Page 88 of Wine & Dine

34

Roommates and socks

[Dolores]

I don’t talk much over the next two days. I meet with Griffin Duncan as scheduled, and we discuss the renovations for the diner. Most of the updates currently in progress include items customers won’t see. Electric. Plumbing. Gas lines. The questions remain on the interior of the place.

“What do you want it to look like? We can put everything back as it was with a few newer fixtures. But now would be the time for a change if you want to make it.”

Time for a change. The answers come instantly. I tell Griffin my vision—classic dining car from a train mixed with the tradition of the diner—and he refers me to their interior designer.

“She’s from Atlanta,” Griffin drawls like this makes her sound important, or maybe he’s just mocking her.

I chuckle because I can’t even find the energy to laugh. I find myself slipping as if falling backward in time because I’m overwhelmed with everything. The diner. The house. Denton’s betrayal…and Garrett’s. He says he loves me, but I’m struggling. We didn’t make love last night. He just held me, curled up behind me, nuzzling into my neck. He breathes me in like he’s afraid I’m going to let him go. Let his dream disappear.

Hearts are on the line, I realize. Mine. His. I want to believe in him, but something niggles inside me, questioning if his love isn’t tied up with his vision. His investment.

The next morning, I’m determined to get an honest answer, then I’ll let my apprehension go. I find Garrett at the breakfast table, his laptop and phone on the circular surface along with a notepad. Glasses perch on his nose. He’s wearing jeans with another sweater. The casual look suits him, but I wonder if he misses his fancy suits. I shake the thought. Wearing a T-shirt and undies under my old robe, I know it’s not very seductive, but looking at him in my grandmother’s worn out breakfast room, still the powerhouse man he is, I’m turned on in a way I haven’t been in days.

“Good morning,” he addresses me over the rim of his glasses, but I don’t answer him. I straddle his lap instead. “Dolores?”

The corner of his lip crooks upward as he pushes the chair back from the table, keeping me on his thighs. Gripping the back of the chair, I start to roll my hips at the seam of his jeans. The robe billows around my legs, and I untie it, allowing it to drape open. His hands lower to my hips, slipping under the worn fabric.

“Whatcha doing?” he asks, his voice straining as I continue to rock over him, feeling the slow unfurl of his length under his zipper. Any minute, I’m expecting him to tell me to stop. To tell me he’s busy. To tell me he has work to do. “Let’s go upstairs.” His voice is a whisper as he leans up to kiss me, but I pull back. My eyes narrow on his as I use the wood of the chair to balance and continue undulating on his lap. A thrill runs through me as he groans with my refusal to kiss him.

“Here,” I say.

“Someone could walk in,” he mutters, looking over my shoulder. I shake my head, my hips having a will of their own as they increase their dance. My sex moistens, clenching with need.

“I want you buried inside me.”

Garrett swallows, fingers clenching the fabric of my shirt inside the robe. My eyes close, and my head lowers. The build is growing, crawling up my quivering thighs.

“What’s this all about?” he mutters, his head tilting as I continue to ride him.

“Tell me I’m more important.”

His brows lift, and his mouth pops open. His expression says he wants to say something, but he shifts. His eyes darkening. “You’re more important than my work.”

I’m rocking hard, the chair creaking under the weight of us. He shifts so I’m hugging the thick shaft bulging against the zipper of his jeans, and the pressure adds to my excitement. My panties are damp, and the friction settles right where I need.

“Tell me I’m more important than the vineyard.”

“Dolores,” he groans, his hand slipping to the base of my belly.

“Say it,” I whisper, my voice throaty and deep.

“You’re more important than the vineyard.” He slips a finger under the elastic of my panties, then shoves it deep into me. The intrusion sets my legs trembling, and he thrusts his hips under the back of his hand.

“Is this what you need?” His voice has turned stronger, less pleading and more commanding. “Right here, right now, you want me to fuck you to prove myself to you.”

My head falls forward as if I’m nodding, but he isn’t wrong. Placing myself between him and his laptop, I want him to tell me I’m first. Not the vineyard. Not his business. Me.

For once, I want to be first to someone.

“You,” Garrett growls, working his fingers harder, deeper into me. “You are the most important person to me.” His mouth comes to my neck, nipping me as he works his fingers followed by the pump of his hips behind his hand. His thumb brushes my clit, and I explode, tightening my grip on the chair and clenching my hips over his. My head lowers to his forehead, resting against it as I gasp for air.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice catching as tears burn in my eyes.