Chapter 20
20
[Vale]
W hen my brother was injured a year ago, his baseball career was cut short.
In his late thirties, he knew his time as a professional player was coming to an end soon anyway, but no one wants to be told they can’t do something they love.
We all want to go out on our own terms.
To everyone’s surprise, Ford gave up his home in Chicago and moved him and his girls back to Sterling Falls.
It takes a village sometimes.
Plus, Ford needed something to do with himself and my brothers helped build the plan Cadence, Ford’s fiancée, sparked.
A sports camp.
As we pull up to the old hunting camp that once housed run down mini-log cabins and an even more rundown mess hall, the difference is stunning.
The smaller houses have been painted, windows replaced, and the area around them cleaned up.
A new dining-slash-community building was built around what could be salvaged of the previous hall.
The inside is open and airy with vaulted ceilings and a second floor where Ford has an office and a suite for special guests.
I’ll have my own cabin; Ronnie Archer and her daughter have their own.
Father-volunteers will be in a separate cabin, while coaches are in another one, keeping all the adults in strategic locations among the campers.
Ford hired a nighttime security detail who will patrol among the cabins for extra eyes on the attendees and all our safety.
After checking in, Hudson takes his belongings to his assigned cabin while I head to mine, but within minutes Ronnie Archer is at my door.
“I cannot stay here,” she whines with her daughter behind her looking sheepish and embarrassed by her mother’s outburst.
The rooms are still rather rustic with two bunk beds and a sink in the corner.
Communal bathrooms are at the opposite ends of the cabin strip.
Because this simple lodging is intended for summer use, there isn’t any heat.
The first days of May are not cold, but the evenings can still be chilly.
Bundling beneath heavy covers will be necessary.
This is a camp, not a luxury hotel, and I shrug as I roll my thermal sleeping bag over the new mattress on a lower bunk and drop my pillow.
“I’m going to speak to Cort.” Spinning on heels not appropriate for the rough terrain of the outdoors, Ronnie leaves the cabin with her designer bag over her arm, Kennedy walking sullenly behind her.
Taking a seat on the mattress, I take a second look around the room, feeling like I’ve been transported into The Parent Trap .
I never went to camp as a kid.
Not only couldn’t we afford it, but I didn’t know of any in the area.
My dad wouldn’t have let me go anyway.
Thoughts of my father rush in, as they do on rare occasions.
All I’d ever known was a man who drank too much and swore at his children a lot.
He was more physical with some of my brothers than others.
Those not taking the abuse on their bodies, took it in their heads.
Judd had it the worst. Ford was next in line on the rare instances he was home.
He’d thrown himself into baseball, being driven and determined to get out of this town.
Having given up his own dream, Stone strongly supported Ford’s.
With a heavy sigh, I run my hand over the smooth exterior of the sleeping bag beneath me.
Guilt riddles me at the reminder of Stone and his dreams, and the betrayal he’d feel if he knew how close I’d been with his former friend.
Stone was a good boy who turned into a great man, and I don’t deserve him as my brother.
With that thought, I stand and strengthen my resolve.
I will keep my distance from Cortland Haven.
I’m here to volunteer, to give my son an opportunity I never had.
I will not helicopter him but enjoy my own slice of peace and tranquility.
Although, admittedly, I wouldn’t mind my time off being in a five-star resort instead.
Turns out Ronnie Archer isn’t staying overnight at the camp but willing to drive back to her home each evening, taking Kennedy with her.
She mentions it to me like it’s a hardship she’ll bear.
She also isn’t much of a cook, being grossed out by the hot dogs and hamburgers on the menu for night one.
She cuts out after the meal, during clean-up duty, and disappears.
Not an ideal volunteer.
Unfortunately, Kennedy misses out on the after-dinner activities as well.
During dinner, I had a sideline view of how Clint and Cort interact with the kids.
It’s funny how some men turn into children when surrounded by them, while others keep their distance, never forgetting they are the adult in the group.
Cort falls somewhere in the middle.
One minute laughing with the boys; the next pointing out how the kids need to eat the vegetables we tried to sneak into the meal.
