by S. A. Wolfe
Once the dessert dishes have been cleared and Adam and his guests are back in the grand living room, having coffee or port, depending on if they’re driving, the discussion turns to who will use Adam’s guest rooms and who is staying at the nearby Mohonk resort hotel in New Paltz. Naturally, these people are all from Manhattan, so they won’t be driving back tonight, which is already early morning.
Marguerite and I pack leftovers and store them in Adam’s refrigerator while Peyton loads all the clean dishes into their crates and carries them to the van. I’ve watched men I’ve worked with do this a million times, and it’s never turned me on the way it does when Peyton handles them, showing off his physical strength. Even with the extra weight of multiple racks in his hands, he walks with a macho swagger. I can’t get enough of it. Of him.
I do one last sweep of the living room to top off coffee cups, then turn down the lights in the kitchen. Then I give a quick wave to Adam as I slip out the front door. There are enough people surrounding him, including Chloe, to keep him trapped so I can escape a situation I can’t interpret.
The cool, fresh mountain air hits me as I walk to the van. The smell of pine and something floral is uplifting.
Peyton closes the van’s back doors and says goodbye to Marguerite as she drives off in her orange VW Bug that her father restored for her. A pang of envy strikes.
“My father would never think of leaving me with something practical like a decent car,” I say, watching Marguerite’s rear lights fade away.
“Really?” Peyton asks in a stern tone. “Does Marguerite play the piano like Scott Joplin or Beethoven?”
“You’ve never heard me play, really. How do you know I can play like Beethoven? He was a genius.”
“While I was cleaning up, I texted your sister with a Where the fuck did your sister learn the piano? She’s drunk, by the way, out with people who are corrupting her—Imogene. The point is, she sent me a series of texts, very detailed, about you and your dad and all those piano lessons. And how you used to perform.”
“That was a long time ago. And I performed at school. I wasn’t Carnegie Hall caliber.”
“The point is he left you a legacy. It’s better than a car. He brought out your natural talent and nurtured it.”
“I don’t know why you’re angry at me, but if you want, we can skip tonight.”
“I’m not angry at you.” His tone softens. “We’ll unload this stuff at Swill, and then we’re going to my place.”
He waits for me to get in the van and start the engine before he gets in his truck and leads the way back to Swill. The restaurant is dark and closed up for the night.
Peyton takes me by the hand and sits me at the bar with a chilled bottle of mineral water. Then he carries every crate and piece of equipment into the kitchen, not letting me lift a finger. After everything has been removed from the van, I enter the kitchen.
“I can help,” I say, but Peyton is already organizing the dish crates and my pans on the shelving Bash designated for my supplies.
“I got it. I want to move some things down to the lower shelves so they’re easier for you to reach. Go relax at the bar. This won’t take long.”
I return to my lonely seat. The dining hall is dark and ominous without people.
I jump off my stool when the door behind the bar opens, displaying a shadowy figure.
“Talia, what are you doing here?” Bash asks, stepping into the dim light from the bar mirror.
I put my hand on my chest and laugh. “God, you scared me. We brought my supplies back. Peyton’s in the kitchen, messing with my stuff, and he ordered me to sit out here.”
“Ah …” Bash says with a smile.
Out of his chef’s clothing, he’s downright cute. Rugged and muscled in jeans and a T-shirt. A tattoo runs from the back of his neck and creeps down his arm in a spiral. I wonder if it’s a snake or something Native American, but I decide not to ask. It’s usually covered by his chef jacket, so it seems like something personal.
He scratches his buzz cut and chuckles. “You two have been pretty cozy lately. I was going to ask Peyton why he bolted out of here earlier after Harmony showed up, but now it makes sense. He wanted to see you.”
“Harmony?” Peyton didn’t mention anyone named Harmony.
“She’s an old friend from high school. I guess she heard about Swill and wanted to stop by and say hi.”
