by Kenzie Reed
He looks me straight in the eye. “Yes,” he says, his voice pained
“What?” I push him off me and halfway sit up, staring at him in shock.
He shakes his head, grimacing. “Not bad secrets. Just… I care enough about you to be honest, so if you ask me something, I’m going to tell you the truth. Always, even if it’s not what you want to hear. I am not planning anything evil. I would never do anything to hurt you, or your family. I don’t have any devious plans. I just… There’s some stuff I can’t tell you, okay?”
My insides squeeze, and I hug myself, as if my arms could shield me. “Not really.”
“Sienna. To be fair, you won’t even tell me what’s happening with your family business. I…have feelings for you. Very strong feelings. Feelings that might even begin with the L-word. And I swear to you all I want is for you to succeed at whatever you want, and be happy. Can that please be enough?”
A smart woman would say no. But there are different kinds of smart. And when it comes to love, and desire, and Donovan, I’m all kinds of stupid.
“For now,” I whisper. “Look, I’m sorry I asked anything. No more talking. Just shut up and kiss me until I can’t think anymore.”
Chapter Seventeen
DONOVAN
I clear my throat awkwardly. “I, uh, noticed you’re on the pill. I saw them on the bathroom counter. I haven’t been with anyone in quite a while, and I was tested a couple of months ago so…no cooties. Sorry, that’s not particularly seductive, I know.”
She laughs, a tinkly sound. “Being cootie-free is very seductive. I have also been tested. And now, seriously. No more talking.”
I’m more than happy to comply.
The way she responds to me is a revelation. An epiphany. A high. Her lips part on a sigh and she opens to me, allowing me to kiss her slowly and deeply. Her tongue dances languidly with mine, and I tangle my fingers in her silky black curls as I wrap my arm around her waist to pull her closer.
She gives a little moan and kind of melts into my arms, pliant and yielding, and the moment of trust and surrender makes me so hard it hurts. My heart gives a fierce, painful throb, and I have to bite back my own hungry groan.
Her hand creeps up to my chest, and she spreads her palm over my heart, tickling the dusting of fine hair on my skin. Suddenly I’m desperate to touch her too. I want to test and taste, stroking and caressing. I want to search out her sweet spots, find out what makes her tick…and what makes her explode. I’ve waited a long time to explore her body, and now I finally have the chance, I’m going to learn everything about what she likes. What she wants me to do to her.
And I’m not going to do it on the cold kitchen floor, where Ducktape has scattered some of his duck treats during a minor spat with Aceto. Not when I can lay her back on a soft mattress and sample her body like a wine – using all my senses, drinking in her scent and her flavor, searching out the base notes and top notes and grace notes that make her so intoxicating.
I’m going to do this properly. Slowly and thoroughly. I’m going to do it right.
That’s my intention, anyway.
As I pull back, she whimpers and reaches for me, and I haul her into my arms, unwilling to keep my hands off her body even for the brief moments it will take to reach the bedroom. Her breathing is rapid and her lips already swollen from my kisses. She’s still fully dressed, but I can see her nipples beading to little points of arousal underneath her sweater, and I know that when I peel off her panties she’ll be wet and ready for me.
The thought is so arousing that I curse out loud and almost stumble, but manage to turn it into a swing towards the bed, tossing her onto the mattress and scrambling to join her as she yanks her top over her head, revealing a plain white cotton bra that is somehow the most breathtakingly X-rated piece of underwear I’ve ever seen.
I want to take it slow and easy, want to explore her body with lazy touches, but I’m desperate to be inside her. I yearn for her – I always have. I ache.
And I know she feels the same way, because her laughter at her own haste as she wriggles out of her clothes turns into an urgent, ravenous moan as soon as my lips touch hers again.
There isn’t time for slow and easy. We want each other too intensely. All we can do is feel. Every glance, every gasp and moan, every caress is like a sensual blow.
