Page 16 of Stalked By the Quartermaster

The morning slips away in a blur of activity, our family united in these moments of pure, uncomplicated bliss. As Frank and I collapse onto a bench, catching our breath, I lean my head against his shoulder, feeling his arm wrap around me.

I sneak a glance at Frank, and there's that twinkle in his eye that always gets me. We're on the bench, just the two of us, as James and Lily are off pretending to be pirates on the jungle gym. I reach over, threading my fingers through Frank's, feeling the calluses on his palms that tell stories of his years of service. Stories that match my own.

"Can you believe this?" I murmur, gesturing subtly with my free hand at the scene before us. Our children are captains of their imaginary ship, laughter carried by the breeze.

Frank turns to me, his gaze softening. "Every day with you is like waking up to a dream I never wanna leave, Caroline."

I lean into him, my head finding that sweet spot on his shoulder. His scent wraps around me, that mix of aftershave and the outdoors, and it feels like home. "We did good, didn't we?" I say, squeezing his hand, feeling the strength returned in his grip.

"Better than good," he replies, pressing his lips to my forehead in a kiss that's tender and lingering. It's a promise, a silent vow that echoes louder than any words could.

The sun starts its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, signaling that it's time to round up our little adventurers. The walk home is full of chatter about treasure and sea monsters, but once we're inside, the energy shifts. Bath time turns into a splash fest, and I can't help but join in, laughing as Frank wields a washcloth like a pirate flag.

"Alright, buccaneers, time to sail into bed," Frank announces, wrapping them up in towels. He's got that fatherly look that makes my heart swell three sizes too big.

"Story first!" Lily insists, water droplets still clinging to her eyelashes like tiny diamonds.

"Of course, love." Frank's voice is a rumble, warm and soothing. We shepherd them into their rooms, and they clamber into their beds, eyes wide with anticipation.

I grab "The Adventures of Captain No Beard" from the shelf, settling between their beds as Frank perches at the foot. My voice fills the room, weaving tales of bravery on the high seas, and I watch as their eyelids flutter, heavy with sleep and dreams.

"Goodnight, my little pirates," I whisper after the last page turns. Frank leans over each bed, dropping a kiss on their foreheads, tucking the covers snug around them.

"Sweet dreams, mateys," he adds, his deep voice like a lullaby.

We tiptoe out, pulling the door closed behind us, and I find Frank's arms already open, waiting for me. "They're amazing, you know that?" he says, and I nod because, yeah, I do know. They're the best parts of both of us.

"Thanks to you, Sergeant Donovan," I tease, poking him in the chest.

"Thanks to us, Private Caldwell," he corrects with a wink. And right there, in the quiet hallway, we share a kiss that's all about love and gratitude—for our kids, for each other, for this crazy, beautiful life.

"Round two?" Frank whispers against my lips, that playful glint back in his eyes.

"Thought you'd never ask," I reply, and we slip back into our bedroom, ready to rediscover the passion that's always simmering just below the surface.

The door clicks shut behind us, sealing off the world and all its demands. Just Frank and me, and the simmering tension that's been building since our eyes locked over syrup-sticky plates at breakfast.

"God, Caro, I need you," he murmurs, his voice already thick with desire as his hands find the hem of my shirt. There's a hunger in his touch, raw and demanding, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I reach for him too, fingers grappling with the buttons on his fatigues, each one coming undone like the ticking of a clock counting down to the inevitable.

"Show me how much," I challenge, breathless as the fabric parts, revealing the solid wall of his chest. The air between us crackles, charged with the electricity of forbidden love turned domestic bliss—a heat that never fades, no matter how many times we've ignited it before.

Our clothes are a memory before I fully register their loss, discarded pieces of a reality we're all too eager to escape. Frank's hands roam over my body, stoking the fire, mapping every curve and dip with an expertise only years of worship can hone. I arch into his touch, gasping as his fingers trace the lines of muscles honed by service and motherhood alike.

"Daddy..." I moan, and there's a hint of plea in my tone, because damn it, I'm not just Caroline, I'm his Caroline, and he knows exactly how to make me unravel.

"Say it again," he growls, and there's that edge—our private game spilling into the sanctity of our bedroom, where he's not just my husband but something more primal, something that makes my heart race.

"Daddy," I repeat, louder, bolder. "Please..."

"Fuck, baby, I love hearing my name on your lips." His words are a rough caress, and when he lifts me, pinning me against the wall with the strength of a man who carries the weight of the world, I feel weightless.

"Take what you need, Daddy," I whisper, the words slipping out as naturally as breathing, as he positions himself at my entrance. And then he's moving, driving into me with a force that speaks of pent-up longing and unleashed restraint. Our bodies move together in perfect harmony, a dance we've perfected through nights of whispered confessions and tangled limbs.

"Caroline, you're so tight, so good for me," he pants, and I can hear the strain in his voice, the effort it takes to hold back, to make this last.

"Only for you," I gasp, locking my legs around his waist, urging him deeper. My nails dig into his shoulders, anchoring myself to the present, to this intoxicating connection that’s both carnal and tender.

"More, give me more," I plead, and Frank obliges, his pace relentless, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy crashing through me. We chase our pleasure together, unbridled and unashamed, the sounds of our union a symphony of passion in the quiet night.

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