by Heidi Rice
She chuckled. But the sound turned to a gasp when he cupped her breasts, the hard nubs of her nipples pressing into his palms.
He watched intently as he played with the tips, and her snarky smile softened. Her breath released on a sob as he kissed her collarbone, then trailed his tongue down to circle the dark rigid areolas. First one, then the other.
At last he nipped with his teeth, loving the feeling of her quivering beneath him, and the sight of her flushed with need as she bucked off the bed. He held her steady, until her palm wrapped around his erection.
He tried to draw away. He didn’t want this to be over too soon.
But Ellie had other ideas, her fingers closing around him, running down to the base then gliding to the tip. Her thumb circled, touching and stroking.
He swore against her neck, pumping into her touch. She let him go and pushed against his shoulders.
His eyes flew open, to find her face close to his, the blush blossoming on her cheeks, her hair wild and untamed, her eyes reflecting the fierce desire knotting his gut. She pressed a hand to his shoulder. He rolled away and lay on his back, then, to his amazement, she bent over and licked his erection.
The groan guttered out, rising up through his torso, sawing out of his lungs.
He gathered her hair, to watch her, the sweet glide of her tongue both tentative and somehow determined.
He’d been given head before. But this felt like more. Too much more. The quick exploratory licks gathering his taste, making his whole body jerk with a joy that reached into his soul.
‘Bloody hell, Ellie, you have to stop.’ He cradled her cheeks and lifted her head. Her gaze connected with his then darted away.
Suddenly she was climbing off the bed, rushing round to scoop up her clothes. ‘I knew this would be a disaster.’
He lay for a moment in a state of stunned disbelief. Where had this come from? What had he done wrong? He jackknifed off the bed and went after her. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her upright.
‘What’s up?’
She stood with her back against his chest, shaking, her arms clasping her clothes to cover her breasts. ‘I told you, I’m rubbish at this.’
He looped her hair round her ear, pressed a kiss to her neck, where her pulse fluttered furiously. ‘Who told you that?’
Why would she even think that? Was this something to do with the husband she was divorcing?
‘You did.’ The unsteady voice cut through his rising irritation. ‘You just asked me to stop.’
He shifted her round in his arms, keeping a tight grip on her in case she tried to bolt again. ‘Only because I guaranteed you an orgasm,’ he explained, reaching for practicality again. ‘That means you get yours first.’
She had her head down, clutching her clothes.
‘You can see what you do to me,’ he said, the straining erection trapped against her belly. ‘Does that look like I’m not enjoying it?’
Her head came up at last. The fierce flush of embarrassment on her face somehow brave and yet stoic with determination. ‘I was joking about the orgasm,’ she said. ‘I probably won’t have one. I don’t usually. Please don’t make a big deal of it.’
He so would make a big deal of it. What was the point of illicit sex if she didn’t get off on it too? But he checked his thoughts, feeling the rigid tension in her shoulders, seeing it on her face. The first order of business was to take the pressure off, or neither one of them was going to be getting an orgasm tonight.
‘Relax,’ he said.
Taking hold of the clothes she was using as a shield, he tugged them gently. She held fast for a moment then let them fall from her grasp. He glided his hands up her arms. And clasped her head. A shiver raced through her as her lips softened against his, the sigh deep and heartfelt. He massaged her scalp, drawing out the moment, licking and coaxing.
Dragging his mouth from hers with an effort, he led her back to the bed. She lay back, still wary as he climbed over her. He kissed her breasts, those perky nipples, then trailed down, absorbing the rapid rise and fall of her breathing, the sultry spice of her scent.
Hunger consumed him, hunger and an urge he hadn’t felt in far too long. To nurture and protect.
*
Ellie raised up on her elbows, shocked when Art parted her knees, his dark head ducking between her legs. She shuddered. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
Dan had always hated oral sex, unless she was the one doing the honours.