Team building time commences after dinner, and I watch in wonder.
Hudson interacts often with my brothers, especially Stone, but I still long for him to have a father of his own.
Especially when I see the other two volunteers, both dads, running around the yard with the boys.
Moments like these bring back more old emotions about my own father.
A man never present to play with his kids.
Never encouraging their dreams or believing in their futures.
Never offering a hug after a bad day or even on a good one.
A man who chose to forget my birthday as it was the same day his wife died.
Tears prickle my eyes, and I fan my face wondering just what the heck brought all that on.
Blinking back the water works, I look up to see Cort watching me.
“Hey, Hudson. What do you think? Should your mom be in?” Cort hollers to my son.
“Does she have to?” Hudson groans, and my heart sinks.
“Dude.” Cort turns his head, interpreting the hurt.
“Your mom is awesome,” one of the other boys interjects, and Hudson hangs his head in shame, being chastised by both a coach and a teammate.
He kicks at the ground.
“I don’t need to play.” I’d planned on an early shower anyway in the private bathroom between Ford’s office and the guest room in the main building.
“You’re playing,” Cort amends.
“Everyone needs a partner, and as Coach Clint is the first to hide, I don’t have one.”
The group is playing Ghost in the Graveyard, a child’s game where one person hides, and everyone collectively searches for him or her.
Then, when the ‘ghost’ is found, everyone retreats to a home-base for safety.
If the ghost catches you, you’re the next ghost. The concept is a little disturbing when broken down, and yet, kids love it.
The idea of a partner to help you hunt the ghost is an effort for teamwork.
Clint could easily pair up with one of the kids, but with Kennedy no longer present, there is an even match of participants.
I don’t need to play but Cort isn’t letting it go.
He steps closer to me, then begins counting loudly while all the kids close their eyes a second and Clint sprints to a hiding spot.
After the count of twelve, and why twelve I don’t know, Cort shouts, “Go.” Kids scatter with their partners while Cort doesn’t move.
“Shouldn’t we be searching?” I laugh.
Cort shakes his head.
“I know Clint, he’ll pick some place obvious, like behind a cabin. He’ll chase all the kids back to the home-base.” Cort points to the flagpole just to the left of the dining hall.
“And then, I’m up. We don’t really want the kids hiding. They might wander too far and get lost, or we might not find them. Kids are wily like that.” He wiggles his brows.
I love the thoughtfulness for the players’ safety but also the spirit of the game.
Cort and Clint just want the kids to have fun.
Sure enough, within minutes, two kids yell, “Ghost in the graveyard.” And all the kids are running toward the flagpole with Clint chasing behind them, arms wide and bent, like he’s a great big scary ghost, when he looks more like a leprechaun.
He over-exaggerates that he didn’t catch anyone and he’s out of breath, bending at the waist, inhaling heavily before standing and pointing at his brother.
“I nominate Coach Cort next.” Clint motions like he’s setting an arrow in a bow and aims it at his brother.
Suddenly, Cort grips my hand.
“I’m taking a prisoner.” He starts jogging and I have no choice but to keep up despite my feet initially tangling .
“Cort.” I laugh. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer me, only starts running faster as his brother loudly counts from one to twelve.
Although the coaches previously told the boys the woods are off limits minus the trees between the dining hall and lake, Cort leads us just beyond the edge of the boundary, tugging me behind a tree and then positioning himself in front of me, like he’s shielding me from sight.
With my back to the rough tree trunk, I giggle, all breathy and giddy thanks to the rush.
“Shh,” Cort whispers, covering my mouth with his hand while his other arm is braced over the top of my head.
He peeks around the tree before looking back at me.
“Hi,” he whispers, his eyes dancing in the dimming daylight.
“Hi,” I chuckle with my hands behind me, fingers picking at the tree bark.
“Thanks for your help tonight. With dinner. It was delicious.”
I smile extra wide.
“It was hot dogs.”
“I had five of them.”
I glance down at his belly, where his abs are tight.
“You did not.”
He shushes me again, slipping his hand back over my mouth and peering around the tree once more.
