CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Cole
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Cole
W ell, fuck me .
This bathing suit is not like the ones she wears in my pool. This bathing suit threatens to ruin me when Ginger emerges in what may as well not even be a cover-up because I can see right through it, revealing the outline of the skimpiest yellow bikini ever.
I sink further into the water as she approaches and the sun says its final farewell to the day. Ginger shrugs off her coverup and tosses it onto a nearby lounge chair. I swallow hard. Her full breasts are barely covered. The thin spaghetti strings are doing the Lord’s work holding them up and the sides of the bottoms match the top. One thin strap runs over each of her flawless hips, leaving the tiniest scrap of fabric to cover the place I instantly wish my face could make a home in. My cock throbs against my swim shorts with the thought, aching to be freed. I’ve never felt more like staking a claim to someone in my life as I do in this very moment.
Bad idea. This was a bad idea . I avert my eyes to a safer view—the bar area beside me—as I think of the way horseshit gets on my boots in the barn, or how the cell block floors at work look after a bunch of drunkards have spent a night in the tank. Anything to bring my inflated cock back down.
I clear my throat.
“Drink?” I ask.
“Is the sky blue?” She doesn’t miss a beat.
I chuckle and pour her a glass that equals mine from the tub-side bar stocked with plastic glasses and the bourbon I brought. This place truly has everything for the perfect stay. There’s even a container of little paper umbrellas for cocktails on the bar, which runs a whole side of the sunk-in hot tub. Above it sits a black metal cursive sign that says “ It’s five o’clock somewhere .”
I pass her the drink as she steps her pretty red toes over the side. Even her feet are fucking spectacular. I would settle to fuck them right about now.
The stress I’ve been feeling, at having Ginger living under my roof, constantly wandering around in her jean shorts and bare feet, and dealing with my new position as sheriff, trying to keep the townspeople happy and run the office properly, has me sucking back this bourbon and pouring myself another as quickly as possible.
My swearing-in is on Tuesday night, and then it will be official: I’ll be Laurel Creek’s sheriff and will have sixty-one days before life goes back to normal.
“Oh my God, that’s nice,” Ginger half moans as she takes a seat.
The curse of her tits floating up to the perfect level so I can see her pearled nipples through her suit, coupled with the noise she just made, has me feeling like a man crazed. My muscles stiffen and I look out to the dark, murky lake.
“Chasing after her all day makes you crave this type of relaxation,” she continues as her head tips back. She holds her dark mass of curls above her head and lets them drop over the edge behind her onto the deck. Hot water laps against my body as she makes herself comfortable. It’s a six-person tub but we’re less than a few feet apart.
“Try chasing her for eight years.” I let out a low laugh and run a hand through my damp hair. I sneak a glance at Ginger as I shift to pour myself more bourbon. Her arms are spread wide, and she glances up to take in the view of the stars.
“You’re right, it really does feel like you’re the only people on earth out here,” she says as I take in the sight of the moonlight grazing the column of her throat. She’s so exposed like this. So open. So free.
“I like being out on the water. It reminds me of my childhood,” she hums. As she shifts, her toes brush my calf. She doesn’t look at me when it happens, but the simple action sends a jolt of heat right up my leg to my still-inflated cock.
“I can’t picture the great Edward Danforth out on the water in a little skiff boat,” I say, keeping my tone light. The whole town knows him. He’s robotic to the core. Ginger has always been a lot more like her mother and grandmother than she is her father.
She laughs. “Definitely not. My dad sailed and tried to teach me the best he could. My grandad taught me how to boat. We fished a lot in Cave Run when I was young too, and he showed me how to hook a worm when I was Mabel’s age.” She smiles at the memory. “I really miss him.” She whispers her last words and I feel them.
I nod, aware of how rare that tiny admission was. She doesn’t talk about him much, and I, more than anyone, know why. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about my dad. But sometimes it’s easier to keep that grief inside, rather than talk about him.
“My dad used to take us to Cave Run all the time too. I wonder if we were ever there together,” I say casually.
“Probably. I would’ve been the only girl, in bare muddy feet and a baseball cap. I never saw girls out there fishing much.”
I smile when I think of her like that, and the image of her having a daughter of her own one day flashes into my mind.