“Oh, well, Peyton … and me … it’s not like that. He came to help me since I was short-staffed.”
Bash fills a glass with water and drinks it all in a few gulps. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “He likes you. He’s been acting different. In a good way. You like him. Right?”
I do like Peyton, very much. I like everything about him, except his blind ambition. “We’ve become friends.”
Bash chuckles again. “Oh, really? That’s what you’re calling it? The guy flew out of here on our busiest night to help you. I can tell you two have a thing for each other. You don’t have to pretend.”
“It’s nothing serious.”
When Peyton enters the dining room and walks over to join us, my gaze follows him the entire way.
I hear Bash snort a laugh.
“How did tonight go?” Peyton asks him.
“Good. Greer is really great at bossing people around. She enjoys it.” Bash puts down his glass and looks at me, then Peyton. “How did it go with you two at the dinner party?”
Peyton smiles. “I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
“He was a little obnoxious,” I add.
“Not surprised,” Bash says.
“Ready to go?” Peyton asks, putting his hand on the back of my neck. He couldn’t be more transparent. I thought I made it very clear there would be no public displays of affection.
This is no time to complain. You want sex.
Sex with Peyton.
I stand up. “Goodnight,” I say to Bash without making eye contact.
“Have a good night, guys,” Bash says without any hint of teasing.
Outside, Peyton opens the door to my van.
“Sometimes you’re such a gentleman.”
“Sometimes? I’m sorry. I’ll step up my game.” He seems distracted.
I reach up and rest my palm against his cheek, feeling the ever-present two-day-old beard, the sexy scruff. His gray eyes search my face for a moment before he leans down and kisses me. His lips are soft but demanding, and I let him in. I wish all the women at Adam’s party could see how Peyton kisses me.
He chose me.
And then I feel silly for thinking that I’ve been singled out when it’s already been established that we’re having a short-term fling. I wish the kiss would change him and make him realize he’s already successful and that he could live in Hera and still expand his restaurant business.
I send Aleska a text so she will tell our mother that I’m not coming home tonight. Easier to have Aleska do it. We’re past the point of making up lies about my whereabouts. Aleska will say I’m with Peyton, and my mother will be fine with that, knowing I’m safe. And because sometimes you just need a man’s hands all over you. No one needs to hear that from their mother.
Aleska: Have fun with Peyton!
I follow Peyton to his home and park next to him. He opens my door and eagerly pulls me out by the hand.
“Hold on,” I say with a laugh.
“I’ve been holding on all night. I served tiny bites of food to women and men tonight, watching them plot on who’s going to jump who later. All I wanted to do was take the hot chef upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms. Knight,” he bites down on the name, “was scoping you out all night.”
“He was not. He had a date. A very beautiful date. She’s smart, successful, and hot.”
“He’s not into her,” Peyton says, leading me into his dark house.
“She hung on his arm all night. They sat next to each other at dinner. He talked to her more than anyone else.”
“She’s an imp
ortant business contact. He respects her, and maybe they’re friends, but he’s not interested in her, not even for a quickie.”
“How did you get all that? I didn’t see that at all.”
Peyton flicks on the hall light and leads me down to his bedroom. “I’m a guy. I can tell Knight isn’t the type to compromise his business relationship with a colleague or investor. Besides, it was clear there was no chemistry between them.”
“They talked all night. From the beginning of the party to the end.”
In his bedroom, Peyton slams the door shut and pushes me onto the bed. “They were talking about books and politics, and he was looking at you.”
“Oh,” I say softly.
Peyton positions himself on top of me with his weight on his arms and his legs between mine. His body heat and hardness positioned between my thighs send an electric shock through me, a tingling buzz that makes my skin hypersensitive to his touch. My nipples harden, and I want to rip my own clothes off.
“Oh is right. Your little plan of snagging a responsible, stable guy may be working,” he says with a hint of disdain.
He’s going to kill the mood.
