by Fifi Flowers
Something told me that Darla was the one for me as we sat closely together on the blanket and I watched her expertly open a bottle of wine. Of course she did, she had been raised on a vineyard… or part of the time… her background, still a bit of a mystery.
“Darling of the Beauclaire Vineyard,” I read the label as I was about to pour the red wine into two glasses she had handed me. “Why do I get the feeling that this wine is named after you?” I watched a smile spread across her entire face, beautiful.
“Because it is. My grandfather, before I was born, told my mother, ‘hurry up already, I want to see my little darling.’ That also led to me being named Darla. He calls me his prize so he decided that it was only fitting that his exclusive reserved wines have my name on the bottles.”
“You are a prize,” I said, forgetting all about the wine, reaching out, cupping her face with my hands, I leaned forward, and crushed my mouth to hers. It was an urgent kiss, taking what I had been thinking about since I arrived at the vineyard… since she arrived on a stool in the café. Making her mine, claiming her lips first, I would work my way into her heart. That kiss had the earth tilting off its axis, shaking the granite soil beneath us, and I wanted to have her with me far longer than a day at the vineyard. Forever didn’t even seem long enough… I was so screwed! Where the fuck was all of the mushiness in my head coming from?
And how we managed to break apart to continue our picnic, I had no idea except that I was worried that if things got out of hand, her grandfather might kill me. It was enough to taste her in between sips of the premium wine and delicious bits of her grandmother’s cooking. Had we been anywhere else, my appetite would have been satisfied. Sampling her body was something I pictured as I watched her lean back on the blanket and laugh. A beautiful sight, I imagined her in the same position while I caused her to moan, instead of giggling. I didn’t want the day to end and, apparently, neither did Darla as she suggested we attend a concert down the way later that night at another vineyard.
Chapter Six…
Having no idea what we were going to see, or who, we just both knew that we weren’t ready to call it a day, so we grabbed a shuttle to the winery hosting the musical event—they often had concerts on their property. Sampling glasses of wine, we were shocked when a rock band we both knew called A Day to Remember took to the stage. Darla had mentioned that the concerts were often jazz or classic soft rock which was cool, but seeing them was even better. When they finished we nearly fell over as Blink-182 hit the stage. “No, fucking way!” we practically said in unison. How had we lucked out? A surprise concert by a known band. Prime location to the stage, it was one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen and they played all of their classics. Darla and I sang along to All the Small Things with everyone else: “I will not go… lights off… carry me home… your head still… be your thrill… night will go on… my little…” We stumbled happily out of the vineyard high on life and lots of wine with limited edition posters and t-shirts and got dropped off at a hotel down the way where I checked us into separate rooms. There was no way that I could drive all the way back to San Diego, and I wasn’t about to take advantage of a very drunk Darla.
Tucked in, fully dressed minus her shoes, I turned off the light after kissing her forehead, and went to my room to have the worst sleep ever thinking about Darla. I wished that I was wiped out drunk so I could’ve just passed out to stop my brain and dick from imagining the beautiful creature next door sharing my bed.
Startled, I realized that I must have fallen asleep at some point because the sun was streaming in through the window and someone was knocking on my door. To my surprise and delight, Darla stood outside my door wearing nothing but a towel.
“What the fuck?” escaped my mouth before I could stop my words.
“I was getting the newspaper off the ground and the door slammed me into the hall. I’m locked out and I can’t walk down to the lobby…” Without inviting her in, she walked right by me, plopped herself down on my unmade bed, and continued her complaint. “…to the front desk like this. This place should have robes… I’m going to put that in their suggestion box. Damn, your bed is better than mine… smells like you.” She laid back on the spot I had recently vacated and her towel fell open partly.
“I can go down and get you a new key…”
She cut me off, “I’m pretty comfy right now… no rush.”
“Be careful, you might find yourself ravaged.” When she smiled, opening her towel the rest of the way, I took full advantage of the situation, grabbed a condom from my wallet, and dropped my boxer briefs to join her.
In no rush, I planned to savor every morsel of her, every inch of her skin was to be feasted on with my lips and tongue. I was sure that there would never be a culinary delight that could equal her and I was right as my mouth dusted and tasted her flesh. “Oh so good,” I said with every new discovery. Her loud moans of my name along with her fingers entwined in my hair told me that she was pleased with my nibbles and licks to her pussy. With my fingers brought into the mix, kneading a spot inside of her, she arched her back off the bed and pushed into my mouth. Fuck yeah! She was hot as fuck! Excited to hear her panting and whimpering, I continued my pursuit of happiness sliding my tongue up and down and round, sucking her little engorged pea from time to time until I felt her tighten and spasm around my fingers, begging me to stop.