“Didn’t you have any girlfriends?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Not really. Not until CeCe and Liv sat next to me in homeroom. They’re the only girls I’ve ever been friends with who didn’t hurt me, or make fun of me, or backstab me in some way.” She has a faraway look in her eye. “But they’re my everything now. The only reason I’m keeping this marriage from them is because CeCe has enough to concentrate on with her wedding and the festival she plans every year to help fund kids’ hockey programs. I don’t want to disrupt that with our recklessness. But I’m going to have to tell her and Liv at some point.”
The slow swallow of her throat pulls me into a hazy trance and I feel my mouth water.
“You’re allowed to keep things private if you choose to. I know you all have girl code but CeCe kept things to herself when she was sneaking around with Nash last summer.”
I’m trying to distract myself from thoughts of tearing that scrap of a bathing suit off of her. But all hope is lost because, as she talks, she unties the neck and reties it a little tighter, pulling her tits up above the water. I flex my fists in an attempt to keep myself on this side of the tub.
“That was different,” she says, picking up her glass from the deck. “She and Nash were in a relationship. We’re not. And Liv and I had it figured out pretty quickly. CeCe can’t hide emotions. I know her and Liv better than anyone else.” Her eyes meet mine. “Except maybe you.” She grins, bringing my gaze back from roaming her body.
“I’m not that easy to read,” I retort, making a weird sort of laughing noise. Smooth, Cole.
“Yes you are.” She bites her plush bottom lip and assesses me for a few seconds. “Like right now, you’re worried that I’m not going to last, that I’m going to spill the tea and this marriage scam will fall down around your feet.”
Damn. She’s not wrong.
“But I’m not bailing.” Her eyes move back out to the water. “I told you I’m in, which means I’m in one hundred percent. I just hope CeCe understands why I didn’t tell her.”
She turns to me like she’s reading the rest of my thoughts.
“You’re also a little extra tense these days, with work and wondering if we can make it through the rest of the summer together. “Mabel gets dirty every day now, she has scrapes, but …” She holds up her first finger. “She can bike without her training wheels now. The world is a scary place.”
“Something like that,” I reply to her sarcasm. My lips curl into a small smile and I swallow the last of my bourbon.
Ginger holds my gaze for a beat before saying, “I think I’ll teach Mabes how to drive the boat this weekend.”
I recoil. “Like hell you will. She’s too young.”
She waves a graceful hand. “It’s fine. Breaking the law for a simple learning experience won’t hurt her. It’s high time Mabel knows when it’s safe to get away with things she shouldn’t do.”
I grimace at her. “ Authority ,” I say, which makes her laugh.
“Come on, what’s wrong with a little rule-breaking? She’s the sheriff’s kid, isn’t she supposed to break the rules?”
The glint in her eye tells me she’s kidding, but still …
“Every time you say something like that, you make me regret this arrangement a little more,” I tell her.
A grin spreads across her face. “Take it easy, Sheriff By-the-Book.”
She pushes herself off the side of the tub and moves closer. I slide slightly to let her in as she reaches over to the bar and pours herself another bourbon.
“I was joking, I just like to see you fired up,” she says with a smirk.
The need I feel to put her in line consumes me as the small of her back rises out of the water. I let my eyes ravage her while she isn’t looking, taking in the curves of her arms to her shoulders, the dip of her spine, every single vertebra, and the little dimples just above her bikini bottoms. The perfect place for me to anchor my thumbs while I spread her wide and fuck into that tight little pussy I can’t forget.
Ginger pours the bourbon as her tits rest against the ledge of the tub. It almost fucking breaks me, but she places the cork back into the bottle and is back to her spot a few feet away before I completely lose control.
Once she’s settled, she spends the next half hour telling me all about her grandad and their fishing superstitions, and how he taught her to drive the boat and to read the weather patterns. He even showed her how to clean the fish when they caught them. I sit and listen intently because even hearing about old fishing stories from Ginger is captivating. She has a way of painting a picture when she talks that I haven’t experienced with any other person.
When we’ve had enough of the heat and my hard-on has subsided enough for me to make an honorable escape, I help her step out and do my best not to let the slippery feel of her skin brick me right back up.