But when he looks back at me, his smile is wide.
His teeth dig into his lower lip, and he slips his hand around to the side of my neck.
With his backward baseball cap and the lean happening, he’s yummy to look at.
“I don’t recall ghosts taking prisoners in this game,” I whisper, while my chest heaves from rushing to keep up with Cort’s longer legs.
My heart continues to hammer.
“New rule,” he teases.
His eyes dancing once more before he focuses on my mouth.
“But the truth is, I just wanted to be close to you. Wanted a moment alone with you.”
“Oh.” I swallow thickly but can’t stop my smile.
One that expresses how tickled I am.
“Yeah. Oh.” Cort glances around the tree quick but then returns his attention to me.
“I’m having trouble staying away.”
The admission is surprising.
I’ve struggled with my own pull toward him, feeling guilty despite the number of the pep talks I’ve given myself to keep my distance.
But with his body merely inches from mine, it’s impossible to remember why I should be staying away from him.
The ease of his lean.
The brightness of his smile.
The hint of exertion.
Cort is in his element as a coach and mentor.
It’s a version of him that I hadn’t known before now, because people change.
They evolve. They move on.
Staring up at his face, with my head tipped back against the tree, I take in this older, more mature man in front of me.
A sexy version with gray in his beard and heat in his eyes as he looks at me.
He’s still the Cort I remember and yet totally different from the boy I once crushed on.
Even different still from the younger man I willingly gave my body to once upon a time.
This Cort is charming and sweet.
And I admit, he’s got the whole DILF thing happening because nothing turns me on more than to watch him interact with my son.
The positive influence he has.
The protection of me around Hudson.
“You didn’t have to say anything to Hudson when he didn’t want me to play.” I sound like an ousted child, like when all my brothers played a game with their friends, and their friends didn’t want a girl to play as well.
The only girl in the family.
Cort scans my face a second.
“I remember being eleven or twelve or thirteen. No one wants to be seen as a momma’s boy, even if he is a momma’s boy. But I didn’t like his tone. You’re an awesome mom. You’re here, supporting him, volunteering for his team. You’re the only mom here.”
I dip my head.
“Ronnie was here.”
“And she had to be because of Kennedy. Plus, she left.” Cort tips up my chin using the side of his hand.
“He’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m lucky to have him,” I whisper, caught between the sudden frog in my throat and the intensity of Cort’s gaze.
The pride in them. The acknowledgement.
I’m not always certain I’m doing it right, but I’m trying.
God knows I’m trying, and it’s nice that someone other than family sees it.
“Thank you,” I mouth, afraid I’ll break whatever we have going on here, because Cort is still holding up my chin and his focus is on my lips.
He leans forward just the slightest bit, causing his breath to tickle my mouth.
My heart speeds up again, like we’re running once more toward the edge of these woods.
Toward the edge of something.
And I want to stay here in this hidden spot and explore all the possibilities with Cort.
“Ghost in the graveyard!”
Cort springs back from me and I collapse forward, as if his presence had been holding me upright.
I also need a minute to catch my breath because whomever just found us, scared the bejesus out of me.
Cort might need to climb this tree to pull me back to earth.
“Holy—” I gasp while Cort gives me a final glance before yelling past the trees, “Run!” Then he’s off and I’m quick to follow, chasing after boys scattering here and there, hollering that Coach Cort cheated.
We were outside the boundaries but only by a tree or three.
Still, Cort makes a growling noise and runs behind the boys, following them as they race willy-nilly back to the flagpole.
As for me, I’m laughing like a fiend, running behind the lot of them as most are out-sprinting me.
Once they’ve all collected around the flagpole, touching it as best they can, or one another in some special rule considering themselves safe, Cort and I accept defeat.
I bend at the waist, similar to how Clint did previously, only I’m not exaggerating.
I have an ache in my side from running and I need a second to catch my breath between the fright of being found .
. . and the near kiss with Cort.
By nine-thirty, the lights are out in the cabins.
The boys have been warned that tomorrow holds a full schedule of calisthenics and drills.
I finally take a shower in Ford’s suite and return to my cabin.