Her skin is smooth and soft, a pale golden color that makes me think of the warmth of the sun against my flesh. And between her thighs, as I explore her moist sex with my fingers, it’s slick and hot to the touch. She gasps and arches against my hand, and my middle finger slips inside her. As foreplay goes, it’s so fast it’s almost like I’m a high-schooler again, knocked senseless and made clumsy by my desire for her every time I see her. But I can feel how ready she is for me. And I’ve waited so long to touch her this way. And I just can’t wait any longer.
As I move on top of her, she eagerly parts her thighs, squirming against me as I position the head of my throbbing cock against her. She runs her fingers down my back, on either side of my spine, scratching lightly with her fingernails, and as her hands come to rest on my ass, I surge inside her in a single smooth thrust. I’m rewarded with a low exclamation of pleasure, and I hear the sound echoed by my own voice. It feels so good, and yet at the same time it’s not enough – never enough.
She wraps her legs around my hips, urging me inside her, and I bury my face against the sweet-smelling flesh of her throat as I thrust inside her, clinging desperately to the last scraps and threads of my control. She rolls her hips to meet me, and I can feel her trembling underneath me as the first tremors of orgasm shudder through her. She tenses her thighs and arches towards me, breathy moans becoming raw and urgent and wild as the shocks rock her and she spasms around me.
I’m lost. I’m so lost. All I can do is let go, finding release inside her body and meeting her breathy cries of completion with my own ragged, helpless moan. It feels like I come forever, rocking inside her sweetly pulsing body and gasping for air, limbs trembling and heart beating out of my chest.
I’m enough of a gentleman to roll onto my back, pulling her with me to nestle against my chest, rather than collapsing on top of her in an ungainly heap. But it’s a close-run thing. I’m utterly spent and wrung out. She wriggles against me, finding a more comfortable position. And there’s a weird feeling in my chest, at once new and yet utterly familiar and right. It’s something I’ve chased all my life, pursuing awards and titles and scholarships and deals, and never before managed to catch hold of: This is good. This is right. This is enough.
Chapter Eighteen
DONOVAN
Last night wasn’t a dream.
Sienna Ribaldi – I mean Sienna Witlocke – is lying in my arms. A steady patter of rain drums on the roof. Beside me, my wife is stirring sleepily.
“Morning, beautiful.” I kiss her on the top of her head.
She yawns hugely and stretches. “You’re just saying that because it’s true.”
“I think honesty is important in a marriage, don’t you?” I echo her yawn and stretch, working the kinks out of my back. Then I glance out the window. “It’s a training day, but it’s raining. You can go into the gym in town and use a day pass. If you want to do it in the afternoon, I can join you.”
She sits up and peers at the misty gray landscape beyond the rain-streaked panes. “A day off wouldn’t kill me.”
“Sorry. It’s not allowed unless you’re injured.”
Sienna grumbles and elbows me in the ribs. “I hate you, and I faked all my orgasms.”
I snort. “Bullshit. You’re not that good an actress.”
“Rude. Okay, I did not fake my orgasms. I fifty percent am in hate with you right now, though.”
“That means you fifty percent don’t hate me. I’ll take it.” I look around. There is no devil-cat sentinel in sight. “Where’s Aceto?”
“Probably on the porch with Ducktape. Are you actually worried about him?”
“No,” I scoff. Okay,
maybe a little. Only because if anything happened to the moody old bastard, it would upset Sienna.
Sienna climbs out of bed, and I slide out on my side. “I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Oh, I’ve got it. I’m the official kitchen witch.” She heads to the kitchen, and I follow her.
We jostle over who’s cooking what for whom. I insist on making myself a protein shake, and she makes the coffee, scrambled eggs, and bacon. I have her make my eggs with just the whites, and I skip the bacon. Gotta stay lean and mean.
