Page 52 of Wine & Dine

Does the rhythm of yours match mine?

Her mouth curls as if she’s read my thoughts, and I shift my eyes from hers. Bracing myself on one arm, I guide my dick to her entrance. I swipe a finger upward, finding her primed and ready for me. I wish I was bare once again as I’m slick as well from her mouth. Slowly, I enter her, waiting for a whimper of pain. When there’s no response, I glance up to find those blue beams focused on me. She’s watching my face, not how our bodies join. The look is intense. A gleam in the deep sea I haven’t seen before. My heart races faster while I ease into her.

Lowering to my elbows, I still and brush back hair near her cheek. Our eyes hold. Our hips move.

What is she doing to me?

I have my answer. It’s buried deep within, under painful childhood memories and broken teenage dreams and scars from a woman who was never mine.

Dammit. This can’t be…but that internal organ disagrees, as does my body moving in sync with hers. Our eyes connect almost more fastidious than our lower region. If I were a child, we’d be locked in a staring contest. Yet I sense neither of us wants to look away first and break the spell. Our eyes link in more ways than our bodies.

“Dolores,” I whisper, taking my time to glide back and plunge forward, feeling each ripple against my ridges.

“Shh,” she soothes, reaching up to press a hand to my face, and then combing her fingers back through my short hair. My mouth lowers for hers. I’ve lost the game. She wins. She can take my body and my soul. She already owns my heart. The one I didn’t think I had to give.

+ + +

With a new day, I have a different perspective, and I shake the intense emotions from the night before. Our second round of sex was too much, and I try to ward off the weirdness this morning with a quickie before I showered alone, attempting to distance myself from her.

My heart gallops within my chest with irritation.

I must stop these feelings of her, for her, wanting to be with her.

We leave the vineyard, and I decide to take her on a trip down Highway 1 along the coastal edge and redwood forests. I can’t decide if the long drive is a way to clear my thoughts or prolong our time together. I’m a total contradiction at this point with distance desired yet the fear of separation. It will take us twice as long to get home on this path. Home. I’m starting to think of her as belonging in my place with me.

Knock it off, I scold.

We eventually stop at a visitor’s center and walk along the designated path to view the trees. Neither of us has hiking boots for a trek through the woods, but I want her to experience the massive trunks up close.

“It’s huge,” she teases, wrapping her arms as far as she can around the mammoth base and tipping her head back to peer up the steep column.

“That’s every man’s favorite compliment and every woman’s dream.”

Her laughter blends with the quiet surroundings, and my heart speeds up once again.

Stop thinking of her, I scream, and then she looks at me. Her blue eyes in broad daylight are just as intense as last night in the dark. Her smile is slow like drizzled chocolate. How I’ve wanted to see that smile since the moment I met her, and here it is, aimed at me.

For some reason, irritation and attraction mix, and I rush the few steps to come up behind her. She huffs as my body slams against hers, forcing her into the sharp bark.

“Garrett?” she questions, and my head takes over. Must stop feeling for her. I paw at her shoulder, tug back her sweater and nip her hard at her neck. The bite bucks her hips, making it worse for me as her backside slams into my rising dick.

“Fuck, I want you.” How do I mean the words? Do I want all of her or just her up against this tree?

Tap, tap goes my heart. You know the answer, it whispers. My hands move of their own accord and slip under her sweater, searching for the button on her jeans.

“Garrett,” she hisses. “Someone will see us.”

“Only the trees,” I tell her, still nipping harshly at her neck while fumbling with her pants. Unbutton. Unzip. And my hand slips in. She pops back against me again, and a finger delves in while I use the force of my hips to press her forward. With my hand trapped in her jeans, I grind against her backside. This is going to get messy.

I add a second finger, pressing at the waist of her pants with my free hand to loosen the material. She releases the tree and struggles blindly behind her to unbuckle my belt. I help. Within seconds, she’s cupping me while I feverishly finger her. I haven’t gotten off on a hand job other than my own in years, but I pump into her fist while my digits curl inside her.

“Give it to me,” I growl, frustrated with myself. Why am I acting like this? I question at the same time I curse her for making me want her so much.

Don’t leave me.

Dolores muffles her scream against the tree, stilling to clench my fingers, and I jet off over her palm. Our ragged breathing echoes around us, and I lift my head, conscious for the first time that someone could have seen us. My forehead lowers to her neck.

What have I done?