“I don’t have a plan. I told you about my concerns because you and I started off as friends. And friends share, right? Oh no, are we becoming more than friends?” I joke, but I’m actually probing for a serious response.
“I like you.” His face is inches from mine.
I weave my fingers into his hair, but before I can say more, he muzzles me with a kiss. It’s tender, and he takes his time. Everything that felt urgent moments ago slows down, as if we’re testing our own willpower to keep this sensual kiss from exploding.
His lips on the sensitive part of my neck make my skin tingle, and soon all I want is to kiss him and know what it’s like to run my lips all over his body.
The arrogant, aggressive Peyton I’m used to claims my mouth gently but firmly. The way his tongue slowly navigates around my lips sets off moans I don’t bother trying to contain. I kiss him back, seeking more with both the kiss and my hands. Without breaking our kiss, all clothing is removed until it’s just skin against skin. I’ve never had this much pleasure from kissing any man.
I run my hands up and down the hard planes of his back and seek out any part of his skin I can reach. His hard cock is rubbing up and down between our bodies, so I reach for it. When I envelop his thick erection, Peyton moans into my mouth, low and guttural. I want to fill his need, to satisfy him until our hunger stops feeling like an addiction and my heart stops racing.
I break the kiss and push his chest hard so he flips onto his back. Then I straddle him as he looks up at me with wonder, panting.
My nipples are hard and my breasts feel heavy. He runs his palms over them and pinches the tight peaks, causing little tremors of pleasure in my body. I have his cock in my hand, and I want to put him inside of me to feed the tremors, but I also want to give him his gratification first. I slide down his body, greet his cock with my mouth, and stroke his balls at the same time.
“Jesus,” he groans, arching upward.
I take in as much of him as I can, sucking, licking, and stroking with my tongue, applying pressure until he moans repeatedly. His hands get tangled in my hair as he pushes himself against my mouth, jutting his hips upward. He’s almost thrashing, close to coming.
“Talia,” he rasps. “Get up. I’m going to come.”
“I can finish you off,” I say, stroking him as my tongue plays across the tip of his cock.
“No, I want to be inside you.” His eyelids are half-closed as he watches me pump him slowly with my hand.
With my tongue, I probe the slit in the engorged head of his impressive cock, so thick and long as it stands straight up. Peyton is about to lose control, and my body is aching for him.
I reach for a foil packet on the nightstand and quickly roll one onto his heavy length. Then I sit up on my knees and grab the headboard with one hand, using the other to guide his cock into me. I’m so wet and aroused that it’s effortless. I slide my body onto him and slam down hard until he fills me completely.
“Yes,” he hisses, gripping both of my butt cheeks as I begin to thrust against him.
Up and down on my knees, I’ve lost the tempo. It’s just out-of-control fucking at this point. I need both hands on the headboard to keep steady and upright as I gyrate my hips.
I listen to Peyton groan with approval and feel like I’m about to lose my mind. His body stiffens, and the veins in his neck and chest stand out when he’s on the verge of coming, so I touch myself, two fingers on either side of his cock that slide against my sensitive folds and clit. He watches me, and as I increase the tempo for my own pleasure, Peyton comes. He comes hard, his cock erect long enough for me to build up to my own sweet, delirious orgasm.
I use the headboard again for support to grind against him and wring out every last ounce of ecstasy. A shudder vibrates through my whole body when the orgasm subsides.
“Jesus,” Peyton says breathlessly with his hands on my thighs. He’s still fully erect. His cock is just as hard as when we started, and I’m still aroused, completely turned on and wanting more.
I take his hands and slide them up to my breasts. He begins to massage them, rubbing my nipples. Then I drop my hands to his chest where I brace myself and begin another slow dance on his hard cock. I close my eyes and thrust against him, enjoying the sensation. Soon, I feel him slip his finger into me and rub my clit to another exquisite buildup. I yell out when it explodes into another orgasm, shattering my ability to stay upright. Peyton catches me and rolls on his side with me in his arms.
