Page 7 of Red, White, and You (Merry Little Midlife #3)

My body is abuzz with desire, but Brady’s popularity has derailed us again.

The crackling flames of the campfire dance before my eyes, its warm glow casting shadows on the faces of the campers gathered around.

The air is filled with laughter and the sickly-sweet scent of toasted marshmallows, but I can’t think of much past the euphoria still humming through my veins or the tenderness of my breasts from Brady’s earlier assault.

Wrapped in his flannel shirt, his scent surrounds me even though he’s across the bonfire talking with some of the campers.

If someone knew what to look for, the outline of my underwire bra tucked into the pocket of his jeans is obvious, but a secret only the two of us share.

We were on our way to the cabin to continue what we started on the bench when he was called over to the campfire, but the distraction is a welcome one; it gives me time to collect my thoughts.

I stand at the edge of the fire circle, watching as campers eagerly skewer marshmallows onto long sticks, their eyes aglow with excitement.

Even as he’s trapped in conversation, Brady steals glances my way every few moments.

He seems completely at ease, effortlessly blending into this tranquil atmosphere.

I envy his ability to relax, to fit into whatever situation, wherever he may be .

I haven’t sat around a campfire since my early teens.

Already, I know the smell will be tough to get out of my hair, and the thought of having to wash and blow dry it tonight before bed adds a level of discomfort to the evening.

It’s a time-consuming task, and I’d hoped to not have to do it on the very first night.

“Hey, Brie, you don’t have any s’mores,” Jarron says, joining me on this side of the fire.

His voice is laced with enthusiasm as he holds out a bag of marshmallows and a metal roasting stick.

Brady’s head of operations is a bearded brute of a man, his sheer size enough to intimate me into eating a roasted marshmallow against my will, even as his eyes hold nothing but kindness and joy.

I glance across at Brady, catching him watching me expectantly.

I straighten my shoulders and smile. Take the marshmallow. Show him you’re not uptight.

With a deep breath, I reach out to accept the marshmallow, sliding it onto the stick. The sharp metal ends are black from marshmallows past, and I try to ignore the thoughts that spring to mind. How clean is this thing?

The heat of the fire kisses my face as I hold the marshmallow above the flames.

It begins to singe the sugary treat, searing the edges into a deep golden brown.

Then it catches fire, a blue orange flame licking at the marshmallow, and a familiar scent wafts through the air, bringing back memories of my youth.

Days spent at the beach or weekends at the lake, vacations with my family, my beloved sister, then later, when I reached adulthood, vacations with Brady…

My eyes blur as I watch the marshmallow slowly burn, its edges crisp and bubbling.

When I was a kid, I liked them dark, burned to a crisp.

My sister would tease me for letting them sit on the fire so long and, more often than not, I’d lose them to the flames, but there’s just something about a burned marshmallow.

I lick my lips.

Stomachache be damned, I’m eating this thing tonight.

Startling me with a gentle nudge of his elbow, Brady joins me on this side of the fire. His eyes crinkle at the corners when I look up into them. “You still like them barely edible, I see.” He grins.

“I’ll have you know, this is the only way to eat a marshmallow.”

He holds up a graham cracker in one hand, and in the other, another graham cracker with a square of chocolate on top.

I blow out the flame on my marshmallow and carefully set it onto the chocolate, then Brady covers it with the other graham cracker and smooshes the layers to combine them into one sticky mess.

“Perfect,” I whisper, gazing down at it. My stomach rumbles.

“Yes, you are,” Brady says.

My eyes flick up to his. The fire dances in his deep blue gaze, but there’s so much more in his eyes. Love. Desire. Appreciation.

An unspoken promise.

He blows on the s’more, then lifts it to my mouth.

Lost in his eyes, I take a bite.

The sweetness of the chocolate combined with the richness of the burnt marshmallow and the crunch of the graham cracker takes me back. I close my eyes and revel in the sensation, the memories. An earlier time. An easier time .

Brady’s fingers grip my chin and I open my eyes as he leans forward.

His tongue flicks against the corner of my mouth, sending a current of sensation through my cheek.

My body rocks toward him and he runs his tongue over the sticky seam of my lips, pulling a whimper from my throat.

