Page 54 of Riding the High

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 tothatnight. I’d know it anywhere. I hear it once more as the humcontinues. 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 backwith 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.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ginger

62 days to go

The next few days are a blur of sun, sand, fishing, BBQing, playing cornhole barefoot in the thick green grass, and catching all sorts of insects on the cabin property with Mabel. Vacation Cole is irresistible and I’ve given up trying to tell myself otherwise. He’s totally relaxed and wanders around shirtless with Mabel like he lives on the lake.

It’s late Monday morning, our last day, and I’m perched in a lounge chair on the dock watching Mabel and Cole fish off of it, using my sunglasses to hide the fact I can’t stop staring at Cole.

I’m stretched out in my black one-piece bathing suit, which almost exactly matches Mabel’s. It wasn’t planned but she was thrilled when we came out of our rooms and into the living room wearing nearly the same thing. Right down to the single braid we each have in our hair. Even Cole couldn’t help but laugh.

We’ve had an amazing weekend at the lake and, to be honest, the last thing I want to do is head back to town later. But it’s inevitable. Cole has a big day tomorrow, and I’ve already pressed Mabel’s dress she’ll be wearing to go watch her dad get sworn in with the entire family.

“That’s it, buddy. Give him some line,” Cole says as Mabel starts to reel in a catch.

She squeals in delight as the little rock bass flops up onto the dock. Cole’s jaw is set as he works to help Mabel unhook the fish, his strong legs supporting him as he crouches down beside her. I can’t get the vision of his naked torso out of my mind from our late-night hot tub meetups.

Cole works to help Mabel unhook the flapping fish and, for the millionth time, I take in how gorgeous he is. My eyes rake over the whisps of dark, sweaty hair that poke out from under his hat and stick to the nape of his neck, and the furrow in his brow as he removes the hook from their catch with steady patience. He’s even better-looking after a few days in the sun, and the landscape of his muscled chest has turned a golden brown. But it’s the dip in his lower back, the two dimples just above the band of his bathing suit shorts, and that perfect ass as he squats down on the dock, that have me breathing faster.

It’s a wonder Mr. Always Ready hasn’t died this weekend from overuse.

I’m pulled out of my trance as Cole pats Mabel on the back.

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