by Tessa Layne
I step up next to her, bracing an arm on the trunk above her. The citrusy scent of her washes over me, settling low in my gut. “Hello, Gorgeous.”
She gives me an assessing look. She’s playing it cool, but I can see her pulse fluttering wildly at her neck. “I wondered when I’d see you,” she says crisply.
“Is that any way to greet… a lover?” I lower my voice so only she hears.
“You’re not entitled.”
She’s right. I’m not. But I should be. “I’ve seen your face when it’s raw with need, wrecked with orgasms. Doesn’t that count for something?”
She breathes sharply and her mouth drops open, tongue slipping out to slick her bottom lip. I know she’s thinking about those orgasms. “Why are you here, Austin?”
I love how she speaks my name, even when her voice is filled with suspicion, the way it is now. “Depends on who you ask. Mom and Dad think I’m here to the hatchet.”
“And are you?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
For eight weeks now, I’ve been driven to distraction, pulse racing every time I see red hair. Restless sleep filled with visions of her face, snippets of our conversations. Jerking off in the shower because vapid socialites no longer interest me. One night with Gorgeous was like the first taste of Pappy Van Winkle I ever tried - it ruined me for other whiskey. “On whether we pick up where we left off.”
“We’re not picking up anywhere. That night never happened.”
“The hickeys I hid for two weeks tell a different story.” I drop my head and murmur into her ear. “So do the scratch marks on my back.”
Two bright spots blossom on her cheeks, and I want to see that flush make its way to other, more… private parts of her body. She shakes her head, rolling her lower lip underneath her teeth. “You know what I mean.” She holds my gaze long enough for me to see the hunger there. “We agreed,” she says with a tiny tremble in her voice. “One night only.”
“Who says we can’t make a new agreement?” I catch another hint of her citrusy perfume and it acts like a spark on a powder keg. Awareness surges through me at the thought of sliding between her thighs one more time, of the scent of her filling my lungs. “If nothing has ever happened between us, then we have a clean slate.”
She scans the crowd, and I follow where she’s looking - to her daughter laughing up at Jason as he spins her across the dance floor. For an unguarded moment, her face crumples, and I know in that instant, she’s thinking of her late husband. The tightness in my chest returns, only to be incinerated by a flash of jealousy so hot, my insides are turned to ash. I wonder, not for the first time today, if he satisfied her the way I did. I push the thought away. I don’t care if he did. I’m the one who’s here now. I’m the one she’s hiding her hunger for now. “I’m flying home tomorrow. You’ll never see me again.”
“Famous last words.”
“I believe they were your famous last words, Gorgeous. And I can promise you that I’m never setting foot in this godforsaken place ever again.”
Her eyes sharpen. “It’s pretty here.”
“Pretty remote.”
“And the people are nice.”
“If you like country bumpkins.” I’ve pissed her off. I can tell by the set of her jaw and the snap in her eyes.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re an entitled asshole?”
I grin. “You did, Gorgeous. Right before I gave you your eighth orgasm of the night.”
She sucks in a breath, and the blush from her cheeks creeps down her neck. I know exactly what she’s thinking of, too. My balls stir at the memory of her spread eagle on my bed, body rosy pink from pleasure, cursing me out as I worked her up to the breaking point, then stopped. I press my advantage. “What would you say if I told you I’m only here because I wanted to see you again?”
She gives me a pointed stare, voice razor sharp. “I’d say I think you’re full of shit. And an asshole,” she adds after a pause.
A laugh rumbles through my chest. “I’m definitely that, sweetheart, and your point is?”
Her eyes slide to her daughter, then back to me. She doesn’t attempt to hide the hunger on her face. “Twenty minutes. Not a second more, and never again.”
Triumph rises through me as I give a silent fist bump. “That’s all I need to give you two orgasms.”
She rolls her eyes. “How can you live with that level of cockiness?”
“It’s confidence, Gorgeous.”
She snorts.
“I’m confident I can give you two orgasms in twenty minutes. In fact, I guarandamntee it.”
She shakes her head, but I see the smile pulling on the corner of her mouth. “Follow me. You’re on the clock starting now.”
Chapter Nine
She leads me down a path to the other side of the barn. As soon as we’re out of sight, I pin her to the wall and claim that sassy mouth. She melts beneath me, one hand tugging on my hair, the other still clutches her tiny bag which scrapes the back of my neck. A moan emanates from deep in her throat.
My thoughts are no longer my own, words tumble out of my mouth without a filter. “Tell me you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have.” I press my cock into her softness. She meets it with a roll of her hips, grinding against me. I’d fuck her right now against the barn if we wouldn’t get caught.
“Yes. God, yes,” she rasps. “But not here.” She pushes me back, then takes my hand. We hurry across the yard to another building. It’s nearly dark now, the moon our only light. She pushes on a door and I recognize a crushing room. I stop, pulling her into my arms, but she shakes her head. “In here.” Behind her I see another door.
“Barreling room?”
“It locks.”
We stumble into the darkness, but that won’t do. “Where’s the light? I want to see your face again when you come.”
