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Jake
The air crackles around me, and my dick jerks in my pants. Fuck, I want this woman. Preferably naked and in my bed. My hand is big and rough after my days of hard work on the extension, and hers is small and soft in mine. As soon as she attacked me at the wood pile and her perfect fucking body was on top of mine, I knew I had to have her. It was game over for me.
I pushed the guilt down deep and desire for her took over my body. It was all I could do to chop that damn wood and get back next to her as quickly as possible.
Then she brought out fresh lemonade, which was the best fucking lemonade I have ever had, and it dawned on me that it is true what everyone says. The best way to a man's heart is through his stomach because eating her food that she has made just for me, and now drinking her lemonade, it’s like foreplay. No one has even given me this much effort, ever, and I begin to wonder about eating something else of hers that I think I would like very much.
I felt the guilt rise in my stomach when she pulled away from me once I told her my name, but now I am intrigued. What is it that she knows about me? At first, I thought she wanted to get rid of me, but when she grabbed my hand to pull me up, fuck, it was all I could do to follow her instead of pulling her down and fucking her hard on the deck of her cabin.
When she said she had something for me from her dad, my heart stopped beating, and I was brought back to earth with a thud. Now I am standing in her cabin's cozy living room, waiting for her to retrieve something from her bedroom.
Looking around, I see she has redecorated a little and it looks nice. There is something to be said about a woman's touch that makes a house a home, and this cabin is looking much better from her presence. But as I survey the roof, I realize that Danny must not have been able to do the repairs that he needed to on his last visit, because one big storm and this roof would fly right off. It gives me pause, because I don’t know how long Isabelle is planning on staying, but it does need to be fixed.
I watch her walk away from me, my eyes glued to her ass in those short denim shorts, and I groan inwardly. She is fucking perfect, and it is killing me. I have never been so hard for a woman.
She makes her way back and takes my hand, leading me to the couch. What I want to do to her and what I should do are two totally different things, and I am at war with myself about it. What I want to do is to strip her naked and devour her. Every damn inch of her body I want to make mine and then I want to do it over and over and over again.
What I should do is politely take the letter and get back to my cabin and not touch her. Sure, she is fucking perfect, sure the chemistry between the two of us is fucking electric, but I shouldn’t be touching her, I shouldn’t even be feeling this way about her. I am too old for her, and I am one of her dad’s best friends.
Sitting down next to her on the sofa, my body sinks into the new cashmere throw rug, and it feels soft and smells amazing, just like Isabelle.
“The day before the funeral, dad’s friend Tony gave me a letter.” Her eyes rise to meet mine, and I stay silent but nod to her to continue.
“I didn’t open it right away. I was scared of what I would read, and I wasn’t ready,” she says as she hangs her head and takes a deep breath. I can see her emotions rising, so I carefully put my hand next to hers and move my pinky finger to grab hers.
Feeling the small gesture, she looks up with tears in her eyes and smiles.
“A few nights ago, I opened the letter after a particularly disastrous evening in D.C. with my ex-boyfriend.” She is watching me. I give her a small smile and nod.
She rolls her eyes. “Of course, you know,” she mutters as understanding washes over her that I have heard all about her disastrous night.
“Anyway, in my letter was this one for you.” She passes across an envelope, with my name scrawled on the front in Danny’s handwriting.
“I knew that dad had a good friend called Jake, he spoke about you often. But I didn’t know you were him. I didn’t realize that connection until now. Dad just said to me that if I ever ran into you, to give you the letter.”
I look at her, slightly confused. “Sounds a bit weird, but your dad was always a little crazy, so...” I trail off.
She smiles, a small smile, but it hits me square in the chest.
“He was a little crazy,” she says, her smile turning into a big grin.
“You know, this one time, he was home from one of his tours in Afghanistan, I was about eight years old, and I was having a hard time at school. I really wanted to go to the cinema to see Beauty and the Beast, but I had no friends who wanted to come with me. So, dad offered to take me. I was so excited, I dressed up in my princess costume, and I pulled my hair back just like Belle does in the movie. I was waiting downstairs, and dad walked down dressed head to toe in a costume that was exactly like Beast.”
She giggles a little, remembering the night, her eyes alive in thought and her smile genuine. I smile at her as I soak in this look, wanting to memorize it, engrave it into my brain. She is beautiful.
“I remember on one particular mission when we were deployed in Afghanistan, I was having a hard time, having just lost my grandma and not being able to go home for the funeral. I didn’t know, but your dad organized for the funeral to be live-streamed and then let me have a few hours where I could be involved and watch the service from the army base where we were stationed. He was one of a kind,” I say to her with a smile. It is comforting to share this moment, both of us lost in our thoughts of a man we both cherished.
We continue to talk and reminisce, laughing and crying at the memories we have. It is nice. I am content.
As we are talking, a small alarm rings out from the kitchen, and she jumps up and opens the oven. The smell of a hot meal engulfs the small cabin, and my stomach rumbles in hunger. It has been a while since I ate, and it smells amazing.
“Join me for dinner, Jake?” she asks, looking at me from the kitchen.
“I don’t want to impose...” I trail off.
“Nonsense, I made plenty, and it will be nice to have your company,” she says, smiling, and I smile at her in return. Her mannerisms are contagious, and I can now see how she has everyone in D.C. wrapped around her little finger.
“Well then, I would love to, how can I help?” I get up from the sofa and make my way to her in the kitchen, and she puts me to work, setting the table and organizing the drinks. I grab a bottle of red wine from her cabinet and glassware, and together we dance around each other getting dinner ready. It is so domestic. I haven't been in this situation before, but I like it.
