Tank: A Military Daddy Romance (Veterans of Valhalla Book 11), page 1
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
2023 © Published by RJ Gray
Cover by Golden Czermak
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
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TANK
VETERANS OF VALLHALLA
RJ GRAY
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Also by RJ Gray
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
TANK
Trey “Tank” Webster’s massive frame towered over the reception desk at Elite Wellness and Rehabilitation as he greeted patients with his usual gruff warmth. His dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners, hinting at a smile trapped beneath the thick beard covering his square jaw.
Despite his intimidating presence, a gentle kindness emanated from the retired Navy SEAL. His patients, mostly fellow special forces operators, appreciated his understanding of their physical and mental struggles. Tank personally knew the pains of aging after military service, the aches of old injuries acting up, and the darkness of PTSD that crept through their veins.
After his last patient, Tank drove the three minutes to his house on Valhalla. His Golden Retriever, Sandy, met him at the door with a wag of the tail. He spent a few minutes loving on her before letting her outside into the fenced in back yard shadowed by the grandness of the Rocky Mountains.
He opened his fridge and searched inside. Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed. He forgot to grab groceries again. He headed into the living room and sank down hard into his leather chair. A familiar emptiness filled his chest, as it often did at the end of a long day.
His late wife, Jenny, would sit in the chair across from him, laughing as they made plans for the weekend. Even after a decade, her absence remained a raw wound which would occasionally scab over, only to be torn anew and refuse to heal.
He threw himself into work, mentoring younger soldiers and helping his brothers in arms recover from their own injuries. If he kept busy, the gaping hole inside him shrank to a pinprick. But, at night, when he returned home, in the silence, it threatened to consume him whole.
Tank shook off the melancholy and stood, needing to grab dinner. It was a short drive ahead through the winding mountain roads of Grand Ridge. As he drove, he reminded himself he’d chosen this life, surrounded by the only family he had left. His fellow special forces veterans, his brothers. As much as the silence could be his enemy, the mountains were his refuge. A place of peace amidst inner turmoil, and a reminder of strength and resilience.
Tank walked into The Rusty Crab, the familiar jingle of the doorbell welcoming him. The aroma of greasy fried foods greeted him like an old friend.
“Hey, Tank, be right with you!” Corky called from behind the counter. “Sit wherever.”
Looking around at the already packed diner, the dinner rush well underway, he spotted an empty table in the back corner with a clear view of the door.
He slid into the worn vinyl booth and looked up as a waitress hurried over, balancing a tray laden with dishes. Curvy and mid-fifties, with kind eyes and a warm smile.
“What’s up, Buttercup?” He’d given her the nickname one morning after seeing one of the wild alpine buttercups tucked into her hair. She’d confessed to seeing it growing outside and picking it up. Her bright smile reminded him of the flower.
"Hey, Tank! I need to drop these plates off and then I’ll be right over,” Delilah told him with a small smile.
He’d been hoping she’d be the one working tonight. She’d been his waitress several times before. A familiar friendly face he enjoyed seeing. He’d met Delilah before she’d taken the job at The Rusty Crab, of course. She was Ethan’s aunt and guardian, the boy he mentored. Ethan, a fifteen-year-old teenager, played on the high school football team he helped coach with his good friend Razor.
As she dropped off a glass of ice water, Tank’s eyes went to her nametag. Her name suited her. She seemed as resilient as the biblical figure, with a strength derived from weathering many storms.
"I'll have the fish and chips, please, Delilah. If Corky made the tartar sauce homemade, I’ll have extra. If not, lemon only." He handed her his menu. "And a Caesar salad to start."
"Coming right up." She spun on her heel, but not before he caught the hint of color in her cheeks.
Interesting.
Tank leaned back in the booth, watching Delilah move behind the counter with an efficiency born of long practice. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few stray curls framing her face. She wore a red polo with The Rusty Crab logo and a pair of fitted jeans which accentuated her curves. She wore little makeup, but her skin glowed in the dim lighting, radiant with laugh lines and a few wrinkles around her eyes, the only indicator of her age. She was attractive in a comfortable, unassuming way, all soft curves and quick smiles. While she surveyed the room, he noticed a sadness lingered behind in her eyes which spoke of loss and heartache.
He understood the feeling all too well. Even though his wounds were still raw, female companionship seemed less impossible. Jay mentioned asking Delilah to take a job at The Citadel in a secretarial role. He wondered if she’d said yes. Tank smiled to himself, folding his hands on the scarred tabletop. Perhaps he’d see her around more.
A few minutes later, Delilah returned and refilled his water glass. "Your food will be up shortly. Can I get you anything else?"
