Winning Back His Wife (Camp Firefly Falls Book 1) (5 page)

There was only so much receiving a guy could do before he just needed to make his wife come all over his dick.

Everyone has limits.

Blindly, Michael licked his way down her chest, seeking the valley of softness between her breasts, then one nipple—so sweet on his tongue—and the other—even sweeter.

Back and forth he nuzzled her breasts until she wrapped her hands around his head and held him to her, their hips moving rough and fast together now. They were chasing it together, the orgasm that would mark their reconnection. It was merely symbolic, and really, did it matter if she came first and he followed? No. It would be a travesty if he couldn’t hold out and make sure she got there first, though. That would…well, there was only so much equality Michael could go in for. Unless it was a morning wake-up blow job, where she'd have him at a disadvantage, maybe.

Jesus. His mind went blank as she ground against him, a shudder starting deep inside her and spiraling around his cock, milking him at the same time he was thinking of her mouth…

He gasped against her breast as she pulled his hair, wrenching his head back so she could kiss him.

He slammed into her one last time, holding her tight as he jerked his release deep inside her, their bodies fused as one everywhere possible.

Their kiss slowly, reluctantly ended as she collapsed on top of him. He knew the feeling. He was boneless and heavy, completely spent.

"That was great," she mumbled. "Really…great."

"The best."

"I love you."

"Me too."

After a beat, she giggled. "You got really rough there at the end. I liked it. A lot."

"Six months of pent-up wanting you, I guess," he said.

She giggled. "Here's hoping we don't need to wait another half-year."

No risk of that. "I was thinking of blowjobs," he admitted.

She laughed and buried her face in his chest. "Really?"

"You've got a talented tongue. And I'm still an eighteen-year-old boy inside, who can't believe that this gorgeous, worldly woman is willing to get naked in my dorm room."

She sighed and wrapped her arms around him. He tugged the edge of the quilt up and around her. Even though it was warm outside, the lodge was built from giant logs and was naturally cool.

And they were covered in a well-earned sheen of sweat. Heather had to be cold.

"You've always had more faith in our relationship than I have," she said quietly, her voice cracking.

"Don't." He rolled toward her and pulled her in tight. "That's the absolute wrong thing to take away from me liking your blowjobs."

She laughed, but it was a small sound. "I'm going to do better in that regard."

"You do just fine." He sighed and kissed her forehead.

"When you asked me out…"

He really didn't know where she was going with this. When had he asked her out?

She rubbed her hand down his arm, squeezing his biceps. "That first day of college. I was so scared you'd overwhelm me."

"What?" He could picture that day as clear as if it were yesterday. He'd seen her across the Green like she was a vision, a flashback to camp. Her hair had been shorter, but it was the same heavy golden waves that made him think of summer and racing to the raft in the middle of the lake.

She'd been wearing a flower print dress, with a jean jacket on top and Doc Marten boots on her feet. She'd looked so
cool
compared to him, way more grown-up, and he'd stumbled all over his words.

Then he'd asked her out, and in doing so, he'd found his first real courage in life. He'd known she wasn't sure, but he'd thought it was because he was a dork.

"I could never…" He was going to say he couldn't dim her light, but he had, hadn't he? After they'd married? And she'd had to break free from him to find it again.

He pressed his forehead against hers. Under the blanket, heads touching, they formed a secret space. He found her hand and squeezed it there, between them.

"I'm sorry," he said. Enough denial. It was time to forgive and move on. Forgive each other, and themselves, for the mistakes of the past. "I love you. And I'm here now."

She smiled at him. "I'm glad."

"That's the first step." He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the soft skin just above her knuckles.

"I'm always going to want to live in the woods."

"And I'm always going to want you. We'll make it work."

H
eather hummed
as she took another bite of her noodles. She’d missed Thai food. If she could only bring one thing to the small town of Briarsted from the city, it would be their favorite takeout restaurant.

Michael cleared his throat. “I’m beginning to get a little jealous. Those noodles are getting the look you usually reserve for me.” Michael thumped his foot against hers. “I hope you and pad thai will be very happy together.”

