Frank was not a real gun, but a paintball gun, which Grace already knew. Then he showed everyone a single paint round and handed it to Frank. “Write your initials on that for me, sir.”
“I don’t have a pen.” Grace hadn’t heard that voice before. It must be Frank’s Rear Admiral voice, and it was very intimidating. It also made her a little tingly in her middle-aged lady garden. That’s right. Frank’s don’t-fuck-with-me voice made her want him to fuck-with-her all night long.
Wick laughed nervously. He handed over a sharpie, and Frank scrawled sharply on the ball. Wick took it back, loaded the weapon of his destruction, and handed it over.
Frank immediately settled back into an expert-looking stance. Grace noticed he kept the gun pointed at the floor, the muscles in his forearm flexed.
It was hard to pay attention to the rest of the illusion when that forearm was on the stage. She knew what the golden hair dusting his skin felt like under her fingertips, and what those muscles could do to her body.
The magician handed Frank something else. A paper target to shoot through. Grace missed why, but it didn’t matter. Wick was giving Frank a countdown now, and with impressive precision, Frank readied his weapon and on command, pulled the trigger without flinching.
The whole room gasped.
Wick wobbled.
Frank stood stock still, the gun pointed right at Wick’s head.
And then the illusionist turned, opened his mouth, and showed the crowd a bright blue paintball caught between his teeth.
He pulled a ziplock bag from a pocket, spit the ball into it, and jogged across the stage to Frank. “Trade you,” he said, his voice shaking.
Frank didn’t break a smile. “Sure thing.”
“Can you tell the ladies and gentlemen in the audience if those are your initials?”
Frank looked at the plastic bag, then raised it over his head. “They are.”
The audience erupted with applause, and Grace’s cheeks hurt from grinning.
Chapter 10
Frank watched the rest of the show with his arm wrapped tight around Grace. When it ended, she had to disappear for a minute to confirm with Heather that the guy would be back the next night for the wedding guests, and then she was all his.
He took her hand and led her out the side door, away from the crush of campers returning to either the main lodge for more partying or the cabins beyond.
“Let’s take the long way around,” he said, squeezing her fingers gently. “It’ll take a bit longer, but we won’t have company on the walk back.”
“Now that you’re famous for staring down a magician, that’s a smart choice,” she teased.
“You liked that?”
“I loved it. I was worried at first, though. I’m sorry for giving you away.”
He laughed gently. “It’s
fine. Really. I don’t mind.”
She stopped and reached up, touching his neck. “Your neck turned red. I thought you were embarrassed.”
“Oh, my sweet wildflower, I don’t embarrass that easily.” He caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Can I tell you something personal?”
“Of course.”
“Bianca used to notice the neck thing, too. It usually means I’m happy. Sometimes it’s a tell if I know I’m going to be good at something.”
Her mouth dropped open and her eyes sparkled. “Really?”
“Yep.” He set his mouth, trying hard not to smile back. He failed.
“That’s kind of neat. And here I took you for an introvert.”
“Like you?”
Her mouth quirked to the side. “You figured that out, huh?”
“Kind of obvious. But no, thirty-seven years as a career officer in the United States Navy. Any natural introverted tendencies I may have once had have been drummed out of me.”
“I guess so.”
“I don’t like people right now because I’m—” He cut himself off. He’d been about to say he wasn’t happy, but that wasn’t exactly true. “Because I spent a long time stuck in grief. And terribly unhappy.”
“Of course, you did. I remember—and I’m not saying it’s the same, at all—but after my divorce, I went through a grieving process of my own. It lasted for years. I probably should have gone to counselling or something, but instead I poured myself into planting fields of lavender.”
“That sounds like pretty good therapy to me.”
She smiled, and he realized with a start he was hoping she might invite him to her farm.
Instead, she turned and started walking again, tugging him along. Fair enough. They hadn’t talked about anything beyond camp. And really, they hadn’t talked about camp itself. They’d simply gravitated toward each other and now he couldn’t imagine not seeing her again after the wedding.
But maybe that was a problem for tomorrow.
Tonight, he wanted to make her feel good.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, glancing at him sideways.