"You can tell me why you look so sad, Buttercup." Tank kept his tone gentle. "It's putting a damper on an otherwise lovely day."
Delilah blinked, clearly taken aback. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Then she shook her head and sighed.
"You're perceptive, aren't you?" A wry twist of her lips, not quite a smile. "Just...life. Money troubles, family worries. The usual."
"I see." Tank nodded, stabbing romaine with his fork. "Want to talk about it?"
She hesitated, shifting her weight. He could see a conflict between the desire to unburden herself and the need to remain professional, dancing across her features. He waited patiently, giving her the space to make up her own mind.
Finally she sagged a little, some of the tension leaving her frame. "Ethan's sports and school events are getting costly." Her mouth twisted. "It’s left me in the lurch, trying to prioritize which bills I’m going to pay and which I’m going to accept the late fees on. I’m going to have to take a second job to pay the bills. But Ethan comes first."
"Of course he does." Tank reached out to squeeze her hand. "You're a good woman, Delilah. Ethan is lucky to have you in his life."
A becoming blush stained her cheeks, but she smiled. “I don’t know about all of that. I’ve done what I had to, what anyone else would do. But thank you. It’s very kind of you to say."
Tank frowned slightly, not liking how she’d spoken of herself. “No, not everyone would have done the same. You changed your life to raise Ethan. You are a good woman. Accept the compliment as given,” he commanded gently.
Their eyes met, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. A spark seemed to pass between them, a hint of connection.
Delilah cleared her throat and pulled her hand away, but her cheeks were still pink. "I should, um… Get your food. Be right back."
Tank watched Delilah walk away, his gaze lingering on her curvy figure. There was something about her that intrigued him—a strength and playfulness despite the hardships she'd faced. She cared deeply for her nephew, sacrificing her own needs and wants to provide for him.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. It’d been a long time since a woman sparked his interest, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Delilah was nothing like his late wife, but maybe their differences were a good thing.
As his best friend Ox gently reminded him during their workout, the past was gone, and it was time he gave himself permission to start living again. Ox was the only man on Valhalla who’d known Jenny and the only one who’d get away with speaking for her.
Jenny would want you to be happy again.
He knew Ox was right, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to move on. They were high school sweethearts. He played on the state championship football team and she’d been the head cheerleader. He was in his sophomore year in college when 9/11 happened. He’d walked away from a full ride football scholarship to join the military and fight for his country. Jenny stayed by his side and
He shook his head—and the memories away—knowing it would be harder to move forward if he spent every second of his present focused on reminders of the past.
When Delilah returned with his salad, Tank greeted her with a warm smile. "There's my girl. Thanks, Buttercup."
She ducked her head, tucking a stray lock of hair behind one ear, but he could see the pleased curl of her lips. "You're welcome."
As she turned to head back to the kitchen, Tank said, "Hey Delilah?"
Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder. "Yes?"
"Would you like to get dinner this weekend? We could try the Italian place, if you're free." He held his breath, hoping she'd say yes.
For a long moment, she just stared at him, eyes wide. “Me? I’m old enough to be your mother.”
“You are not. Have dinner with me, Buttercup.”
She stood there for a second, conflicting emotions crossing over her face. “S-s-sure. I’d like that.”
Tank watched Delilah walk away, unable to keep from smiling. He hadn't felt this way in years, the rush of excitement and nerves. When was the last time he'd asked a woman out on a real date? He couldn't even remember.
His food arrived a few minutes later, but he barely tasted it, his thoughts consumed by Delilah. An older little, he’d enjoyed observing her play at The Citadel, although he’d never crossed the line and interacted with her there, not wanting to taint her safe place if she wasn’t interested in him. He thought of her kind eyes and warm smile, the way she always seemed to know just what to say to brighten his day. She was strong yet vulnerable, guarded yet open to life's little joys. A mature and responsible adult by day and a feisty little at night; a perfect combination in his opinion.
Finishing his meal, he left money on the table and stood to leave. Delilah hurried over to say goodbye. "Thank you for coming in today. I'll see you this weekend?"
"You bet." He squeezed her hand gently. "Try to be a good girl until then, Buttercup."
A blush spread across her face at his words, and he chuckled to himself. He strode out of the restaurant, making plans for their date. He knew just the place to take her, a little Italian bistro with string lights and amazing pasta.
They could walk around town after dinner, maybe get ice cream if the night was warm enough. His chest tightened with nerves and excitement. When was the last time he'd felt this giddy about spending time with someone?
Too damn long.
As he climbed into his truck, Tank smiled into the distance. The future was looking bright for the first time in a long while. He had a feeling Delilah might just become an important part of his life and he couldn't wait to see where this path might lead.