They were lolling around, half-dressed in her—their—condo in Baltimore, eating takeout and planning cabin repairs. Michael had gone over to his apartment to pack a couple of bags. Eventually they'd need to move his stuff back into the condo, and up to the camp.

Tomorrow, he was going to resign. She could hardly believe it.

She’d come with him for moral support.

And noodles.

She set her empty container on the coffee table. “Any chef we hire has to be able to pass a pad thai test or they don’t get the job.”

“Yes, because pad thai is a well-known campfire staple.”

“Says the man who just tried to convince me we needed a gym in the lodge. Because why hike the nearby forest when you can jog in place like a hamster for twenty-five minutes?”

Michael laughed and took a drink of his wine. “I didn’t say I would use it. But you know stodgy corporate types. They like their routine.”

Heather pushed the notebook off his lap so she could straddle him. “Yes, I know all about those corporate stodgy types.” She leaned and smelled his neck before she nipped the place where it met his shoulder.

Michael responded by snaking his other hand up her t-shirt. She rolled her hips and sighed. He felt so damn good.

“Mrs. Tully, you are insatiable.” Michael pulled her shirt up and over her head, feasting on her breasts while she untangled her arms from the shirt.

“I know. I feel like a character in a porno. I’m turned on all the time.” And she was. The last few days were like a second honeymoon. They would talk business for a few minutes and then next thing she knew, they were naked again. She had a feeling that Camp Firefly Falls might have more of a hedonistic edge to it by the time they were done getting it up and running. She’d love it if people fell in love there—or fell back in love—and hell, what was the use of going to summer camp as a grown up if you didn’t also hook-up like horny teenagers while you were there?

What they hadn’t done, yet, was make love in their bed at the condo. They’d gotten in just a few hours ago and this was the first time they’d been here
together
in six months. It had been their home once, but it didn’t feel familiar. It didn’t feel like a home.

Michael pushed both her breasts together, but paused half an inch from sucking her nipples into his mouth. “Where did you just go?”

“Nowhere. It’s not important.”

He inched back a little more. “Of course it’s important. Is something wrong? Did I do–?”

“No,” she interrupted. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I was just thinking we haven’t been here together in a long time. We haven’t made love in our bed.”
In a long time
.

He let go of her breasts but kept his hands on her skin. The weight of his hands grounded her, kept her in the here and now when her mind was trying to take her on a trail of “what if”.

“Do you think we should move this to the bedroom? Reclaim our marital bed? Or do you want to stay here?”

She was going to cry. Why was she going to cry? “I don’t know. I don’t even understand why I am upset.”

“It’s just a bed. It’s not us.” He wiped a tear away from her cheek with his thumb.

“It feels like some stupid symbol. I’m giving it too much power, aren’t I?”

Michael pushed her hair away from her face and cupped her cheeks. “We got lost. But we know where we are now, and we know where we are going. But we can’t expect to just magically end up on the right road. We have to backtrack a bit to get there. So, we’re going to have to look at some of the things we passed going down the wrong way.” He kissed her nose. “Also, my analogy is getting weird. It’s just a bed, baby. It doesn’t have special powers to break us up. But if you never want to sleep in it again, I’ll throw it off the balcony.”

She laughed. “Let’s just christen the damn thing again.”

“Excellent idea.” He went back to sucking her nipples and she arched into his hands like she couldn’t get close enough.

BAH-BAH-BAH BADDAH-DUM, BADDAH-DAH.

Strains of the
Imperial March
sounded from the coffee table, interrupting them. He raised one eyebrow and let her breast plop out of his mouth. “You changed my ringtone again, didn’t you?” he asked.

She giggled as he stretched over her to grab his phone. She’d been adjusting his ringtones since 1997. “Your mom is calling.”

Michael sent her a very serious glare as he tweaked one of her nipples and answered his phone. “Hello, Mother.”

He leaned against the couch and Heather stood up, pulling down her panties to give him a show. Let him try and carry on a conversation now.

“Any chance I can call you back tomorrow? Heather and I…yes, I’m with Heather. We’re reconciling.”