The brief contact tightens my belly and I have to bite back a groan of frustration.

We share the s’more, and when we’re finished, Brady slips his hand into mine and politely excuses us from the bonfire.

We walk quietly and with purpose back toward Cabin 17, the air growing thicker with the sexual energy snapping between us. By the time we reach the cabin, I’m practically panting—and only partially because of the uphill walk.

We step inside.

Brady closes the door.

Locks it.

Then he spins me toward him and rips the flannel shirt open. Buttons fly everywhere, hitting the cabin walls and floor.

I gasp, but he tugs my t-shirt up, and when his mouth closes over one of my breasts, his hot tongue teasing my nipple with firm strokes, his flannel shirt is the last thing on my mind.

He nips at my breast, then sucks my nipple into his mouth with a hard pull, and a shot of lust shoots down into my core, pulling my muscles tight.

“Oh god.” I tighten my fingers in his hair as he teases my nipple into a painful peak that has a direct connection to the desire building between my legs. He bites down and that tether pulls taut, sending a rush of liquid heat to my center. “Brady…”

He yanks the flannel from my arms, then pulls my shirt up and over my head, sliding it down my arms in a way that pushes them behind me.

With my wrists trapped in the cotton fabric, he holds them behind my back and claims my mouth again in a fierce, hungry kiss.

He pulls back to look down at my breasts and his eyes darken with lust. He takes them both in his hands, then splits his time between the two, licking and nipping and suckling them until my breathing is ragged and loud, and my body rejoices in anticipation of what this man can do with his tongue.

I tug free of my shirt and slam my hands into his hair, massaging his head as he suckles my breasts.

When he’s satisfied that both nipples are painfully erect, the dusty pink tips flushed to a deep rose and swollen from his mouth, Brady unzips my jeans, then slides them down my legs.

He unlaces my hiking boots and helps me step out of them.

My jeans quickly follow, leaving me in nothing but a thin strip of lacy red panties.

He looks up at me with a boyish smirk. “I didn’t plan this.”

I laugh. “You sure about that?”

He stands and reaches his hand over his head to tug his shirt off, a sly smile pulling at his lips.

“Well, I planned this, I just didn’t plan for it happening the very first night.

” He tosses his shirt onto the bed behind me, then flashes a mischievous grin.

“There’s only one bed in this cabin, Brielle; I’d absolutely planned on sharing it with you. ”

I lick my lips and glance toward the bed in question, then back into his eyes. “Well, here we are.”

“Here we are.” He starts to work on his jeans, and I drag my gaze slowly down his firm chest now dusted with dark hair, over the ridges of his abs, then down his happy trail to his fingers unbuttoning his jeans.

Far too slowly .

“I thought we’d have some playtime first, you know? Maybe some water sports… I know how you used to love being in the water—”

“Brady?”

His fingers still on the final button of his fly. “Yeah?”

I look up into his eyes. “You talk too much.”

With a wicked grin, he grabs me quickly, lifting me into the air, and as he steps toward the bed, he claims the breast closest to his mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive tip.

He stops to lower me onto the bed, then quickly steps out of his jeans, freeing his cock.

It juts out before him, hard and thick. He leans over, then slides his hands between my skin and lace to tug my panties down.

I scoot to the middle of the bed and open my legs for him.

Brady’s eyes darken as he looks between them, then he climbs onto the bed and slides his arms beneath me, wrapping them around each thigh and opening me up further.

His hot breath hits my center and sends a shiver through my heated body, then his mouth closes over me and he suckles my clit, flicking his tongue back and forth against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

My fists tighten in the bedding. My back arcs, pressing my pussy more firmly into his hungry mouth. He moves down, teasing my lips with his tongue until I begin to buck, desperate for more than just gentle, teasing strokes, then he plunges his tongue inside me.

The sounds he pulls from me are carnal, animalistic sounds, but he doesn’t stop, just feasts on me hungrily until my legs start to shake, then everything tightens at once, and my thighs try to squeeze together against the barrage of pleasure.