The security guard’s flashlight sweeps a beam across my window.
The quiet of the night suggests the camp is secure and calm.
However, I’m wound up.
The exhilaration of playing a child’s game.
The thrill of Cort pressing me up against that tree.
The near kiss and miss .
. . again. And I know the perfect way to relax.
To release this buzzing inside me.
Reaching into my bag, I pull out my special travel wand.
A fantasy already plays out in my head.
Cort and I against that tree.
His hand travels down my chest and squeezes my breast before lowering to?—
A sharp rap on my cabin door causes me to squeak.
With my imagination running wild, I feel caught, exposed even, especially as I’m clutching my magic wand while standing in the middle of the room.
It’s after ten and all the campers should be in bed, still I worry Hudson snuck out of his cabin to see me.
In a rush, I shove the wand beneath my pillow, giggle from the tension humming around me, and step toward the door, sweeping it open to find my visitor is a little too large to be my son .
“Cortland?”
Quickly, he bypasses the two steps in front of my cabin and presses his hand against my belly, gently forcing me backward.
He shuts the door behind him then exhales once his back hits the wood.
His head tips back a second while I stare at him.
“What the heck are you?—”
Suddenly, Cort is cupping my face and kissing me into stunned silence.
His mouth doesn’t hesitate.
This is no ordinary first kiss.
This is captivity. I’m his willing prisoner again, and I don’t want to be released.
His torture is the hunger of his mouth.
The deep suction on my lips.
The sweep of his tongue.
Then, he presses his forehead gently against mine.
“I had to kiss you good night.”
That’s .
. . sweet.
“Are you also here for a little turn down service and to tuck me in?” I tease, reminding him this isn’t a hotel.
Cort pulls back, keeping his hands on my jaw.
“Maybe.” Then he’s kissing me again, slipping his hand around the back of my neck while the other slides down my arm until our hands are clasped together.
Lifting our collective fingers, he tucks them against his chest while continuing to spell out his desire.
Cort and I are clearly attracted to each other.
An unexplained magnetism that I should resist, but with the way he’s kissing me I can’t think straight.
Before I know it, Cort is walking us the short distance to the edge of the bunk bed and tucking me beneath the upper berth.
I giggle as I take a seat.
“Why do I feel like I’m breaking rules at summer camp? Like I have a boy in my cabin after lights out.”
“You have a man in your cabin,” Cort snorts, staring down at me.
“And is that my shirt?”
He’s caught me.
After showering, I tugged on a pair of black leggings and his flannel shirt from last weekend, minus a bra.
“Maybe,” I tease, chewing my lower lip .
“Looks good on you.”
I wait for him to say it would look better on the floor, but he doesn’t speak.
Instead, he lowers to climb onto the single bed, forcing me to lay back.
Partially covering me, he wedges his leg between both of mine.
“You’re so beautiful, Vale.” He brushes back my hair and kisses me despite my face heating at the compliment.
When he bends his knee, he forces my legs to spread wider and I curl one of my legs over his thigh.
Cupping his face, I run my fingertips over the bristly scruff on his jaw.
Cort hums. “I like having your hands on me.”
I like having my hands on him, too.
Pulling my head back so I can see him better, I stare into his deep eyes.
The room is dark other than a light on the nightstand replicating a camp lamp.
I’d previously dimmed the switch, preparing for my personal relief moment.
Now, I have this man winding me up even tighter and spitting out compliments.
He swipes through my hair again, glancing at my hair line a second.
His voice is low when he speaks.
“Maybe I was never afraid of touch. Just hadn’t experienced it with the right person.” His dark gaze falls to my eyes.
My heart skips a beat.
Am I the right person?
I want to be.
Brushing my hand along his jaw, I pinch his chin and bring his mouth back to mine.
While we kiss, I’m sensitive to his thigh pressed against my center and my breasts crushed beneath his chest. The partial weight of him is soothing, calming even, despite the racing behind my ribs and the beat between my legs.
If I’m not careful, I’m going to end up humping his thigh.
Deciding we need a small break, I pull back, catching Cort’s eyes.