Oh, she bet that made the old battle axe happy. She’d probably been hoping for a quiet divorce so Michael could marry someone more suitable and pop out baby country-clubbers.

The color leached from his face. “Is he okay? Which hospital?”

Heather paused in mid-shimmy. “Michael?”

“I’ll be right there. It’s okay, Mom. I’m on my way.” He set the phone down and scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s my dad.”

He was already getting up, looking for clothes.

“What happened?”

Clearly out of it, he stared at the shirt in his hand like he didn’t know it was hers and not his. “He had a stroke. He’s…Mom found him. They don’t know how long he was unconscious already. He’s…he’s not waking up.”

Heather took the shirt out of his hand. “Sit down.” He protested. “Michael, sit down and catch your breath. I’m going to gather your clothes for you. Then we’ll get dressed and I’ll drive us to the hospital. Don’t argue. Sit.”

She got them into the car, into the hospital, and into the corridor in front of his father’s room with hardly a word from Michael.

His mother stood and straightened her suit. “You’re here.”

“Of course, Mom. Of course.” He held his stiff mother while she told them the prognosis. It wasn’t good.

Heather got coffee for them both, ran interference when the nurses tried to get them to sit in the waiting room, and made calls to numbers she hadn’t used in a long time. Michael’s uncle, her father-in-law’s administrative assistant, his sister in Tucson, and to comfort her mother in law, the reverend who’d married them. Michael reached for her once, squeezing her like she was the only thing holding him up. And then she watched him morph from the scared son to the man his mother needed him to be. He dealt with everything else then. Providing comfort to his family with a reserved demeanor. Dealing with business calls and arrangements to handle whatever things his father had been working on. He was still pale, but he didn’t look scared. He looked terrifyingly capable.

M
ichael was in shock
. He could feel it from the inside out, an oppressive cloak that had fallen over him the second his mother had said those fateful five words.
Your father's had a stroke
. The cloak kept all his feelings on the inside and everyone around him at a strange, arms-length distance.

It was easier that way, really. He could snap out orders about what needed to be done. An emergency board meeting. Lawyers had to be called. There were protocols in place for such an occurrence, but they'd want to make sure they were acting appropriately.

He looked up from one phone call, looking for Heather. She was across the quite luxurious private hospital room, watching him from the small couch under the window. She gave him a small smile. He nodded.

This would be awkward for her, sooner or later. He should tell her to go home, get some sleep.

Before he could go to her side, the door swung open and in walked a team of people in scrubs. "Could we have the room alone with just family, please?"

Michael stood stiffly as his father's assistant left, and he shook hands with the Reverend. "You could stay," he said quietly.

The minister shook his head. "I'll be back. I could use a cup of tea, anyway."

Behind the other man, Michael caught sight of Heather standing up. "Excuse me." He stepped into her path. "Hang on."

"I'm going to get you some clothes," she said, not quite looking him in the eye. "You'll need a suit if you're going in front of the board."

"I have a suit at the office. It's fine."

"I'll go get you coffee, then."

"I don't—"

"Let her go, Michael," his mother said. He didn't miss the way Heather's shoulders stiffened at the cold tone.

If the circumstances were anything but life-or-death, he'd snap.

"She's my—" he started to say, quietly, but Heather shook her head and cut him off.

"I'll be back." Another sad, gentle smile, and she was gone, ghosting out of his reach.

The doctors filled the void with medical jargon and a decent try at empathy, but then they were gone, too, and it was just Michael and his parents, one of them unconscious and the other…

"Mom…" he trailed off as he realized she was crying. "I'm so sorry."

He grabbed a box of tissues and leaned gingerly against his father's hospital bed, next to her chair, and they sat in silence, listening to the beeping monitors.

She went through five tissues before she finally looked up at him. "You'll need to take his place."

"I…"

Maybe if he'd finished that statement, maybe if he had known
how
to tell his mother he couldn't do that—maybe then he'd have avoided hurting everyone.

But he didn't know how to talk to his mother.

And when Heather returned an hour later, with soup and a coffee and clothes for him to wear to the board meeting, he didn't know how to talk to her, either.