I’m perfectly comfortable in his bed and ready to sleep when I feel Peyton kiss my cheek. Then the bed sags as I feel his weight shifting to the side. Is he leaving me already? I think dreamily, then remember it’s his home. Where would he go? Sleep is pulling at me. My limbs are sore from working on my feet all day and night. But the cold emptiness filling the space next to me is stronger.
Pushing away the urge to give in to my fatigue, I open my eyes to find the hulking, dark form of Peyton on the other side of the bed. His broad back is to me, head hanging down. I reach out to touch him, but the space between us is too far, so I scoot over, dragging all the tangled sheets with me.
“Peyton.” I caress his lower back. “What are you doing?”
His breathing is barely audible.
“Peyton?”
He takes a breath and exhales. “When I found out, there was only one person who came to mind,” he says with his back still to me. “One person I had to tell. That’s why I went to Adam’s house. To tell you.”
“Tell me what?” I place my hand flat against the middle of his back.
“I have a son.” He turns around, but even with the moonlight coming through the window, he’s nothing but a shadow.
“A son?”
He climbs into bed next to me and pulls up the sheets to cover us both. His eyes meet mine, and I recognize that look when you wonder if the person you’re with is going to be repelled by your new information. It happened with Marko.
This is the moment, Peyton’s way of answering my earlier question of whether or not we’ve become more than friends. But now I know unequivocally that the answer is yes.
He moves his face closer to mine, and I can make out all the details in his features—the sculpted edges roughened with unshaven scruff, the gray eyes that contrast with his dark hair and sharp brows so they sometimes shimmer like silver. I’ve spent enough time admiring his face when he’s not looking. His beauty aside, I see him clearly, and even if it hasn’t been spoken, there is affection for me in his eyes.
“Tell me everything,” I say, imagining a baby or toddler version of Peyton, perhaps somewhere in Brooklyn.
“A friend from high school came by the restaurant this afternoon. We never went out; she was never a girlfriend. We hooked up one night after a party, though. She got pregnant.” He sighs and closes his eyes for a mom
ent.
“You’ve been a father all these years? Why haven’t I ever seen your son? When do you see him?”
“No, you don’t understand. I found out today. He’s nine years old.”
“How did you not know about him?”
“When Harmony—she’s the mother—when she found out she was pregnant, she didn’t tell me, or anyone … that I know of. From what she told me today, it was her dad’s decision. He didn’t want me involved, so he basically held it over her head. He was very wealthy and could give her and the baby everything they needed.”
“Except a dad,” I say, angry on Peyton’s behalf.
“I think her dad was willing to take that risk to prevent his daughter and grandson from something worse, like me—a teenage husband and father. Not that we would have gotten married. They moved to Seattle and I never heard from her again. Until today. Her father passed away recently, and she moved to the area. Westchester, actually. She came to see me, expressly in the interest of … of my kid. So he can meet me and have a father.”
“That’s good.” I kiss him on the mouth.
He looks stunned, at the news of his son, not from my kiss.
I kiss him again. “It’s good, Peyton,” I say with a shaky smile.
He chuckles nervously. “Jesus. I’m trying to wrap my head around this. I’m trying to remember every detail … if I had any inkling that she was pregnant. I was another self-absorbed, seventeen-year-old kid who was in the middle of college tours. I didn’t know a one-time hookup turned into a baby. God, I have a nine-year-old.”
I pop my eyes wide with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
He smiles for real this time. “His name is Finn.”
It’s heartbreaking to see his face when he says his son’s name, but this also means I got ahead of myself thinking our friendship could blossom into more. Another woman has come back into Peyton’s life, and she’s the mother of his child. She and Peyton may have a second chance.
“Finn is a lovely name.”
“Harmony is bringing him to the restaurant tomorrow—today—to meet me.”