I’ve been kissed speechless.
This moment has been knock-your-cabin-socks-off and kick-off-the-baseball-cleats delicious and I’d be happy just to continue to stare into this man’s eyes for eternity .
Until Cort stretches his arm underneath the pillow beneath my head and suddenly goes rigid over me.
His gaze falls to the pillow, where he slowly withdraws his hand, holding?—
“Oh, shit,” I whisper.
Between his hasty entrance and the dizzying kisses, I forgot all about what I stashed and where.
Cort perches up on his elbow, examining the small, purple wand.
Not my finest toy but one that gets the job done.
“Cort, I . . .” I actually don’t know what to say or how to defend myself.
“Did you just use this or where you about to use it?” His voice is raspy and rough, urgent even, licking up my spine and leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake.
When the vibrator turns on, I flinch a little, releasing a nervous giggle.
“Answer me.” The strain in Cort’s command suggests he’s suddenly holding on by a thin thread.
A thread only as thick as the clothing separating me from that vibrator.
Swallowing down my nerves, I’m uncertain which answer will sound better, but decide to go with the cleaner of the two options.
And the truth. “I was about to use it.”
With Cort holding the vibrating wand, I clench my legs around his.
Like Pavlov’s dog, my body knows what the sound means and what that toy will do for me.
I’m practically salivating for him to touch me with it.
Cort brings the tip to the side of my neck, slowly dragging it around the column of my throat and notching it in the space between my collarbones.
My breath comes heavy and quick as I tip back my head, fighting against the tickling vibration.
Even slower than before, he glides the tip down my chest. Wearing his shirt, I’ve buttoned the same three buttons he did when he first put this shirt on me.
Thus, he easily slides to the top of my breasts.
Then, removing the device from my chest, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the spot he tickled.
The vibration is suddenly against my belly, moving south, until my leg is forced off his, spreading my thighs wide.
Cort drags the humming toy down my lower abdomen and slips it between my legs.
“Cort,” I whimper, as he presses the vibration against my legging-covered core, thrumming against my clit.
“Were you going to think of me while you used this?” His voice is thick, choked and strained, as he glances down at what he’s holding between my thighs.
“A girl never shares her secrets,” I tease, closing my eyes as he nudges harder, intensifying the pleasure.
Another minute passes with the hum buzzing in the room, drowning out the hammering in my chest, and the whimpers in my throat.
“Vale.” Cort hisses, leaning forward and running his nose along my throat.
At my ear, he quietly asks, “May I be so bold as to ask you to show me how you use this thing? Show me how your body responds to it?” He sounds almost as desperate as I feel.
On the verge of unraveling, but not yet.
I need the magic closer to me.
Hooking my thumbs in the waistband of my leggings, I tug them down revealing black boy-cut panties.
I pull a panel of his flannel shirt over my belly, but Cort uses the wand to push aside the material, giving him a clearer view of my spread legs and dark underwear.
And the vibrator he holds against me.
He nudges my inner thigh, so I bend my knee and rest my leg against his.
I shift my other leg closer to the wall.
The space is tight, intimate even, like we’re in a cocoon.
A sports camp cocoon.
“Out of your head,” Cort warns after watching my face a second.
I lick my lips and close my eyes, nodding once.
With only the thin material between my skin and the vibration, I’m still turned to full watts.
My clit hums and when Cort does a little twist with the thumping tip, I cry out and turn my head away from him.
He latches onto the side of my exposed throat, sucking my flesh while teasing covered bits.
When he pulls back, his voice is rough once more while he appraises me.
“Look at you.” He hums. “Little Bee and her stinger.”
I roll my eyes.
This isn’t a time for jokes, but before I can scold him, he slips the toy to the side, nudges the inner thigh of my boy-shorts over, and the musky aroma of my arousal slowly wafts upward.
He taps my clit, and I whimper once more.
Cort hums again. “My sweet bee. Dripping. Desperate. Taking this wand like a queen.” Awe fills his voice.
Then he slips it lower, inward and teasing, and my back bows off the bed.
