Chapter 25
25
[Vale]
F rom our first official date, two weeks pass before Cort and I can coordinate schedules and meet at his house again.
I’m barely inside his front door before he has it closed and pins me against it.
Cort’s lips cover mine in an eager greeting and I melt into a gooey sensation I’ve missed since the last time we kissed.
I like kissing Cortland Haven.
In the two weeks since our first date, we’ve shared both flirty texts and filthy phone calls, one in which I brought myself to completion while Cort spoke the dirtiest things, and I used one of my toys to get off.
The man has a mouth, and I love it.
His words in my ears.
His lips against mine.
I’d love to explore the possibility of that mouth in other places on me.
Too soon, Cort is pulling back and glancing down the length of my body, taking in my vibrant sundress, cowboy boots and his straw cowboy hat which has been knocked back on my head.
“You look pretty.” While being called beautiful is always nice, there is something about the word pretty that makes me blush.
As a flirty word, it makes me feel all bubbly inside, especially when accompanied by the hunger in Cort’s eyes.
I tug the sides of the skirt outward and gaze down at myself.
“Told Stone I was going dancing.” I tap my right foot side to side to emphasize my boots.
When I glance back up at Cort, his brows are pinched.
“I don’t like that you had to lie.”
I’d told Stone I was giving my first date a second chance, but I still wasn’t ready to share more about my mystery man.
Stone gave me a questioning look, making me feel like a teenager under pressure to offer more information to a concerned father.
Sensing I owed him some explanation, I told him I was going dancing at the country bar in Rogue River.
Shenanigans hosts theme nights, which include line dancing on occasion, and it wouldn’t be an uncommon place for a second date.
I don’t like the worry lines near Cort’s eyes, and I press my thumb to the corners, loving how he doesn’t flinch from unexpected caresses from me.
“Well, I am in Rogue River, and I could dance.” I hitch a brow teasing him with the possibility.
I’m not opposed to a lap dance or any other dance that involves us rhythmically moving together.
However, I press pause on my libido when Cort chuckles.
The rumbly sound causes me to smile.
“You have a nice laugh.”
The compliment leads to me being pressed up against the front door again.
His hands on my jaw.
His mouth on my lips.
The gooey sensation of kissing him starts to simmer again as I clutch at his snazzy shirt.
Cort dressed up for me again in a short-sleeved, denim shirt with pearl snaps.
We look like we might go out dancing but going out isn’t a possibility.
And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than tucked into his arms inside his home.
Eventually, Cort pulls back again.
“Let me feed you.” There is nothing sensual in his offer and yet I’m hungry for him as well.
He catches my hand in his and walks backward toward his kitchen.
“I cheated tonight. Picked up Italian.”
Rogue River has an amazing Italian bistro-style restaurant and my mouth instantly waters.
“Chicken parmesan?” I question when Cort pulls the prepared meal in a tin pan from his fridge.
Nonna’s freshly packs ready-to-bake meals to be heated at home.
“My favorite.”
Cort smiles, pleased with his selection.
Setting the meal in the oven to heat, he then pours me a glass of wine and opens a beer for himself.
“Want to sit on the deck a while?” He tilts his head toward the long deck that runs the length of the back of the house.
“Sure.” Cort and I each take a seat in Adirondack chairs, where the river softly rolls between the gap in the hills below the deck.
“I want to thank you again for being so patient with Hudson.” In the past two weeks, I’ve seen Cort during his therapy sessions and Hudson’s baseball games, but we’ve kept our distance, especially at those public events.
I might catch him looking at me or offer him a soft smile, but then I second guess myself, worried someone else might notice the private exchange between us.
Regarding Hudson, Cort seems to be taking an extra interest in coaching him on how to be a better pitcher.
Hudson can’t stop talking about Cort.
How great he is as a coach.
How nice he is. If my son catches the soft grunts or questionable quietness of his uncle whenever he raves about Cort, Hudson hasn’t mentioned it to me.
“However, I don’t want you to do him any favors,” I remind him, worrying he’s giving special treatment to Hudson because of me.
“I’m not.” Cort looks directly at me over his shoulder.
“He’s a great kid with a lot of potential.”
I smile and nod, agreeing about my son.
“Was Josh good at sports?” Cort’s son was already a teen when I had Hudson, and as our paths didn’t cross then, I don’t know much about his boy.
He stares toward the river again, the sky turning darker with the dimming evening light.
“In a small community, it isn’t unlikely that kids play all the traditional, seasonal sports. Football in the fall. Basketball in winter. Baseball in spring. And Josh did all three. I’d hoped he’d go to college on a scholarship for something, but he opted out of playing at the collegiate level. He played intramural sports, though. Less pressure. More time to study.” Cort snorts and turns his head toward me.
“I think he meant more time to party.”
He smiles softly thinking of his son who is on the verge of graduating college with a master’s degree.
“He had a rough go of things when he was young. I wasn’t around as much as I should have been. His mother was home too much with him.”
Cort doesn’t speak about Bailey, ever, and that’s fine by me.
I am not a fan of her because of her history with my brother.
Which is a major reason Stone would never forgive me for being with Cort.