Her laugh is low and rich, and she flicks a switch. I blink, seeing her in the harsh light of one yellow bulb. Her face is shadows and planes, but without a doubt there is hunger in her eyes. Need. I take her face between my hands, but this time I kiss her slowly, my tongue moving against hers, tasting the remnants of pink fizzy wine and the heat of desire. I back her against the door, needing to feel her body along my length, wanting all of her. Her bag skitters across the floor. She kisses me back, slow and languid, and my mind spins like I’m wasted. I don’t want to rush. I want to take my time, pushing into her sweet pussy over and over again until we’re both spent. I want a repeat of the Four Seasons, only this time, I want to wake her up at dawn and take her again. Just so I can see the early morning light play across her face.
“Eighteen minutes,” she says breathlessly when we part. She’s not wearing a watch, but I get her point. I don’t like it, but given we’re at a wedding, it’s only a matter of time before one of us is missed.
I ruck up her skirt, fingers seeking her silky flesh. She brings a thigh to my hip, allowing me more access, and I slip my hand inside her soaking thong. Fuck, she’s so turned on her thighs are slick. My sole focus is claiming that sexy piece of real-estate between her legs.
I drop to my knees, taking her thigh and placing it on my shoulder. Even in the dim light of the barreling room, her pussy is a work of art. Engorged and deep, dusky pink, glistening with her arousal, it begs to be worshipped.
But first, I sink my teeth into the soft flesh just beyond her apex and suck hard, soothing it with my tongue. I want to mark her here, where no one else can see. I want her to remember this when she looks in the mirror. Or touches herself. Her hand grips my hair, tugging so hard that tingles race down the back of my neck.
“Austin,” she says through a clenched jaw.
I nuzzle the ligament that attaches her leg to her body. “Mmm-hmm?” I buzz into the flesh, knowing full well the vibrations will reach her clit and drive her wild.
She angles her hips, desperately trying to place her pussy in front of my mouth. “Stop. Teasing.”
“You have twelve minutes,” she pants, jaw still clenched tight.
Right. I hate being on the fucking clock. It makes me all the more determined to make this so intense, she forgets where she is and what time it is. I turn my attention to her other leg, repeating the same teasing motions until she cries out in frustration.
“I swear to god, Austin.”
My balls are heavy, my cock thick and straining against my zipper. It’s just as angry and wanting as she is.
I turn my face where she wants it, inhaling deeply, taking my fill of her citrusy, musky scent. It’s like a drug hit, the way it takes me to another realm. I grip her thighs harder and dive in, taking a long, slow lick from the base of her to her clit, which protrudes hard and needy.
“Again,” she rasps, canting her hips.
I oblige, because, Jesus it’s good. I can’t get enough of the taste of her, and if this is the last time for both of us, I want to imprint this into my brain. The salty sweetness of her, the scent of her, the way her pussy fucking glows. She’s imprisoned me in some kind of a magic spell that I never want to end. I lick, I thrust, and she shamelessly rides my face, rubbing her pussy against my mouth to get the friction she craves. My cock is painfully hard.
She comes with a cry, back bowing away from the door, thighs going rigid as a shudder rips through her body. With one hand, I manage to remove my belt and drop my pants. My cock springs free and I take a pull to ease the ache. “Condoms,” I grate, laying a kiss along her shaking thigh.
“I’m on the pill,” she blurts.
I go still.
I risk a look up. Her face is the picture of ecstasy. As long as I live, I won’t forget it. Hair wild, dress hitched around her hips, lust burning brightly in her green eyes.
“Are you sure?” I stammer. I don’t do bareback. Ever. And yet, it’s all I’ve wanted with Gorgeous from the get-go. My cock jerks in eagerness. He’s on board with that idea. Completely.
She nods, then bites her lip. “Yes. I want all of you. Just this once.”
I pull her thigh from my shoulder and set it at my hip, driving fully into her in one sweet movement. We both grunt in surprise, and then the vixen smiles at me. It’s that fucking good. The way her wet heat squeezes me, makes my breath stick in my throat. Her other leg rises to my hip and she squeezes her legs together. “Fuck you’re good,” I utter, my words coming from somewhere other than my brain. My brain is completely occupied with the sensation of her hot pussy encasing my length. I palm her ass, squeezing hard enough I know I may leave marks, and pull out slowly. She bends her head forward with a moan. “How does your pretty cunt like this?”
“Harder.”
I think I might die.
But what the lady wants, the lady gets. I thrust harder, slamming into her as she squeezes around me with each thrust. She cants her hips, increasing the friction as I slide through her wetness. I don’t know where one of us ends and the other begins. It’s only hard pushing into soft, cock into cunt, fingers and teeth into flesh, the ache building to an unbearably sharp point.
“Yes, yes,” she chants into my collarbone, biting my neck between words, giving as good as she gets. “I’m coming,” she says as her pussy seizes around my cock with such force my vision blurs. “Oh yes, I’m coming.”
Her words send me over the edge with her, and I let go with a bellow, pulsing hot jets of my come into the deepest part of her. Over, and over, and over. We still, and in the silence, we hear voices on the other side of the door.