Rolling my head to look at him, I find his gaze pinned between my thighs, concentrating on where he’s teasing me.
His fingers don’t meet my skin, but he might as well be touching me.
What he sees. How I smell.
How I’m reacting.
“I’ve never used a toy with someone else,” I blurt, wanting him to know this moment is special to me.
Important even. I’m in a vulnerable state.
A position I never thought I’d be in with anyone, let alone Cortland Haven.
Cort swivels his head, his coal-dark eyes meet mine.
“I’ve never touched someone like this either.”
I want to believe him.
Want to think this moment is significant for him as well.
The thought throws me off course again.
Cort’s gaze returns to my center.
“I’m not leaving this room until you’re satisfied, Queenie.”
I laugh, sharp and quick.
“Oh, have I earned a new nickname?”
Cort only chuffs, his concentration back between my thighs.
“Take this wand, sweetness. Show me how you use it. Show me how it makes you wet and wild.” His voice thickens, the command more demanding.
A certain level of yearning rings from him and my attention returns to what he’s doing to me.
How he’s moving the tip against my clit before slipping inside me, filling but not full enough.
That sensation is reserved for a partner, one I haven’t had in too long to count.
Eventually, Cort tugs his flannel up my belly, exposing more of my lower half.
He leans forward and kisses my lower abs while he holds the wand against my clit.
His slow kisses become more frantic.
Open mouthed and scraping teeth right over the soft material.
He shifts, moving his body down the length of mine, and my head takes over in the best way.
I imagine Cort dipping his head between my thighs.
His mouth working me in the same way he’s sucking at my belly.
The lap of his tongue against sensitive folds.
The pressure of his lips against?—
“Cort,” I cry out as my body contracts and then relief washes through me.
Like the first harvest of honey, sticky and sweet and mouthwatering.
My legs fall to the side as I ride out the pleasure, clutching the sleeping bag beneath me.
I long to touch Cort but don’t want to startle him.
He holds the wand steady, letting it do the sexy work, never wavering from watching me.
When I’m wrung out, he only gives me a moment reprieve, before he slips the wand lower, forcing it deep inside me and I cry out again, covering my mouth with the back of my hand.
I blink up at the bunkbed above me.
Doubleheaders are hard to win, but a few weeks ago, while fantasizing about Cort after book club, it happened.
The reality of him pleasuring me with this thing is so much better than the fantasy.
Cort keeps his eyes on my lower body, watching as he dips the wand in and out of me.
My legs tremble. My fingers fisting the sleeping bag once more.
“You don’t have to?— ”
“You’re gonna come again,” he demands, grit and grizzle to his voice.
Sheer determination to make it happen a second time.
“If I touched you, would you sting or melt like honey?” he asks, moving the vibrator faster.
“Would you want me to fuck your pussy or make love to you?”
“Oh Jesus,” I mutter, a spiral building inside me again.
Bees in a frenzy to be set free to explore the world.
“Makes no difference to me, just let me be your plaything, Vale. Use me for your needs.”
The thought alone brings me up short, and I fling over the edge once again.
My legs straighten. My head turns.
I grip the edge of his shirt, the one he’s wearing, holding on as sweet release drips from me.
Not as powerful as the first but a cleansing drizzle of relief, nonetheless.
Spent, my body sags, legs wide, while my hand lets go of Cort’s shirt.
He pulls the wand from my body and shuts it off, tossing it toward the end of the bed for now.
Then he climbs back over me, balancing on all fours above me.
“I mean it, Bee. Use me for good.”
I could argue that he doesn’t like to be touched and my desire to be caressed are at odds, but I chew my lower lip instead.
“Like I said, maybe it was never the right hands on me.” He seeks my hand and lifts it, pressing a kiss to the tips of my fingers.
“Maybe we could help each other.”
My heart soars, and I shouldn’t like the feeling.
Shouldn’t allow the hitch in my breath.
Shouldn’t even consider the possibility of something more with Cort.
But right now, I’m honey-drunk, on a self-imposed Cortland-high and wiped out from a double orgasm.
A fantasy come to life. “I’d like that.”