Nancy's POV
What the fuck is wrong with me? He’s just treating me normally, and I can barely keep my thighs from clenching together.
We kept drinking until the bottle was completely drained. By then, we were both loose-limbed and laughing softly, the fire crackling in the intimate space between us. My skin felt flushed and feverish, my head swimming in the best possible way.
“Time to turn in,” he finally announced. “Before we wake your mom.”
Inside the tent, it was pitch black, save for the faint, flickering amber glow of the dying embers piercing the nylon walls. Mom was curled into a tight ball on the far left side, totally comatose. Jacob and I crawled onto the massive, zipped-together mattress taking up the center.
The space was suffocatingly tight. The second we lay down, our legs brushed—the coarse hair of his muscular calf dragging deliciously against my smooth skin. I felt every millimeter of that friction like a live wire.
I yanked the shared sleeping bag over us and scooted closer, using the dropping temperature as my excuse. I rested my head lightly against his broad shoulder, just like I had a thousand times when I was a little girl.
“Night, Daddy,” I whispered, giving him a sweet, sleepy smile in the dark.
“What’s with the sudden ‘Daddy’ routine?” he murmured back, shifting his weight to settle in.
“Mom said I should call you Daddy…” I replied with feigned innocence, knowing damn well that wasn't why I was doing it.
“You never listen to her anyway,” he scoffed playfully. Before I could formulate a comeback, his heavy arm draped loosely over my waist—the exact same comforting gesture he’d used for years. “Go to sleep.”
His body was a furnace, solid and unyielding. With every deep breath he took, I felt the hard expansion of his chest pressed against my side. My cotton nightgown had ridden dangerously high, the hem barely skimming the top of my ass. I could feel the crisp night air biting at the completely bare skin between my legs.
I was already dripping wet. I couldn't stop it; my puffy pussy lips parted against each other just from the sheer tension of squeezing my thighs.
I shifted, pretending to search for a more comfortable position, and deliberately let my bare knee slide higher up his thick thigh.
“It’s freezing,” I complained with a soft pout, my voice coming out way too breathy and playful. “Do you mind if I steal some body heat?”
He let out a quiet rumble of a laugh that vibrated straight through his chest cavity. “Steal away. I run hot anyway.”
The champagne had effectively dismantled my inhibitions, making the edges of the world soft and hazy. I used it as my ultimate scapegoat a minute later when I rolled fully onto my side, turning into him. I draped my arm across his hard stomach, letting my hand casually rest against his lower flank.
“Sorry… I think I’m still a little tipsy,” I mumbled against the soft cotton of his shirt. But I wasn’t sorry. Not even a little bit.
My braless breasts were crushed flush against his ribs. My nipples, already pebbled and aching, dragged agonizingly against his shirt with every tiny intake of breath. I could feel the slow, heavy thud of his heartbeat. And lower down—God—I could feel the furnace-like heat radiating from his groin, the dense weight of his thigh pressing directly against the bare, exposed curve of my ass cheek.
Oh fuck, I’m losing my mind.
I kept my breathing perfectly rhythmic, feigning sleep, but inside, I was a raging inferno. My clit was throbbing in time with my racing pulse, engorged and desperately begging for friction. Every time I inhaled, my lungs filled with his deeply masculine, musky scent, making my head spin.
I pressed just a fraction closer, tilting my pelvis so the thin cotton at the front of my nightgown brushed against the heavy denim of his shorts. It was just enough contact that, if he were paying close attention, he’d feel the soft, yielding heat of my body.
I wanted him to notice. I wanted him to feel exactly how hard my nipples were, how my skin was burning up with fever, how slick and dripping wet I was getting just from lying in his arms.
Beneath the sleeping bag, my thighs clamped together tightly, chasing the relentless ache as a fresh trickle of slickness wept out of me, thoroughly coating my swollen folds.
Jacob’s arm tightened around my waist just a fraction, pulling me flush. His voice remained deceptively steady. “You doing okay over there?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I hummed softly. I let my fingertips drift just a millimeter lower on his stomach, lazily tracing the hem of his shirt. “Just… I’m really comfortable. Don’t move.”
I kept my eyes squeezed shut, keeping my face buried innocently in his shoulder, but every single nerve ending in my body was screaming for him to touch me. The alcohol was the perfect alibi, and I exploited every drop of it—melting completely into his masculine frame as if I were nothing more than a sleepy, trusting girl seeking her stepfather's warmth.