But all thoughts of Dan and her mediocre sex life flowed right out of her head when Art glanced up, the grin fierce and feral. ‘Are you kidding? I’ve been fantasising about this for weeks.’
She lost the ability to breathe let alone protest, as he separated her with his thumbs and blew on the swollen flesh.
‘Oh God.’
He explored gently, cautiously at first, as if learning her taste. The leisurely licks tantalising then maddening. Her own caution drifted away on the warm wave of pleasure. She relaxed back onto the bed. Slowly, gradually, letting the liquid warmth replace the tension. But then he lapped at the heart of her, and the rasp of sensation made her jerk.
‘Easy,’ he whispered against her flesh. Stroking her thighs, her hips, settling her back. Building the pleasure again, tightening the coil in long, incremental licks, moving back towards that beating pulse. She hovered, the vice becoming painful in its intensity as it tightened.
Was that her sobbing, begging, needing him to touch her there again? Then he lapped right over the heart of her, concentrating there, not retreating this time. She bucked off the bed, cried out as the coil released in a rush, detonating in a blissful surge of release.
He continued to lick and suck, squeezing the last drops of the climax out of her. Before rising above her. He licked her juices from bearded lips.
Goodness, was she going to have beard burn on her clit tomorrow?
‘No big deal,’ he said.
She laughed at the absurdity of how good she felt as she watched him sheath himself with the condom. No big deal, not any more.
He held her hips, and the laugh guttered out as he pressed into her.
She panted, stretched wide, the exquisite feeling so intense it was a little disorientating. He held her bottom to angle her hips, and slid the rest of the way in one slow, glorious thrust.
Her breathing sawed out of her lungs, as he held still for a moment, seated deep, allowing her to adjust to his size. Then he drew out, and rocked back, going deeper still.
‘Good?’ he asked.
Tenderness engulfed her at the note of uncertainty.
‘Yes, very.’
Touching his forehead to hers, he continued that slow, relentless rocking, drawing out, digging in, stroking a place deep inside.
Her whole body began to shake, the pleasure sublime and intense, the smell of turpentine and lake water that clung to him a potent aphrodisiac.
She dug her heels into his backside, clung to his shoulders, as the rocking lost that slow relentless rhythm, becoming fiercer, more frantic. He shuddered, muffling his hoarse shout of release against her neck.
They lay entwined for several moments, her fingers tangled in his damp hair, the shelf of his shoulder digging into her chest where he’d collapsed on top of her, the pulsing in her sex brutally tender.
Lifting up, he rolled off her and flopped back on the bed.
She let her mind drift, still fogged by the delirium of afterglow – and the glorious sense of achievement.
The tiny part of her that had always blamed herself for Dan’s infidelities – because she’d stopped being able to achieve orgasm with him the first time he’d cheated – finally gone for good.
Gradually a parade of fire-breathing dragons, whimsical elves, dancing unicorns, and all manner of mythical creatures painted in bold splashes of colour emerged from the shadows on the caravan ceiling.
She tilted her head, the lantern light flickering across the exquisite illustration. Her chest tightened, the ten
derness in her limbs and between her legs butting into her heart.
Art stirred beside her. ‘You all right?’
She turned to find him watching her. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. Should she thank him for the orgasm? No, that was silly, they were even. He’d had one too, hadn’t he?
‘Who did that?’ she asked, studying the ceiling, the subject of unicorns and elves easier to negotiate.
He slung his arm above his head, the awkwardness lifting as they lay together staring at the illustration. ‘I did.’
She caught the reticence in his voice. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah.’ Was that a blush she could see slashing across his cheekbones? Since when did Art blush?
‘It’s beautiful.’ She examined the detailed painting which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a children’s picture book. ‘And rather… well, romantic.’
Sitting up, he swung his legs off the bunk, presenting his back to her. ‘I didn’t pick the subject matter.’ He climbed off the bunk and dealt with the condom. ‘Toto did. She likes magical creatures. She’s a Harry Potter nut.’