Removing my fingers, I moved up, my body over Darla’s, and crushed my mouth to hers. When she breathlessly whispered against my mouth, “more,” I was so ready to give her more… much more. I just hope that I didn’t blow it, literally, as I was so fucking worked up. I could barely get the condom on, excited like a teenage boy doing it for his first time. I had to still for a few minutes as soon as I had it secured. A slight pep talk ran through my mind. I knew I had a big dick and knew that she would like feeling filled—I hoped at least—but I didn’t want to rush and impale her. She had been so tight around my fingers, I had no intension of hurting her for my own satisfaction.
After a couple deep breaths, I was ready to heat things up, stir her body with sheer pleasure. Placed at her entrance, she looked up at me and told me she trusted me. I leaned down and slowly kissed her as I began to inch into her tight wetness. Fully seated within her warmth, I began to move out and then back in, rounding my hips to the right and then to the left in a slow motion until we had found our rhythm. Fuck! She felt like home… like nothing I had ever experienced. Things suddenly reached a boiling point and our movements became more frantic as her nails clawed my back and her arching into me began. Again, I experienced the same pull of her pussy and joined her, releasing my load. Fuck! I was pretty sure I said that out loud.
Hating to leave her body, I finally left her to go dispose of the condom, and to bring her a warm wash cloth with a bath towel. I had never cleaned a woman before but I wanted to take care of her even if she always exhibited total independence. I wanted to take some of that away from her but not in a selfish, He-Man way—I just really cared for her and I couldn’t explain what made her so different.
I wanted a relationship with her.
I wanted to know more about her.
I just wanted her and that was for certain.
Trapped beneath me, it seemed like the perfect time to wiggle the truth from her. “Rumor is…” I sounded like Vivienne. “…that you are not actually a wine rep?” I raised an eyebrow and waited.
“Well, I do not work for a company if that’s what you mean.” She seemed to be stalling, biting her lip, maybe gathering her thoughts… looking for the right words. “I did show up the first night representing Beauclaire Vineyard and then there was you…” She reached up and stroked the side of my face. “How could I resist the chance to be with you, taunting you, and hoping that…” She stopped and then continued on a different set of words that had me wanting her to continue the confession she had originally started. “With my connection to other wineries thanks to my family, I worked up a plan.”
/> “And your plan included bringing Temecula wines exclusively to Cafélicious?”
“Yes, it gave me more time with you… in the café. So I visited each vineyard and told them what I wanted to do—they all loved it. How could they not? They provided me with wine samples for the pairing nights and you made amazing dishes to complement them. You never disappointed me…” She squirmed a little causing my dick to jump to life, again. “…not here either.”
Happy to give her a repeat performance before the hotel threw us out, I had one more question. “Do you live in the downtown area or do you live out here? On your family’s vineyard? Did you drive all the way home after drinking at the events?” I hoped that she didn’t.
“I usually got a hotel room close to Cafélicious… I… don’t live in that area. I have a condo not far from the wine region. It’s a place to sleep.”
“So we could’ve gone to your place last night?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t thinking clearly and well, I thought you would get one room for us. In my place, I figured you’d sleep on the couch. Turned out, you’re too much of a gentleman—getting me my own room.” Her giggle had me thinking that she hadn’t really gotten locked out of her room. I was right, she confessed and I attacked her the way she wanted me to, but we were cut short as a maid’s voice “maid service” could be heard as she walked in, getting a view of my ass in the air as I thrusted forward.
The moment ruined, Darla suggested we pick up where we left off at her place after we asked that the housekeeping staff give us a minute to dress and get out of their way—they had already invaded Darla’s room since it was empty except for her clothing sitting on the made-up bed. Snatching them up, she quickly dressed and we caught a shuttle lift back to my white Jeep Rubicon parked at the Beauclaire Vineyard. I was thankful we were able to get away without receiving the grimacing face of her grandfather—we did receive a smile and a wave from her grandmother. I was pretty sure that my face turned red.
Reaching Darla’s condo complex in what appeared to be a nice area not too far from the wine valley, she took me on a quick spin around tour that ended in her piss-poor kitchen; too small and lacking anything interesting to cook for lunch. She did have a nice collection of wines in a rack and wine fridge and immediately cracked one open for us and then she challenged me to throw something together.
“Are you really going to test me?”
“Of course. You follow a menu in the café. Let’s see what you can do with things you find in my barren kitchen.” She smirked at me and I wanted to wipe it right off her face by covering her lips with mine, but a challenge was a challenge and I didn’t intend to back away or fail.
With her choice of music—alternative rock—supplied by satellite radio and a wireless speaker, I moved into action. It reminded me less about the cooking show she loved and a lot more about my restaurant start and how it evolved; from hosting to waiting, to bartending once I was twenty-one, and then catering gigs tossed in from time to time. It was my stint as a personal chef that really came to mind, cooking meals for guests both secretly and openly after a night where I cooked, for the first time, in someone else’s home. Even though it was for my ex-girlfriend Charlotte’s family, I still took it very seriously.