I hand her a towel to cover up. Mainly for selfish reasons. I don’t know how much longer I can remain gentlemanly with her.
She wraps it around herself, but the moment it’s secure, she reaches a hand out and skims one finger down my ribs, running it over the raised letter at my side. Her eyes move over me, blazing a trail as they go. After what feels like eternity, she steps into me, and when her eyes finally meet mine, her lips are parted, her cheeks flushed from the heat and bourbon. Her hair rests against her wet skin, making the ends stick to it. Fuck . I tuck a lock of it behind her ear. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
She opens her mouth to speak—
“Daddy?” a small voice says from the patio door, causing us both to flinch and step out of each other’s space.
Mabel stands in the doorway, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. I expected her to wake up at some point but not this early.
“Will you lie with me until I fall back asleep?” she asks.
“I’m coming, buddy. Go back to bed, I’ll be there in a second,” I say to her.
I look back at Ginger, suspended between two worlds. My wants and needs as a man and my duty as a father. I run my hand through my damp hair, giving Ginger one last look. I don’t even say goodnight before leaving her on the patio and heading inside.
Thirty minutes later and Mabel is fast asleep again, which allows me to silently sneak out of her room.
I make my way to the other side of the house. I need to apologize to Ginger for not saying goodnight. It’s not her fault she’s so fucking enticing and I have no self-control. It’s almost midnight now so I don’t expect her to be up. But as I walk toward her room, I see the light from under her door. I’m just preparing to knock when I hear it—the shuffle of her bed and the slight hum of …? No fucking way . I lean in to listen a little closer, my ear almost to the door.
She moans, a soft breathy sound that brings me right back to that night. I’d know it anywhere. I hear it once more as the hum continues. She’s definitely getting herself off with the vibrator she brought to my cabin.
Holy fuck .
My cock instantly grows almost painfully hard as I hear her heavy breathing increase along with the quiet hum of her vibrator. I instinctively adjust myself as a tiny moan escapes her. I flex my fist once, then twice, before forcing myself to the safety of my own shower. It’s either that or take care of myself right in the fucking hallway.
I let the hot water wash over me, hoping it will knock some sense into me.
But it doesn’t.
The idea of her making herself come under my roof is all-consuming. Is she still in her wet bathing suit? Is she fresh from the shower? Is she stark fucking naked on the bed? My mind is a clusterfuck of images, mainly from the night we spent together, as I fist my cock. I slap a hand to the shower wall and give in. Just this once.
Closing my eyes, I let the night in Vegas flood my mind for the thousandth time. I remember how those moans sounded below me, a longer and more drawn-out version of what I just heard in the hall. The stroke on my cock continues. Ginger is all I see: the way her shorts sit just above that little curve where her ass meets her thighs; how her eyes grow wide with shock when I say something that surprises her; the face she makes when she eats something delicious. How she looked on that dance floor in Vegas: the smooth roll of her hips, her hands moving that little black dress up just enough to hint at the apex of her thighs.
I bite my bottom lip to contain a groan as I remember the way she looked on all fours while I drove into her again and again. The sound of the toy she was just coating in her arousal spurs me on. I could hear her getting close, just as close as I am now. In my mind, I’m back in our hotel room. I tip her head back with both my hands and smear her crimson lipstick across her cheek before holding her mouth open. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, so ready and willing to accept me. I slide into her, my fingers tangling through her thick wavy hair. It’s so fucking soft. Her mouth is warm and, as she looks up at me, her cheeks hollow out before she gags and sputters around my cock. She works herself up and down my shaft and I grip her head tight, giving her something to choke on every time I hit the back of her throat. The memory is so visceral, and I’m pretty sure my bottom lip is ready to bleed as I hold in the deep sounds begging to escape my chest. I press my free palm even harder against the shower wall, imagining my name on her lips as she comes in a breathy moan.
“Cole …”
“Fucking vixen,” I breathe out in a heady sigh as I spill into the shower basin. I take a second to recenter myself, pushing my wet hair from my forehead. As my cum disappears down the drain, I wonder how the fuck Ginger Danforth has managed to throw my years of practiced self-control out the window, reeling me in, while I’m totally helpless to stop it.