He forces them open, holding me captive while he massages my clit with his tongue until I’m gasping his name, bucking hard against each stroke, fucking his face, riding each movement of his mouth until my orgasm grips me, claims me, rolls through my body with spasms and sparks, heating my veins and setting off fireworks behind my eyelids.

He paces the rhythm of each tongue stroke to match my breathing until I come back to earth, slow and steady, gently lapping at my flesh until I’ve unclenched my fists and my legs are boneless on the bed.

Then he moves on top of me, pressing his cock firmly between my legs.

I jerk at the sensation, so sensitive still from my orgasm, and Brady smiles.

“I still love making you come.”

My eyes close on a contented sigh. “Me too.”

Brady chuckles, then the bed dips as he climbs off of it. “Hold that thought.” He rummages through his jeans, then the bed moves again as he climbs back onto it.

I open my eyes and look up at him. He’s kneeling between my legs, opening a foil packet. I look down at his beautiful cock as he slides a condom over it, then smile as he lowers himself over me again. He presses his tip to my opening and a new rush of desire floods my core.

His blue eyes dance over my face, looking at me everywhere all at once, like he’s taking me in, really seeing me after all these years. The differences, the age. I’m not the fresh-faced girl he knew back then… and yet, his eyes hold nothing but appreciation in their depths. Appreciation and…

Love .

I reach up and cup his face. “It’s been almost twenty years, and you still look at me like…” I shake my head, emotion tightening my throat.

“Like you’re the love of my life?”

My breath catches, and my response comes out almost a sigh. “Yes. ”

Brady leans down and kisses me. Gently. Slowly. Reverently .

He kisses me with care, with purpose. Each gentle stroke of his tongue tightens that ball of desire between my legs as much as his hard, hungry kisses did earlier.

He pulls back to look at me once more. “You are the love of my life.” Lining up his cock to my entrance, he eases into me slowly, allowing my body to welcome him at its own pace. “And it’s been seventeen years, Brie, not twenty.”

My eyes widen. That’s why he reached out. It’s been exactly seventeen years since our divorce was final. Our lucky number.

And still, we’re single, neither of us able to move on. Of course we couldn’t.

Seventeen years wasted without one another, and for what? Because I couldn’t slow down to appreciate his pace of life?

The thought squeezes my chest in a vise, but he pushes deeper, distracting me from anything other than reconnection, distracting me from seventeen years’ worth of regret.

My walls stretch around him, a slight hint of pain mixed with unbelievable pleasure. We always did fit together deliciously. He pulls back slowly, then plunges in, deeper each time until my body has fully enveloped his length.

He slides his arms beneath me, then pulls me up as he sits back on his heels.

I brace my legs on either side of him, then wrap my arms around his neck and use him as leverage to guide myself up and down his thick cock.

My breasts rub against his hard chest, teasing my nipples back into taut little peaks, and his mouth finds my throat, sending waves of lust through my veins with every graze of his teeth.

I lean back and press my palms into the mattress, tipping my hips so he can hit that special spot inside of me that tightens my core. With each thrust, Brady claims me, making me his again after all this time.

Who am I kidding? I’ve always been his. No man has ever loved me, fucked me, or seen me like Brady West.

He tightens one arm around my hips to fuck me harder while his other hand settles between us to massage my clit with his thumb in rhythm with each powerful thrust of his cock.

My body trembles with need. Aching.

Starving for him.

As he begins to pick up the pace, and my walls tighten around his thick shaft, and his thighs clench beneath me, twitching as his orgasm moves to take over his body, I push up and wrap my arms around his neck so I can kiss him again.

Because I’ve been wanting to kiss him for… well… seventeen years, it turns out.

What a lucky number indeed.

We kiss almost as desperately as we fuck, claiming one another with desperation.

Each tangled movement of our tongues cleanses us of those years we spent apart, erasing each lonely moment, and bringing us back where we belong, even after all this time.

Together.

His thrusts become faster, more demanding as he drives deep. My orgasm slams into me and I jerk in his arms, breaking our kiss to drop my head back and cry out his name.

Brady curses as his hands tighten on my hips, holding me still as he drops his forehead to my chest and comes with a final, violent thrust. Hen his cock stops pulsing within me, he kisses across my sweat-slick chest, murmuring praise against my skin as we float back down to earth.