Not knowing what they had in their kitchen, I did a lot of prep in my mother’s well-equipped kitchen—better than the one I shared with dudes. With everything chopped, bagged and put into containers, I grabbed serving dishes, pots and pans and headed to Charlotte’s with my mother telling me to be sure and return things to her kitchen. When I got there they were surprised to see just how much stuff I actually brought to cook. They were even more impressed to see me moving around, taking command of their space. Preheating their oven, I then seasoned my chicken and stuffed its cavity with oranges, onions and fresh herbs, I had the feeling they thought I was bringing frozen patties to grill on their barbecue. As the house filled up with smells of roasting chicken with potatoes and carrots, I tossed together a salad and got a baguette ready to crust. At the last minute I set their table using their cloth linens and fine dinnerware that Charlotte’s mom insisted on using in their formal dining room. It was a great way to score points with her parents so they didn’t pay attention to my flaws or the fact that I was upstairs making out with their daughter in her girly decorated childhood bedroom.
I found myself laughing out loud at that last thought and had Darla wanting to know where I had gone. Of course, no girl wants to hear about your relationships and I sure as fuck didn’t want to hear about her with another guy. So I made up another story that had her laughing about my failed attempts when I first became a personal chef to actual strangers.
“So you’re not perfect?” she asked twirling a glass of wine in her hand before sniffing it.
“I never claimed to be perfect in any way, shape or form. I fucked up plenty before I got it figured out, timing was a big thing to master. Besides that, I had to learn to shop for more gourmet items that weren’t necessarily found in the regular grocery store. That’s how I found out that produce was freshest from farmers’ markets. And then I stumbled onto specialty shops—like for stinky cheese—that was the way to go and that was just for food. I had to find a restaurant supply place for my own cookery, cutlery, serving platters, and padded milk crates to transport my stuff—my mom wasn’t willing to let me take her stuff all of the time.”
“That’s the kind of job I would want if I was a chef; in and out and not tied down to a restaurant or even permanent clients.”
Something about her words scared me. If I let her into my heart would she quickly abandon it once she got bored? All of her talk about rebellion and not being tied down had me thinking that maybe there was more to her secrecy. However, she had been coming to the café regularly for two months. Until I knew more, I told myself that I should keep things casual, enjoy her in the moment. I was truly enjoying the way she kept incorporating things into my kitchen prep and loved how she was pleasantly surprised with my edible concoction. I was pleasantly surprised at how I was feeling about her too.
Chapter Seven…
Continuing to see each other on Saturdays and into Sunday morning since I had talked her into staying with me, those two days weren’t enough for me. I found myself making trips to her place a few other late nights after I got off work—exhausted. It was so worth it to have the comfort of her naked body against mine. It wasn’t quite as comfortable to be glared at by her grandfather when we had Sunday brunch with Darla’s grandparents at the vineyard. He hadn’t quite warmed up to me being around his darling granddaughter.
I did like our private, one on one strolls, just Darla and me through the vines after having a delicious meal. She seemed to like to open up on our walks and I found that some of her words warned me to watch my heart where she was concerned. During her revelations, she finally told me about her life in the book world. She called it her escape as she started reading at a young age when she was left alone at the vineyard with her grandparents.
“Why not open a bookstore?” I asked.
“I like that it’s anonymous for the most part. People mainly know my book blog name and what it suggests to read, reviews, and promotions. People only see me if I attend an author signing event.” She shrugged her shoulders and the next words and stories that followed sent me another signal. “I guess I’m like my mother in a way and like the freedom of working online, my own hours for as long as I find it enjoyable.”
Her parents were what she called wanderers; they labeled themselves as wine reps and took to the open road to spread the word about Beauclaire Vineyards. They had helped the winery but Darla said it was their escape until it was harvest time, and she and her brother were left behind. Eventually, her parents divorced when her father found another woman and settled with her in France. Her mother continued to make the vineyard her home base when she wasn’t strolling around the country and Darla knew she would return in the springtime. She also told me that her brother was the
same way, only he had left the wine region for Palm Springs area working his own business where he dabbled in a few things; personal training, bodyguard services, and fitness modeling.
“We’re all independent, it’s the rebellious blood, Sutton refused to be in the wine business from the very beginning, he did work harvests—we all do—and he did create graphics for the vineyard. Took off… I’m the only one that has stuck around.” That claim was a breath of fresh air—maybe there was hope for us, I thought to myself and decided to change the subject to her grandparents.
“Your grandmother is highly skilled in the kitchen. I’m surprised there isn’t a restaurant on the property like some of the other vineyards in the area.”
“They did move in that direction at one time, but not with her cooking. My grandfather’s original barn on a piece of land to the east of the vineyard… they thought it would make a great restaurant. They even started on it; installing the plumbing, electric, lighting… there are bathrooms and a kitchen area complete… a great wood burning oven. They were working with a well-known chef from New York but he couldn’t handle the country living in the end. Everything stopped when the next few candidates came through and asked my grandfather to make big changes that took away from the barn look. So they abandoned the barn restaurant idea and it’s been sitting sadly, rusting surrounded by weeds for years.”
