Nancy's POV
"Jacob, you really don't have to wash the whole damn car by yourself on my birthday," I called down from my bedroom window, leaning out just far enough to let the warm afternoon breeze brush my face.
My voice sounded casual enough, but my knuckles turned white against the windowsill as I watched him. He straightened up, a sudsy sponge dripping in one hand, and flashed me that same steady, dependable smile he'd been giving me since I was six.
"Hey, birthday girl. Almost done packing?"
I meant to answer right away. I really did. But the words withered in my throat the second he peeled off his sweat-damp T-shirt and slung it over the fence.
What the hell is this view?
Water trailed down his bronzed chest, slicking over every chiseled ridge of muscle. The droplets caught in the dark happy trail that vanished beneath the low waistband of his gym shorts. His biceps bunched with every rigorous scrub of the hood, thick veins popping along his forearms. When he stretched higher, the motion pulled his torso taut, his abs shifting beneath the wet skin like they'd been sculpted from marble.
A thick, heavy pulse throbbed straight between my legs, and my nipples visibly tightened against the thin cotton of my tank top so fast it actually ached.
Jesus, Nancy, what the fuck is wrong with you? That's Jacob, your stepdad. Pull yourself together.
I forced my gaze away. He wasn't just some guy; he was the safe, dependable anchor in my life.
I still remembered when my first period hit—how I'd been a sobbing mess on the bathroom tiles, absolutely convinced I was bleeding out. Mom had been working late, but Jacob was right there. He didn't panic or make it weird; he just quietly brought me a heating pad, brewed a cup of chamomile tea, and used that low, soothing register of his to explain what was happening and talk me off the ledge.
Later, in eighth grade, when the worst kind of asshole dumped me in front of the whole cafeteria, the ensuing bullying made me sick to my stomach at the mere thought of going back to school. I remembered him sitting in companionable silence next to me while I slogged through homework, or driving me to class with an extra-strong hot chocolate on the mornings I couldn't bear to face the world.
He never pumped me for details or dismissed my teenage angst as melodrama; he just offered a rock-solid shoulder to lean on. That consistent, steadfast love was the foundation of my life—a foundation that, somewhere along the line, had twisted into something dark and hungry that I couldn't even name.
Until today. My eighteenth birthday. And now, watching every stray drop of water slide down his torso was making my pussy throb mercilessly.
Shoving the last of my camping gear into the duffel, I yanked the zipper shut with trembling hands and bolted downstairs.
"I'm coming to help," I announced, strolling into the driveway and doing my best to play it cool.
Jacob swiped the back of a damp forearm across his brow and grinned. "Perfect timing. Grab those chamois towels from the garage and help me dry this beast before the sun bakes the water spots in."
I did exactly that, lingering just a little too close—close enough to inhale the intoxicating blend of car soap, exertion, and sun-baked skin. Every time he bent over the hood, I caught the mesmerizing ripple of muscle across his back, and the way his shorts rode dangerously low, teasing the sharp V of his Adonis belt.
My mouth went bone-dry. As I handed him tools, I made sure to brush my fingers against his once or twice, feeding myself the lie that it was totally accidental.
"You're quiet today," he murmured, his voice low and easy as he aggressively twisted a rag into the wheel well. "Is eighteen finally hitting you?"
I let out a laugh, though it came out embarrassingly breathy. "I'm just… thinking about how different everything feels now." Before I could reign them in, my eyes shamelessly flicked down to the hard plane of his stomach again.
He straightened up, slinging the rag over his bare shoulder, and pinned me with a long, unreadable look. "Different? How?"
I swallowed hard. "I don't know. Like the world just got a whole lot wider overnight."
Jacob's eyes locked onto mine, instantly vaporizing whatever casual vibe was left between us. Time seemed to downshift. I watched the muscle in his jaw feather, the dark depths of his pupils blowing wide as he held my gaze captive. An invisible, magnetic force pulled me an inch closer before I even registered my feet moving.
The spell shattered at the sound of a harsh sniffle.
"Let's get moving!" Mom called out from the front porch, pulling her cardigan tight across her chest. "It's getting chilly out here."
The sound of her congested voice was like a bucket of ice water. I snapped out of my daze, subtly adjusting my tank top and hastily pasting on a neutral expression.
The drive to the campsite felt like an eternity. Mom curled up in the back seat, completely passed out. Up front, Jacob drove with one hand draped loosely over the steering wheel, his right hand resting casually on the gear shift between our seats.
I couldn't stop stealing sidelong glances at the way his forearm flexed with every gear change, tracking the faint, lingering sheen of sweat on his neck. I had to tightly cross my legs and glue my eyes to the passing scenery just so he wouldn't catch my feverish blush.
We made small talk about mundane things—high school wrapping up, my fall schedule at community college, the prime fishing spots waiting for us at the lake. I hummed and nodded at all the right intervals, keeping my posture relaxed and faking a look of polite interest.
But honestly? I wasn't processing a single syllable.
His voice was a low rumble—a deep, resonant timbre that vibrated right through my chest cavity and dragged my thoughts straight into the gutter. He was talking about bait and tackle, but my eyes were fixated on the movement of his lips. I was too busy imagining him whispering my name in the pitch black, his hot, ragged breath sending violent shivers down my spine.