“I’m so proud of him, but don’t take any credit for who he is.” Cort turns his attention back toward the river.
“You have to take some credit,” I tease, not liking his self-deprecating comment and hoping he’ll open up more about why he came back to the area, as a single father, Josh in tow.
“You’re one side of parenting him. Bailey being the other.” I cringe at giving her praise for anything, but I don’t want to dismiss that she is Josh’s mother.
Cort’s head quickly whips in my direction.
“Bailey didn’t do anything for Josh, other than fuck him up.” The strength in his statement speaks volumes.
I’m intrigued and curious by the sharpness of his tone and the dark look in his eyes, but I don’t pry.
I don’t want to hurt Cort by dragging up his murky past, but I hope one day he’ll talk to me.
He looks back at the river and lifts his beer, taking a deep swallow before setting the bottle back on the wide armrest.
“Was it difficult to give up football?” I ask next, still tiptoeing around another difficult topic.
“I remember it being hard for Ford when he had to give up baseball.”
My brother had a career-ending shoulder injury.
Cort squints into the darkening sky and softly says, “Yeah.” He pauses before adding, “My body has taken a beating over the years. As a tight end, you either tackle or be tackled. And as much as my hamstrings and ankles took the brunt, it was my knee that eventually gave out.” He absentmindedly squeezes his right kneecap.
“I’m sorry you got hurt.” Recalling once again how my brother Ford handled his injury, which wasn’t well.
I can only imagine how Cort felt both physically and mentally.
The pain in his body; the loss of a game he loved.
Cort had been recently injured and released from his team right before our interlude that summer.
His mind must have been a mess.
“It happens.” He doesn’t sound bitter as much as melancholy over the loss.
We both remain quiet a second, letting the peacefulness of hushed evening sounds flow around us.
The gentle roll of the river below.
The soft call of night creatures coming to life.
Unexpectedly, a string of fairy lights flickers on along the underside of the railing around Cort’s deck.
The ambiance is lovely .
Glancing over at Cort after the sudden illumination, I catch him looking at me.
He stands and holds out his hand.
“Want to dance with me?” He smiles softly.
“I don’t want to make you a liar.”
I set my hand in his but pause a second, glancing down at his leg.
“What about your knee?”
“I think I can handle a dance with my girl.” With a sharp tug, he pulls me upward, and I collide with his firm chest.
“Your girl, huh?” I tease, stroking my hands up his shirt and over his shoulders.
“Want me to call you my Little Bee, instead?”
My gaze leaps to his eyes, seeing he’s teasing me with the childish name.
“Want me to call you my beekeeper?” I snark back, arching a brow.
“Although I do call you that. In my phone.” Keeping Cort my secret, I have him listed in my favorites as The Beekeeper.
“Because I’m a hot man over forty?” He chuckles, under-appreciating how very handsome he is.
“The hottest.” I wink.
He laughs even harder, and I’d wager his cheeks are heating with the compliment.
With his hands on my hips and mine on his shoulders, I state, “There’s no music out here.”
“Yes there is. Just listen.” Tugging me closer to him, he slips his hand behind my back and takes my other hand in his, pulling our joined hands upward.
Then he moves us side-to-side to the melody of the evening around us.
A soft breeze, chirping crickets, and the river.
Only this isn’t some high school dance movement.
Cort sweeps us across his deck, taking slow, measured steps before larger, dramatic ones.
We spin and he twirls me away from him and pulls me back.
He knows how to lead a girl, and quickly, I’m lost to the magic around us and his eyes on mine, drinking me in.
Eventually, he dips me, and I tip my head back until Cort brushes his nose along the column of my neck.
As he pulls me upright, his lips skim my jaw until we face one another.
We stop dancing, but other movements take over.
Our hearts beating. Our lips savoring.
And I’m in real danger of falling in love.
Cort is no longer the fantasy in my head but a real man.
One who rebounded after his injury.
Raised a child as a single father.
Built a business and gives back to his community.
He’s a man who sweeps me off my feet and kisses me like I’m the air he needs to breathe.
As our kissing heats, Cort uses his firm hands on my sides to tug me closer to him, holding me against him.
I wrap my arms around his neck, breathing him in with every twirl of our tongues.
Beep-beep-beep .
The sudden sound has us breaking apart and glancing toward his kitchen.
Cort left the sliding glass door open, and the noise alerts us that the chicken dinner is ready.
Taking my hand again, Cort leads me into his house, and we settle in for another meal together.
We sit at his island counter, him seated sideways with his legs spread, locking me in with his knees.
“Why are you sitting like that?” I ask, thinking it must be uncomfortable.
“I want to look at you while I eat.” He winks, like I’m in on some secret, and then he digs into his chicken parmesan.
Once we finish eating and clean up, Cort suggests we sit on his couch.
He turns the television on, flipping to a Tennessee Terrors baseball game.
He sets the volume low before he reaches for my ankle and tugs off one of my boots.
I gasp, then giggle.
“What are you doing?”
He reaches for my other boot and removes it as well, then lifts my legs so they drape over his lap.
I shift so I’m seated sideways beside him.