Jesus.
She bites her lip, covering a grin, eyes wide.
I keep thrusting little mini thrusts, and she grinds into me as we shake with repressed laughter. At least the door is locked. The voices on the other side of the door fade, and we both release a deep breath.
With true regret, I place her back on her feet, and smooth her skirt over her hips, then return my clothing to its proper place. Her red lace thong lies on the floor, although I have no memory of how it ended up there. I bend and tuck them into my jacket pocket. “I’m keeping these, Gorgeous.”
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t object. She smooths her skirt, then bends to retrieve her purse, which she opens, pulling out a lipstick and a tiny mirror. Leaning back against the door, she puts on her lipstick like a pro. Even in the dim light, she looks like a fucking movie star. Rita Hayworth, maybe. Nothing out of place except a little extra color in her cheeks to give away her thorough fucking. She rolls her lips together then eyes me, and it’s hot as fuck. If we were in a movie, this is where she’d ask me for a cigarette. “Let me fly you to San Francisco,” I blurt, then immediately wish I hadn’t.
Her whole demeanor changes, her body tenses, as does the air between us. She shakes her head and lets out a wry laugh. “I don’t do booty calls.” She hesitates, and I brace for the blow. “And you’re not really my type.”
“And what is your type, Gorgeous?” I challenge, offended. With the chemistry we have, I sure as fuck am her type.
She meets my challenge head-on, just like always. “Someone who’s honorable. Kindhearted. Dependable.”
“I just delivered you two mind-blowing orgasms. On demand,” I retort, not willing to admit she’s right.
Her head drops back as she laughs, and I’m mesmerized by the undulating column of her throat. When she meets my eyes, I swear there’s a hint of sadness there. “You’re good for a girl’s ego.”
She’s killing mine, but I’ll die before I let on.
She steps forward, and I know this is it - she’s the one patting me on the ass and sending me on my way. I don’t care for the irony. I brace myself against her scent, now mixed with eau d’sex. She presses a chaste kiss on my cheek and for the briefest of moments, my chest wraps in on itself. But it’s gone before the sensation even registers. “Goodbye Austin.” She steps back. She takes in a breath like she’s going to say more, but instead, shakes her head and slips out the door.
Chapter Ten
I make a slow count to thirty, then leave the barreling room without a backward glance. The tables may have been turned on me this time, but I shrug it off. I’m Austin Fucking Case, and when I snap my fingers, the ladies come running. This fling was a blip. A mutually satisfying blip that I will now wash away with another tumblerful of whiskey.
The crowd has thinned, but the hangers-on are just ramping up, and the party has the air of lasting long into the night. Whiskey in hand, I skirt the dance floor. Dec is nowhere to be found, and I wonder if he’s seen some action with the blonde bombshell. A hand lands heavily on my shoulder, and I turn to meet the mottled face of my father. “Where in the hell have you been?” he bellows. I look to my mother, but she won’t meet my eyes. The hair on my neck stands up.
“Took a walk.”
“You missed the toast,” my mother reprimands, with a disappointed look.
I shrug. “Okay. Jase should be glad any of us are here.”
“That’s no way to talk about your brother,” Dad seethes.
What in the royal fuck? “Two days ago you were pissed as hell about all this.” I wave a hand around the vineyard. “Why the sudden change of heart?” This is vintage Dad, changing his tune to suit whatever scheme he’s cooked up next. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn he’s un-disowned Jason now that he’s married and probably working on babies.
“That’s no way to talk to your father,” Mom interjects, parroting Dad.
I gulp down half my glass, because if I don’t, we’ll end up shutting down the party with a shouting match, and while I waste no love on my brother, I don’t ever want to be known as that asshole - the one that ruined a wedding. Even assholes have standards.
But I can’t let it go either. “And what way should I talk to my father, Mom? Should I bend over and kiss his ass the way Nico does? Hoping he’ll be named head o
f the board someday?” I turn and stare down my old man. “Is that what you want? Pops? For me to bend the knee? Make nice with dear old brother?” I know I’ve crossed the line, even before I see the vein throbbing at his temple, but at the moment, I don’t feel like going along with whatever game he’s concocted. And I’m no longer a scrawny twelve-year-old he can whip into submission.
“What I want,” my father starts, clipping each word. “Is for you to take more than a passing interest in the company that has given you everything.”
“I know plenty about the business.” I might be exaggerating just a bit, but I know enough to bluff my way through the quarterly board meetings I’m required to attend. And I studied business at Stanford for fuck’s sake. It’s not like I’m a dumbass who’s going to waste money. In fact, he’d probably shit his pants if he knew how much money I’ve made from investing my trust fund dispersals.
“You don’t know the difference between a chardonnay and a cabernet,” he blusters.
“Like hell I don’t.” I can at least tell the difference between white and red. Beyond that? Not so much.
He narrows his eyes. “What are the five grapes of Bordeaux?”
“Does it even matter? All our grapes are grown in the New World.” Take that old man.
