Rescued By A Perfect Stranger: A Single Dad, Age Gap Romance (Bearberry Bay - Rescue Series Book 4)

Chapter 18

~~ James ~~

It’s been more than a week now, and I still feel like something is missing. I’ve pushed papers around at work, read half of my book, done laundry twice, worked out in the garage, made dinosaur chicken nuggets, played dress up with Emilie and Becca, and binge-watched a new crime show.

I’ve made myself stay busy, but every second I stand still, I’m listening for Lorelai. I think I feel her once in the kitchen, and I freeze for a second hoping for her soft presence working in sync with my shadow. I turn to look, and of course there’s no one there.

Trev picked both girls up from school today for Emilie”s mid-week visit, so I picked up a sandwich from Coral’s Diner and came home with the intention of clearing some boxes out of the garage.

I’ve been putting it off because I know they hold memories of some of the years I spent with Naomi. I’d been angry when I first threw whatever was left of our life into boxes. Once I moved past that anger, it was too painful to remind myself of what I’d lost. And after she passed, I‘d been too busy helping Trevor cope with the loss of her and both of us adjusting to single fatherhood. It’s been a long road.

I look down at the open box I’ve been digging into. There are scattered snapshots in the bottom, and I find my hand reaching again for my phone and pulling up the photos of Lorelai I’ve looked at a million times. I consider asking Kaiden to work his magic, but I tell myself if Lorelai had wanted to see me again, she would’ve given me a way to contact her. She deserves to live her life without some old man lusting after her body.

The memory of her body has been keeping me up at night. Damn, just thinking about thinking about the way she convulsed around my cock is enough to get me hard. I shift in the dining room chair and roll my eyes at myself.

I gather up the photos from the box. Most of them are of Naomi from our early dating years with a couple of the two of us in the mix. I stack them up to put away for Emilie, and I notice there’s no wrenching in my chest like there used to be when I thought of my ex.

I sort through two more boxes. Most of it isn’t worth salvaging and I end up heaping a couple of trash bags into a perilous stack on top of the already full bin outside. I did find one of Naomi’s journals from college. It’s filled with poems and short stories, and I put that aside for Emilie as well. I collect a few scattered mementos from my Army days and move them into the box I keep in my closet.

Restlessness keeps me from further sorting, and I pace the living room a few times. I perch on the edge of the couch, thinking about continuing a show series. Instead I get up and straighten a frame on the wall in the hallway. I toss my sweaty t-shirt into the laundry basket in my closet. I stomp to the kitchen and pour a beer into a frosty glass from the freezer.

I take a few big gulps and slam the glass down on the counter. It sloshes over on my hand and drips down my arm and onto my jeans.

This is getting ridiculous. I can’t seem to concentrate on anything without flashes of Lorelai’s lips opening as an orgasm ripples through her. I see again the way her eyes held mine and I watched them change color as that blue rim darkened and spread. The way her skin flushed in the morning light as I slid into her from behind.

I chug down what”s left in the glass and stalk to the bathroom. I peel the beer-speckled jeans down my hips, leaving them puddled on the floor. I turn the hot water on full blast. It occurs to me that maybe a cold shower would be better deserved, but I’m already gripping my cock in my hand.

Thoughts of Lorelai’s orgasm clenching around me swirl through my memory, and I stroke myself up and down. I don’t even feel the water beating on my head and back. My eyes are closed, and I’m back at the cabin feeling the stretch of her around me, her soft pants at my ear as I push inside her, the torrent of warmth as her orgasms drenches me.

I grip tighter. The muscles in my arm starting to burn. My hand doesn’t feel at all the same, and I’m about to give up the effort. But I replay again and again the sound of Lorelai’s scream muffled against my collarbone, feel her teeth scraping my skin. And finally, I’m bursting onto the shower wall in spurts, and my head tips back with a groan.

I’m disgusted with myself afterward, and I clean the wall with brutal slashes of cloth over a violent splash of non-abrasive scrub.

I toss and turn in bed that night, unable to settle long enough to fall asleep. I eventually get up before the sun and drive to the office to see what paperwork I can distract myself with.