He hung the garment bag on the hook on the back of the door, and quietly told his mother he was going to eat his food in the waiting room with Heather.

"Any update?" she asked as he settled wearily in the thankfully empty room.

He shrugged. "They said a lot of things. Most of it just hedging their bets. If he wakes up in the first twenty-four hours, that's a good sign. Until he does, it's just a waiting game."

"What do you need?" She traced her fingertips over the veins on the back of his hand, and he flipped his palm up so he could snag her fingers.

"I just need to hold on to you." It was a slip of the tongue. He'd meant to say hold her hand. But it was also true. He was terrified he'd lose her again.

"I'm here."

"I'm sorry about my mother earlier."

"She's hurting. You're hurting. It's fine."

"It's not. You're my wife."

"And you've got a lot of decisions to make," she said lightly. "I understand."

He shook his head. "No—"

"Eat your soup." She squeezed his hand and he fell silent.

As soon as his father woke up, he'd say the words out loud.
I've made my decision. I'm not staying in Baltimore. My heart is where you are, my life is where you are, and I'll follow you to the ends of the earth
.

H
is father didn't wake
up. By the time eight in the morning arrived, and it was time for him to leave for the meeting, they'd passed the twelve-hour mark and the old man was still unconscious.

He'd sent Heather home to sleep, but she was back with more coffee and his shaving kit at quarter to seven.

Now she was steering them through early rush hour traffic. The normal half hour drive to Baltimore's business district from John Hopkins felt like it took an eternity.

"You okay?" she asked when they were stopped at a red light a few blocks before the TST tower.

"Mmm. Yeah." He wasn't, but needed to have his game face on when he walked into the room. Couldn't let his emotions slip through, not now. Soon, though. Soon he would fall to pieces and Heather would be there for him.

He'd spend the rest of his life working to deserve that.

"Do you want me to wait? I can go shopping." She gestured in the general direction of the Inner Harbor.

"Mall won't be open for a bit." He rubbed the crease between his brows. "You want to come up with me?"

She made a face. "I will if you want me to."

"No." He tried to laugh, but it came out like a bark. "No. Better not."

She frowned, just a little. "Okay."

"You can go back," he burst out.

"Where?"

"To the camp. If you want."

"Is that what you want me to do?" She slid to a stop in front of a no-stopping sign in front of the building.

No. That's what he wanted them both to do. Together. "I need to concentrate on this meeting. I shouldn't have said that."

She gave him a guarded look that made his heart crack open. "Text me when you're done."

He nodded and leaned over, meaning to kiss her cheek. At the last second, she turned and pressed her lips hard against his. As he pulled back, she sank her teeth into her lower lip and looked down, avoiding his gaze.

"I won't be long," he said.

The corners of her mouth twisted, like she tried to smile and couldn't. "You'll probably get pulled into a bunch of things. It's okay if it takes all day. Keep your ringer on in case the hospital calls."

He reached for her hand to squeeze it, but she was already putting the car in drive and his fingers just glanced off the back of her wrist.

"I love you, Heather."

She looked up at him. "I know."

T
he hospital did call
, an hour later, interrupting the board meeting. He called for a break while he took the phone call in his office.

"Mom?"

"He's woken up, Michael." The relief in her voice was nearly painful.

He sagged against his desk, his knuckles turning white. "Oh, thank God."

"He was quite distressed, and his…voice was…he couldn't talk. He just made this garbled sound. But he can write yes and no, sort of. So that's good news." Her breath sounded ragged into the phone.

"I'll be there soon."

"How is everything there?"

He winced. Everything here was in chaos. But the board had supported his motion. "Things are going to have to change," he finally said to his mother. The details could wait. "But don't worry about it. The company is in good hands."

"Of course it is, darling. We trust you."

That trust was entirely misplaced. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Of all the things he thought he'd ever get emotional about, a change in company leadership wasn't it.

"I need to get back to it," he told her. "I love you and Dad. Thank you for the update."

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Heather as he walked back to the boardroom.
You were right. Lots to do here. Will text later. Dad woke up. Good news all around.

Then he pulled open the heavy wooden door and got back to his responsibility.