Nancy's POV
My heart slammed against my ribs, and I snatched my hand back from his chest like I'd just touched a hot stove.
God. Had she seen how I was internally—and practically externally—flirting with her husband?
“There you go again, Nancy,” Mom’s voice croaked from behind us, followed by Jacob’s quiet, muffled chuckle.
“Call him Daddy!” she insisted firmly.
I rolled my eyes and turned back to face her. “Okay, Mommy,” I shot back, definitely not in the mood for one of her dramatic lectures. At least I didn't get caught staring.
Jacob wiped his hands on his cargo shorts and glanced from the tent to me, then over at Mom, who was already dozing off under a pine tree as if she hadn’t just barked at me. A slow, easy smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Well,” he said, his voice as steady as ever, “looks like the three of us are bunking together tonight.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “What? All three of us in one tent?” I blurted out before I could filter myself. My voice cracked slightly as I stared at the single canvas bag like it was a ticking time bomb.
My pulse pounded in my throat, and lower down, right between my thighs, that same hot, heavy throb from earlier flared back to life.
Jacob just offered that trademark half-smile and shrugged one broad shoulder, the subtle movement making the heavy pectoral muscles shift beneath his T-shirt. “It’s either that, or one of us sleeps in the cab of the truck, kiddo. And that’s not happening on your eighteenth birthday. We’ll make it work.”
Mom stirred at the picnic table, her cheeks flushed with fever. She popped two cold pills from the little travel bottle she always carried, washed them down with a swig of water, and waved a dismissive hand at us.
“Don't let me ruin the fun, you two. Enjoy the trip. I'm just going to crawl in and sleep this off.” Her voice was a raspy whisper.
She shuffled into the tent first, dragging her sleeping bag behind her like it weighed a ton. Within minutes, her breathing had leveled out into a slow, heavy rhythm.
Jacob didn't waste a second. He knelt down and started unzipping our remaining sleeping bags, spreading them out across the tent floor like oversized puzzle pieces.
“Hand me that zipper pull, Nancy,” he murmured, his tone maintaining that low, soothing cadence.
I crouched beside him—close enough that my bare knee grazed his thick thigh—and passed him the small metal tab. His fingers were warm when they brushed mine, calloused from years of working with his hands. The fleeting contact shot a jolt of electricity straight up my arm, settling low and hot in my belly.
He worked efficiently, linking the heavy bags together into one massive, makeshift mattress that blanketed the floor. “It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’ll keep us off the hard ground.” He threw a glance over his shoulder. “You good with this?”
“Yeah,” I choked out, forcing a breathy laugh even though my mouth was bone-dry. “It’s fine. It's an adventure, right?”
Inside, I was screaming. Adventure? Right. Try sharing a bed with the man whose body you've been mentally undressing all afternoon.
While he hammered in the final tent stakes, I slipped away to the makeshift wash station we’d set up near the tree line. The splash of icy water felt heavenly on my flushed face, but it did absolutely nothing to cool the raging fire everywhere else.
I peeled off my denim shorts and my damp panties that had been clinging to me for hours. The cool evening air washed over my bare skin. My pussy was still swollen, the slick pink lips puffy and hypersensitive; when I dragged a damp washcloth between my thighs, I had to bite down hard on my lower lip to swallow a moan.
Instead of putting my underwear back on, I pulled a thin white nightgown over my head. It was made of whisper-soft cotton, falling loosely just past the curve of my ass, and I purposely didn't bother with a bra. My nipples were already tight, aching little peaks jutting against the sheer fabric, and every slight shift of the material sent a fresh jolt of friction through me.
By the time I wandered back to the clearing, Jacob had coaxed a small campfire to life, and Mom was dead to the world inside the tent, snoring softly.
Dinner was standard camp fare—hot dogs roasted on sticks and bags of chips—but things took a turn when I whipped out the bottle of champagne I’d smuggled into the cooler.
“Hey, Jake—Daddy,” I corrected, holding the bottle up with my most weaponized, innocent smile.
Calling him Daddy felt entirely taboo, so why did it send a wicked thrill straight to my core?
I pushed the thought away and beamed at him. “It’s officially my eighteenth birthday now. One glass? I mean, come on…”
He arched a dark eyebrow, but that devastating smile tugged at his mouth again. “Just one glass, huh?”
“Maybe two,” I teased. I popped the cork with a loud thwack that startled a laugh out of both of us. “I’m legally an adult. I deserve at least this much.”
I poured a generous amount of the bubbly into our plastic cups, handed him his, and clinked my rim against it. “To new beginnings.”
We sat side-by-side on a thick log by the fire, our knees a breath apart. The cheap champagne went straight to my head. I giggled at his goofy fishing anecdotes, leaned in a little too close when he spoke, and deliberately let my nightgown ride up just enough for the dancing firelight to kiss the bare, smooth curve of my thigh.
“You know,” I murmured, taking another long swallow, “you’ve always been the one who makes everything better. Even this crappy one-tent setup feels fun because you’re here.”
Jacob chuckled—a deep, chesty sound—and topped off both our cups without me even having to ask. “You’re growing up too fast, Nancy. Eighteen already. You're making me feel like an old man.”
His gaze flicked over my body for a fraction of a second. It wasn't blatant, but I caught the heat in it—and my clit gave a sharp, involuntary pulse in response.