Page 3 of The Forbidden Summer
“I thought you were gonna put a shirt on after your shower.”
“Nah. I plan to go shirtless as much as possible this summer. Look how pale I am.”
I nestle into the crook of his arm and breathe his scent deep into my lungs, letting it settle over me like a weighted blanket, safe and satisfying.
Overhead, the stars twinkle in the clear sky, like distant lanterns lighting up the night. The whole world seems to slow down at sundown in this northern corner of Minnesota. Time feels suspended. Like me and Père are the only two people left on Earth.
A breeze ripples over my bare skin, tightening my nipples into hard points.
One of them brushes against Père’s coarse arm hair, creating a full-body shiver. He mistakes me for being cold and tightens his brawny arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer.
I walk my fingers down his chest, making a pucker in his soft cotton tee. If only I were bold enough to slide my hand under his shirt and touch his skin.
The familiar tightness in my gut returns, a forbidden stirring that makes my breath catch. It’s the same feeling I’ve had for as long as I can remember, a yearning that’s both exhilarating and wrong. It pulls at me, urging me to cross a line I know I shouldn’t.
I nestle deeper into him, uncomfortably aware of the feelings stirring within me, feelings that I’ve tried so hard to suppress.But in this moment, with him so close, it feels impossible to ignore. The quiet stretches, though it’s only uncomfortable for me. Père doesn’t seem to feel it.
“We have a full day tomorrow out on the lake, so you’d best get some rest tonight,” Père says wisely. He drops a kiss on my sandy-colored hair and rolls out of the hammock, stretching out the kinks from his bones.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I murmur, though my voice feels far too thin, too strained. I force myself to stand, even as my body seems to rebel, like it wants to stay rooted to this moment, to him.
“Don’t know how you’re gonna sleep a wink on that couch. You barely fit on it last summer, and I swear you’ve grown since then.” He eyes all five feet eight inches of my body with a knowing look.
When I was little, we shared the one bed, snuggled under one of my grandmother’s old quilts. But that stopped abruptly in my twelfth summer when we woke up to a wet spot on the sheets. My first wet dream in his presence. Maybe he had brushed up against me, or maybe I’d been dreaming of him, but I was booted to the couch after that. In fairness, it pulls out into a bed, but who has time for that?
“You could let me back in the bed, if you’re so worried about my rest,” I tease, my voice lighter than I feel, but it’s the only way I can mask the heat crawling up my neck.
Père’s chuckle is a deep, rich sound that does nothing to quell the flutter in my gut. His eyes sparkle with amusement. “We’ll see about that,” he says with a knowing smirk, “but not tonight.”
The wink that follows only deepens the swarm in my belly,and my pulse stutters in response. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to lean in, to close the space between us that feels far too wide. But he’s already moving away, leaving me to grapple with the ache of wanting something I can’t have.
Great, now I need another shower.
It’s gonna be a long summer.
I wake with a thick, hard log between my thighs and an ache in my full balls. Most likely because I dreamed of me and Père in the hammock, except my version ended much differently than it had last night. Père’s already up, moving around the kitchen, the soft clink of utensils and the rich smell of coffee filling the air. I rub my eyes, still half-dazed from the remnants of the dream.
He glances over his shoulder when he hears me stir, offering a warm smile. His dark hair, peppered with salt, is neatly combed back, and he’s dressed in a tee and worn jeans that contour the curve of his ass perfectly. “You sleep okay?” he asks casually, turning to glance at me again.
I nod, though I’m not sure how much of it’s true. “Yeah, just… a weird dream.”
Père raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. Instead, he pours a cup of coffee and brings it to me. He pauses with the mug in hand, giving me an odd look.
“What?” I ask, trying to play it off like nothing’s wrong, but the way his eyes linger makes my heart race a little faster.
He sets the coffee down in front of me with a soft thud. “We all have them. Sometimes they’re better left in the dream world.”
I take the cup, the heat grounding me as I inhale the rich scent. “Thanks, Père,” I murmur.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Anytime, son.” He tosses me a throw pillow cross-stitched with a heart and flowers. “Cover your balls. They’re running loose.”
I look down to see my left nut popping out of my boxer shorts. Shit, that’s what he’d been staring at.
Tucking them away, I toss the pillow aside and take another sip of coffee. The dream was just a fantasy, far out of reach of reality, but it left me filled with longing and a sense of loneliness. I should get used to them since they’d probably come more frequently now that the object of my desire is much closer.
“We going fishing, Captain?”
“You bet. Gotta dig the poles out of the shed.”