It wasn’t the subject she’d found so touching, but his obvious embarrassment only made the effort he’d taken to fulfil a little girl’s wishes all the more sweet. She wondered if he had any clue how devoted he was to his daughter.
All the questions she had about his past, and how he’d come to be a single dad, crowded into her mind.
He bent to fish his boxers off the pile of clothing they’d left on the floor. She stifled the flicker of disappointment when he tugged them on. Had she left those score marks on his back?
The hum of renewed arousal became more pronounced.
She should probably get dressed now too, so they could sneak back to the farmhouse. But, instead, she slipped under the quilt to enjoy the show as he pulled two bottles of beer out of the icebox.
The thought that he might have planned this seduction, had certainly prepared for it, was almost as touching as the fairy-tale creatures he’d painted on the ceiling.
He offered her a bottle. ‘You want one?’
‘I’d love one,’ she said. Her mouth dried as she watched his pecs flex while he popped off the caps against the cabinet edge and slung them in the bin.
She sat, plumping the pillows and drawing the quilt up to cover her breasts. He handed her the cool bottle and perched on the edge of the bed. She rolled it over her forehead, feeling flushed as he took a long gulp.
She sipped her own beer. Swallowed. ‘What happened with Toto’s mother?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
The slight edge in the tone, and the lift of one eyebrow told her loud and clear she was overstepping the bounds of a casual sex-for-sex’s-sakes fling.
‘I just wondered. Dee mentioned her.’ Surely having sex with Art entitled her to satisfy at least some of her curiosity? ‘She said she had problems and that she left before Toto’s first birthday. Do you miss her?’
‘Hardly. I kicked her out.’
‘I see,’ she said, the abrupt tone making her pulse bobble.
Instead of filling the gaping hole in the conversation, he concentrated on finishing the beer, then shot the bottle into the bin at the end of the caravan. It hit the rim and dropped into the metal container. The perfect slam dunk.
‘Why did you kick her out?’ she asked, finally forced to fill the gap for him.
He glanced her way, his expression suspiciously blank. ‘I woke up one night and found her shooting up next to Toto’s crib.’
Standing, he slipped off his boxers, then climbed back onto the bunk. The sight of his erection bobbing up to his belly button shocked her almost as much as the information about Toto’s mother.
Seriously? Again already?
She choked on her beer. He grabbed another condom from the pile on the bedside cabinet.
She pressed into the pillows, the liquid pull in her abdomen swift and unstoppable as his hands flattened on the headboard on either side of her head. He swung one knee over her, caging her in. Her gaze glided down his chest as she watched him roll on the condom.
She finished her beer in one long gulp.
He took the empty bottle from her fingers and slung it towards the bin without looking. It landed with a resounding crash. Another direct hit.
She stared into those piercing eyes. Dark, intent and glazed with hunger. For her.
‘What if I want to talk some more?’ she said, the husky tone of her voice fooling no one – but it was the principle of the thing.
‘Then I’ll take you back to the farmhouse,’ he said, the wry tilt of his lips even more of a turn-on than the challenging tone. ‘We’re not here to talk.’
The air backed up in her lungs as he took hold of the quilt and gave it a sharp tug. It dropped away, leaving her breasts bare.
He circled one pouting nipple with his tongue. The liquid pull became a definite yank as the peak engorged in a rush.
He lifted his head. ‘You want to go back?’
She thrust her fingers into his hair and dragged his mouth towards hers. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ she murmured against his lips. ‘Just yet.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ellie skipped up the farmhouse stairs. She had exactly half an hour before she needed to be at the shop to relieve Dee. Just enough time to freshen up after her trip with Mike to another local organic farm who had contacted them about supplying the shop with fresh vine tomatoes, something they didn’t grow at Willow Tree.
The visit had been hugely positive; they’d already drawn up a contract. And Guy Hansard, the farm manager, had given them a list of six other farms, one as far away as the outskirts of Winchester, that had heard about Willow Tree Farm Shop and Café and were interested in filling other gaps they had in their inventory.