He tugs off the low-cut socks I wear and presses his knuckles into the arch of one foot .
“Ew. My feet are all sweaty and probably stink.”
“ Ew ?” Cort laughs, wrinkling his nose as he mimics me.
“You sound like you’re twelve.” He continues to press the hard edge of his fingers into the soft curve of my foot and my leg jolts.
Damn that feels good.
“Well, I am younger than you, old man.”
“Do not remind me,” he chuffs, concentrating on how he uses his knuckles against my foot.
I hope he isn’t thinking what I’m suddenly thinking.
This man changed my diapers.
Resting my head on the back cushion, I ask, “Does it bother you? The age thing? Because I feel one hundred some days.”
Cort’s head whips in my direction, never missing a beat as he cups my foot and squeezes, digging his fingertips into the top of my foot.
“You’re stunning.”
I give him a pointed look, like I don’t fully believe the compliment.
“Look, I get it that some women worry about aging. Hell, men worry about it, too.”
I snort, taking in the contrasting color combination of hairs on his jaw and the strong length of his nose.
His lush lips and dark eyes.
Cort is stunning.
“But our bodies are our story. Every freckle and line, every mole and scar.” His brows pinch at the mention and I think back to the stitched line near his shoulder blade.
“And without them, we aren’t who we are.”
Cort pauses while plucking at each of my toes, tugging them one at a time.
“I think true beauty lies within and radiates outward.”
I smile softly at the concept.
“And you are fucking sunshine.”
Tilting my head to the side, I reach for the side of his neck and stroke my finger along it.
“That’s sweet. ”
With his lids lowered, staring at my foot in his hand, he swipes his other hand up my calf.
“ You ’re sweet,” he mutters, watching as he cups the back of my knee.
He moves to my other leg and repeats the massage.
Knuckling my arch. Squeezing my foot.
Tugging my toes. And then stroking up my leg.
Only he doesn’t stop at the back of my knee.
With my knees bent, my dress falls to my lap, exposing more of my legs.
When Cort glides up my inner thigh, my dress rides higher.
“And I’d like to see how sweet you are, honeybee.” With that, his eyes leap up to mine, watching me as his fingers tickle the inside of my leg.
Willingly, I spread my thighs, and my dress collects in my lap.
“Lay back,” he softly commands, and I sweep my hair up the back of my head and lie down, resting the back of my neck on the armrest. I lift my hands above my head and hang onto the armrest behind me, stretching out my body.
“Fucking perfection, Bee.” He hisses, gazing up my body, like he’s watching a river weave through the hills.
He slips his hands to my hips and drags my underwear off me in a torturous tease, taking his time to remove them before pushing my dress up to my belly so he can see me.
Cort shifts, spreading my legs wider and positioning himself between them.
Staring down at where I’m wet and waiting for him, he licks his lips.
“Gonna devour that honey-covered cunt.”
I gasp at the word, then lose my breath as his mouth meets my center and he swipes up my seam.
I buck upward, chasing his tongue.
Cort does not disappoint, quickly bringing his mouth against me and swirling his tongue around my clit.
“Oh God,” I cry out, unable to remember the last time someone did this to me.
Not often. Not any time in the last few years.
The sensation of his thick tongue parting folds and sweeping over sensitive skin is like no other.
My knees fall farther apart as Cort holds one thigh steady, keeping me spread wide for him.
His tongue paints broad strokes over my most tender parts.
His fingers join the mix, dipping into the wetness, spreading it around me, and slipping into me.
“Cort,” I call out, holding onto the armrest above my head, afraid to let go.
Afraid to touch him for fear he’ll stop touching me.
“Pure honey gold,” he mutters, peppering me with soft pecks before diving in again with that tongue, taking his time to lick and suck and tease me.
“Dripping all over me,” he hums, pressing his fingers deep while continuing to devour me like he’s ravenous.
“Sticky sweet.”
He laps up my seam again, catching on that triggering nub, focusing on where I need him most.
“Oh Cort. Right there. Don’t stop.” I whisper, afraid he will.
Afraid I’ll lose the bliss he’s building, winding me up like a tight string, ready to unravel at any moment.
“Not gonna stop until you soak my face, honeybee. Until you’re dripping on my tongue and clenching on my fingers.” He slips two up my channel and presses on a spot no one has ever discovered.
“So close,” I whimper.
“Gonna get there.” It’s not a question but a fact.
He’s not giving up until I’m finished.
Until I’m wrung out.
Soon enough, I break.
My legs clamp around his head and my back arches off the couch.
I cry out as an orgasm like no other rips through me.
My lower belly is a swarm, buzzing and fluttering, and zipping through me like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
The rush continues, dipping and diving, like I’m riding the wind, until finally I settle, lowering my hips and releasing my knees from around his head.
With his fingers still inside me, softly stroking in and out, he presses his lips to my inner thigh before pulling his fingers free.
“Honey gold, like I thought.” His beard is damp.
His eyes gleaming. He’s so damn proud of himself.
“It’s never been like that,” I admit, as he already knows I’ve struggled to find relief with a partner.
“I know, sweetness.” He kisses the top of my knee, keeping his eyes on me. “I know.”