Page 14 of Stalked By the Quartermaster

The world narrows down to just this—his taste, his sounds, the way his fingers thread through my golden hair, holding on like I'm the life raft and he's been adrift at sea. Time stops and everything that was worrying us fades into the background. It's just his cock, my mouth, and the electric current of our connection that charges the space with raw intensity.

"Caroline," he gasps, his grip tightening, "you're going to make me?—"

"Come for me, Daddy," I urge between strokes. "Let go."

And he does. His release is a heady rush, a hot flood that has me swallowing every last drop, savoring the sacrifice and love that brought us here. When I finally pull back, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, I stand to meet his gaze.

"Still think you ruined my career?" I challenge, a playful smirk dancing on my lips.

"Career?" He pulls me to him, his kiss deep and possessive. "Baby, we're about to start living a whole new life."

"Good." I tip up on my toes, press my lips to his in a kiss that's all promise and heat. "Because, Sergeant, we've got a whole new battlefield to conquer. And I want you by my side, every step of the way."

"Roger that, Private." His arms wrap around me, strong and sure, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt—we're going to win this war.

Together.

EPILOGUE

Ten years later

Caroline

I'm on top of Frank, the morning light trickling through the blinds, casting lazy stripes across our sweat-slicked bodies. I ride him like my life depends on it, my fingers digging into his chest, marking him as mine. His hands are on my hips, guiding me, urging me on. Our breathy moans dance with one another, a sensual symphony that fills the room.

"God, Caroline," he gasps, his voice rough with desire. The grizzled lines on his face soften, and those deep creases seem to map the roads of pleasure I'm leading him down.

"Frank..." My own voice is a high-pitched plea for more, echoing off the walls. The intensity builds, spiraling tighter and tighter until?—

"Mommy! Daddy!"

The door slams open and there's a sudden burst of youthful energy as James and Lily come barreling in. They're like little tornadoes of noise and movement, bouncing onto the bed with innocent glee. They don't even notice the state we're in, under the tousled sheets.

"Guess what, guess what!" James exclaims, his eight-year-old enthusiasm impossible to contain.

"Today's the day—" Lily begins, her six-year-old words tumbling out before she can properly form them.

"Shh, kiddos," I manage to say, a wide grin plastered on my flushed face. It's all about quick reflexes now, pulling the sheet up higher to cover anything R-rated. Frank chuckles beside me, the sound rumbling deep from his chest, his earlier sergeant's command nowhere to be found in this chaos.

"Today's the day for what?" I ask, eyes dancing between the two eager faces while Frank and I make a silent pact to pretend everything is totally normal. We're just parents in bed, not two lovers caught in the aftermath of passion.

"Swimming lessons!" they shout in unison, and I can't help but laugh at their excitement.

"Okay, okay," Frank says, his voice still laced with amusement. "Give us five minutes to get ready, and we'll all head down for breakfast."

"Five minutes!" Lily echoes, bouncing again, her curls bobbing with each jump.

"Five minutes," I confirm, pressing a finger to my lips in a playful gesture of secrecy. They nod, giggling, and scamper out of the room as quickly as they came.

"Looks like round two will have to wait, Sergeant," I whisper, leaning down to plant a kiss on Frank's lips, tasting the promise of more to come.

"Race you to the shower?" I challenge, tossing the sheets aside and sprinting for the bathroom, laughter pealing from my lips as I hear Frank's heavy footsteps close behind.

Fast forward through a whirlwind of soap suds and playful splashes, and we're in the kitchen, slipping into our roles like well-worn combat boots. I'm at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, while Frank's on coffee duty, the rich aroma filling the room.

"Pass the eggs, will ya?" I ask, without looking up. They slide across the counter into my waiting hand, Frank's timing impeccable as always.

"Your wish is my command," he replies, his voice laced with the warmth of our shared secret, the one our kids nearly stumbled upon not twenty minutes ago. We move in sync, a dance perfected by countless mornings just like this one, each step an echo of the rhythm we find in each other's arms.

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