After only being in business for three weeks they were already getting a reputation for excellent service and high-end organic produce. It would be a while before they could determine how well they were doing financially, but the excellent customer numbers since the launch showed no signs of slacking and their operating profit in the first three weeks had been beyond all expectations. The shop was still a gamble. A big gamble. But Annie and Tess had made the decision to give up their day jobs last week. Something they were both extremely happy about. And Dee had decided to stop attending farmers’ markets – because so many of her regulars were already coming to the shop.
It was still early days, but so far the signs looked overwhelmingly positive. Securing several grants to ease the cost of the original set-up also meant they had a financial cushion to carry them over any potential shortfalls in January and February when the custom would naturally drop off.
They.
The word slowed Ellie’s step, weighing on her as she entered her bedroom. She was part of this team. Part of this operation. But after a couple of rather tense conversations with Dan on Skype, she’d finally booked her return flights to the US for the end of September. Jacob and Maddy’s wedding was on the ninth, giving her three clear weeks after the wedding to put everything in order to hand over the management of the store to Dee, Tess and Annie. And put all the plans in place for the run-up to the Christmas season.
The Christmas season she was going to miss.
She sat at her dressing table, plucking the last of the pins out of her hair.
Buying the return flights this morning had left her in a bit of a funk. And while the visit to McPherson’s Organic Farm had helped lift her out of it, a little bit, the thought of everything that awaited her in Orchard Harbor in four weeks’ time kept crowding in on her.
She touched her throat, noticing the raw skin from the night before.
And then there was Art.
They’d been sneaking off to the caravan almost every night for the last two weeks. And it had been glorious. Exhilarating and exciting and surprisingly companionable.
The sex had been nothing short of a revelation.
Even in the early thr
oes of her relationship with Dan, when the sex had been plentiful and mostly satisfying, she could see now Dan had been a selfish lover. Making all the decisions about when and where and how much they had. And of course she’d let him, because she was so besotted with him.
With Art it was different. The clandestine dash through the woods at midnight, when she sneaked out to rendezvous with him, was ludicrously exciting because she knew he would be as eager to please her as she was to please him. Together they’d experimented and explored. She felt like a teenager again, but better. As if anything was possible. Young and in lust, but not ashamed to demand her own pleasure.
Perhaps surprisingly though, the quiet moments afterwards, as they basked in afterglow together, before sneaking back to the farmhouse ten minutes apart, had become almost as precious as the orgasms.
Art wasn’t comfortable talking about his past, and she didn’t have any great desire to talk about hers – not that he’d asked – so she’d curtailed her curiosity, but they’d still found so much to talk about. All that basic day-to-day stuff, which Dan had got bored with as soon as she brought it up, Art listened to with genuine interest. Getting his take on her social media plans for the shop, hearing how work on his latest commission was going, chuckling over something daft that Toto or Josh had said or done had been rewarding in ways she never would have expected.
And discovering that Art was a bit of a snuggler on the sly had been almost as much of a surprise as discovering how much she still liked sex.
She sighed as she dumped the last pin on the dresser. If only she could talk about him to Tess and Annie.
Keeping their liaison a secret from everyone made sense, and for the last few weeks the secrecy had been as exciting as those midnight dashes through the woods, but she was starting to feel uncomfortable about pretending nothing was going on. And keeping how much she was enjoying herself from them was next to impossible.
Obviously this affair had no future. She was going back to New York soon, and Art had made it very clear he wasn’t interested in anything more. And neither was she, of course. Long-distance relationships never worked, and she would need all her energy in the months ahead to finalise her divorce, sort out the custody arrangements with Dan, navigate Josh’s situation when his new sibling arrived and find a new place to live – because she had no desire to return to their soulless six-bedroom show home in Orchard Harbor. But even so, what seemed like a simple affair at the outset was starting to become more complicated, and she would love to have had some advice about how to handle it.