We go sit at our new kitchen table. It’s farmhouse style, with a brown top and cream-colored legs, and a burlap table runner. Sienna’s filled a glass vase with wildflowers and set it out as décor. Our furniture is a marriage of our two different styles. And despite how different our tastes are, it actually works. It gives me hope.
I’m about to drink my coffee black, then I reconsider, and I grab Sienna’s little milk saucer and put in a little milk. It tastes so much better that way. Screw it, I’m allowing myself a tiny splash of milk in my coffee from now on. I work out like an Olympian, I’ve earned it.
“If I turn into Mr. Pudgy Dad-Bod, you’d still want me, right?” I say to Sienna.
“You know I would.” She grins at me. “Dad bods can be sexy.”
I think she actually means it.
After Sienna and I eat breakfast together, she calls Pamela to ask her about the office space in her building. I hear some muttered curses coming from Pamela, then Sienna hands me her phone.
To my surprise, Pamela doesn’t insult me. She’s cool and professional. She’s had interest in the office on the top floor of her building, from people who want to sign a year’s lease. I agree to pay her ten percent more than they’ve offered, and I’ll pay up front for an entire year. I know I have to go back to Los Angeles – I promised Graham, and as far as I know Sienna’s leaving as soon as the property deal is signed, but… I don’t know. I could sublet the property, or let Sienna have it, or…something. Things can change. They changed last night, didn’t they?
Pamela can have the office ready for me by Monday.
After a promising start, the day goes straight downhill. It’s been raining all day, which means Sienna and I are both stressed. Too much rain isn’t good for the vines. And the cloud cover means the satellite dish is wonky.
In the early afternoon, Graham and I have a videoconference meeting set up with Constantine, to address follow-up questions about our proposal. Two of his sons sit by his side and listen attentively. Constantine is a widower who’s raised his boys himself for the last fifteen years, and he’s a devoted family man.
As the video starts, he looks at me quizzically. A square-faced man with a streak of white through his dark hair, he has a fatherly air and he seems concerned. “Is everything all right with you these days, my friend? You seem distracted,” he says in his heavy accent.
“Everything is fine. I’m sorry if I gave the impression that I was distracted. I can assure you, you are my top priority.”
“If you say so.” His thick brows draw together. “As you know, another company is courting my business. I am not saying this to negotiate on price. What you and I have agreed on is reasonable. I just need you to understand that this machinery will be vital to my company, and if you do not have the time and energy to fully devote yourself to my product, you should let me know now.”
“I promise you, I have all the time and energy in the world for you. And I’m sorry about the technology issues we’ve been having which have been a bit of a distraction. I am relocating to a new building on Monday and I assure you, this won’t happen again.” He doesn’t know the details of why I’m not in the same room as Graham when we videoconference, but it’s hardly unusual these days, and he hasn’t asked so far.
“Well, I appreciate that. I bhzfhrszzz–” The sound cuts out and it’s all static.
My smile holds steady as I surreptitiously send Graham a frantic text:
I can’t hear him, I’ll just nod. You need to take over and talk for me.
As far as I can tell, the next couple of minutes go well, except at the end when Constantine seems to ask me a question and I have to point to my ear and shrug apologetically, signaling that I can’t hear him. We sign off, then my phone rings with a video call.
“What. The. Hell!” Graham shouts at me, face flushing red.
“Graham, I’m sorry. I am moving into the new office Monday, and our next meeting with him isn’t until Tuesday. I will be in town, where they have excellent internet and no ducks.” I hope to God they don’t have ducks.
“You promised everything would go fine,” he says accusingly.
“We haven’t had any major disasters.”
“Other than you acting so distracted that our most important ever client remarked on it, and also losing the sound halfway through our meeting? Not to forget, you attended the most important pitch meeting of our careers with mud on your face, because you decided to spend the day helping your fake wife playing in the dirt.”
I didn’t tell him what it really was. And as Sienna said, it might have been mud. Didn’t smell exactly like mud, but I like to think positive.