CHAPTER 2
DELILAH
Delilah twirled in front of the mirror, smoothing the skirt of her pink sundress, and braiding her hair. She felt young again, like the carefree girl she once was before life had hardened her.
Ethan was spending the weekend at Michael’s house, studying the playbook, and being mentored to take over the role of team captain after Michael graduated. She had the entire weekend to herself and planned on enjoying every second.
At The Citadel, she could let her little out. She could laugh loudly, color outside the lines, and not worry about bills, Ethan, or work schedules.
"Are you ready?" Her best friend Trinity peeked into the room, dressed in a onesie and fuzzy bunny slippers.
Delilah grinned, showing the dimple in her cheek. "Yep! Let's go play!"
Down in The Citadel's Dungeon, The Nursery was filled with giggles and playful shrieks from all the bottoms who identified as littles. Delilah settled in at a table to color a unicorn picture, chatting with Mia and Trinity.
"I have a date with Tank tomorrow," she confessed, feeling warmth flood her cheeks.
"Oooh, you do? I’m so happy! Mitch mentioned Tank asking about you." Mia bumped her shoulder. "He's so dreamy. And he's great with littles."
Delilah glanced over to where Tank stood with the other Daddies. He caught her gaze and winked, making her tummy flutter. She ducked her head, coloring furiously.
"I can't believe he's interested in me," she said. "Thirteen years is a big difference."
"Age is just a number," Trinity said. "Besides, you're perfect for each other. He needs someone sweet, and you need a patient Daddy who will cherish you."
Delilah's heart swelled at the thought. Her inner little longed to be doted on and cared for again. It’d been a long time since she’d had a Daddy. Seven years, to be exact, when her ex broke her heart and walked away. He’d given her the ultimatum, Ethan or him. She knew in her heart she’d made the right decision, but she’d not been in a real relationship since. She preferred to hang out at The Citadel and scene with people who were safe, sans emotional connection.
Maybe with Tank, she could finally let her guard down and be vulnerable. She smiled to herself, picked up the glue and squirted it onto the paper and then added glitter to her unicorn's mane.
“Tank is a billion feet tall, but he’s a gentle giant. Daddy says he’s a soft dom,” Mia said.
“Soft? Tank? What’s soft about him?” Delilah asked, staring at the chiseled man from the corner of her eye.
“I said the same thing!” Mia laughed.
“It’ll be good for you to let go of your insecurities and allow him to spoil you. You deserve someone good in your life, Lilah,” Trinity said.
“I don’t get it. He’s thirteen years younger than me. He wasn’t even in kindergarten when I graduated high school. Plus, he’s sexy and I’m…not,” she said sadly.
“I hope he spanks your bottom for talking that way about my friend. Age might have mattered when we were actually in high school, but it doesn’t now. You might be older than him, but, my dear, you look a good decade younger. You are beautiful, inside and out,” Trinity said.
“If you say so,” Delilah said, focusing on her picture.
“I say so, too!” Mia said.
“Tank is your dream Daddy come to life. Don’t you dare get in your own way!” Trinity warned, pointing a marker at her.
“Okay, okay! I hear you. I’ll see what happens after our date tomorrow. Let’s just color our pictures. My unicorn is going to be the prettiest and most colorful here!” Delilah said.
She’d just reached for the glitter again when a shadow fell over the table. Delilah peeked up through her lashes to find Tank looming above, all broad shoulders and quiet confidence. Her tummy did a nervous flip.
"Mind if I join you?" he rumbled.
Mia and Trinity scattered with giggles and whispers, leaving her alone with him. Delilah fidgeted, suddenly shy. "O-of course." Maybe she wouldn't have to wait until tomorrow to get closer to her dream Daddy after all.
Tank folded himself into the tiny chair, stretching his long legs out. "You look adorable tonight."
Heat flooded her cheeks. "Thank you." She glanced at his large hands, imagining how strong they were. "You look very nice, too." He smelled good as well. His spicy, with a hint of sweet, cologne drifted up to her. It fitted his personality perfectly.
His mouth quirked. "Comfortable, you mean." He ran a hand over his snug T-shirt, accentuating every ripple of chest and muscles.
Delilah squirmed, a rush of warmth pooling low in her belly. She fiddled with her unicorn picture to avoid staring. "Y-yes, comfortable." Comfortable like a cozy chair she’d like to climb on top of and sit on.
"No need to be nervous." Tank reached over, grasping her hand. His palm engulfed hers, rough and calloused. An electric tingle raced up her arm at his touch. "I don't bite. Much."
A laugh bubbled up in her throat. She peered at him through her lashes, heart skipping. His eyes reminded her of a delicious cup of hot chocolate.