Graham takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes with his hands. I can see that he’s been chewing his nails until they’re ragged, which is what he does when he’s super-stressed.
“Graham. Is everything else okay? You getting enough sleep? Eating okay?”
He scowls. “Like it makes any damn difference to you?”
“It does,” I say quietly. “And you’re chewing your nails down to the nubs.”
His shoulders slump. “I shouldn’t snap at you. I’m sorry. It’s just that you know how much we have riding on this. We’ve turned down other very lucrative contracts because we’re expecting this deal to go through, our debt payments could buy a small island nation every single month…”
“Our finances are in good shape, and even if this deal didn’t go through, we’d be fine. And it will go through. Constantine knows that we are providing the best solutions at the best price, and our track record is impeccable. We have never had a single customer complaint, ever. Our references are solid platinum.”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound convinced. He starts chewing his thumb, catches himself, and drops his hand. He has circles under his eyes. Damn it. I’m doing this to him.
“All right, what can I tell you to make you feel better? Sing, dance, tell bad jokes?”
He manages a wry smile. “Well, there are some things that we–”
My phone bleeps with an incoming text message from my father. I check it and suck in a breath of alarm at what I see:
Emergency! Emergency! Come to the winery! Get over here ASAP.
“Graham, gotta go!”
His forehead wrinkles in concern. “But we haven’t–“
“Sorry!” I hang up and sprint from the house.
Is it a heart attack? My father’s been over-the-top stressed lately. Or an injury? There’s a lot of big heavy equipment at the winery. Accidents happen.
My heart hammering in my chest, I pull up in front of the winery in a spray of gravel. I don’t see any ambulances or police cars and I don’t hear sirens. People are walking around outside looking calm and happy.
I rush through the building, past employees who shoot curious looks at me.
“Where’re my parents?” I shout. Our events manager gives me a puzzled look and points in the direction of the office. I shoot past him, barrel across the room, and fling open the office door.
My father spins to face me, his eyes snapping with anger. “What took you so long?” he demands.
My mother is leaning on her desk. My sisters are standing across the room from them, watching them warily. Jamie has on some kind of weird headband with antennae, but other than that, everything looks normal.
“Nobody is gushing blood,” I say.
“You don’t need to sound so disappointed,” my mother huffs.
I pres
s my thumbs up against my temples as if I could crush the headache that threatens.
“What is the emergency?” I grit out.
“Talk to your sister,” my father says angrily. “She listens to you. Sometimes.”
“Which one?”
“Do you have to ask?” He glares and points at Jamie with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “The pain-in-the-ass one.”
Toni does not look grateful to be placed in the “good” category. “I think I’m needed up front,” she mutters. She scurries out of the room.
I feel bad for her. Whether they mean to or not, every family member gets forced into a role. Hers is “the good daughter”, and I don’t think that’s any easier than my role – “the ungrateful son we wish we hadn’t adopted” – or Jamie’s – “the rebel.”
Jamie walks over to me, arms folded across her chest. I can see now that the headband she’s wearing is one of those deely-bobber things – topped with little penises.
I snort. “Oh, come on.”
“Yep,” she says. “We’ve already established that the reason nobody treats me with any respect around here is because I lack certain equipment. Now look. I’ve got not one, but two.”
“Donovan!” my mother wails. “She’s been walking around the building like that. She’ll listen to you. Make her take it off!”
“Case in point,” Jamie says to my father. “You have not invited me to any of the test runs of the equipment. I had to invite myself. You have not allowed me to operate any of the equipment.”
“I told you I wanted her invited!” I say angrily.
“And I make the final decisions for this company. That equipment is dangerous,” my father protests. “Did the ‘crusher’ part of the crusher-destemmer escape you?” He glances at me. “It’s working beautifully, by the way. All of the equipment is. You do good work.”
A small, warm glow lights in my chest. A quiet, heavy moment hangs between us.
Then it’s shattered when Jamie spins on her heel and heads for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” my father demands.