“So, can we get away next weekend to Napa, just the two of us?”
Snuggling close, I tell him, “I think I would like that as long as we make it back to the Arnaults’ in Hillsboro for dinner Sunday night.”
He kisses the top of my head.
I feel comfortable. Happy. Loved. I'm not perfect, but I'd follow him into Hell if that's what it took to keep him safe. I’m his protector as he is mine, one to shield the other. Not a single soul or our jobs comes before him. I'll stay with him as he stays with me, trust in him as he trusts in me, and together we'll ride through every storm, waiting to see what the new dawn may bring.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Dillon
We work apart for the week, spend our evenings together. I secretly make plans for our weekend in Napa.
I pick her up at her bungalow after work, where she emerges in tight jeans, a clingy red sweater, a black leather jacket that hugs her curves, and high-heeled black leather boots. Holding an overnight bag in one hand and a garment bag in the other, she’s ready to go.
My palms are sweating. I’m nervous for our weekend. So much is riding on how everything goes.
We watch the sun set over the Golden Gate Bridge as we drive up the 101 to Napa, the beautiful orange sun dropping over the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
I reach for her hand and say, “Thank you for coming with me this weekend.”
She smiles at me. “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”
As nervous as I’ve been for our weekend away, I feel a calmness from her touch. I hope we have a fun weekend.
When we arrive at the Spanish-style hotel, the valets are quick to meet us and help us unload the car. The property surrounding the hotel is covered in acres of grapes, paired with a beautiful cacophony of color from the blooms on the rose bushes at the end of each row. Each hotel suite is a bungalow surrounded by green grass and flower beds with fragrant lavender bushes in full purple blooms.
We’re handed glasses of champagne as we check in, and the bellmen prepares to escort us to our rooms. As we walk through the courtyards, he points out the restaurants, spa, pools, workout rooms, yoga studio, and business center. I’ll never remember what’s where, but I don’t think many of those locations are on our agenda this weekend. Honestly, I hope we spend most of the time in our room.
When we arrive at our suite, the bellmen gives us a tour. I don’t hear a thing they say after they point out the fire burning in the fireplace. I see the bottle of California sparkling wine and bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries I ordered next to the fireplace. The plush rug and big pillows nearby are perfect for fireside lovemaking. The bellman realizes he’s lost our attention and quickly leaves.
I turn to look at Emerson and see the awe on her face. Every time I see her, she’s even more beautiful. The golden glow of the fire only heightens her exquisiteness. My cock, which has been hard for hours, is anxious for some play. “There’s a Jacuzzi tub. Would you like to join me for a bath?”
She nods and begins taking her clothes off. I can’t wait, crossing the room in two broad steps and kissing her senseless. Pulling back, she removes her boots, socks, and jeans, leaving her in a sweater and very sexy black panties. She slides her arms around my neck and flattens herself against my front before tilting her head up and capturing my lips. She takes every bit of what I’m giving and meets me with a hot passion that leaves me needy.
Leaning forward, I brush my nose along hers, wanting to take things slow, and yet not. Moving down and pressing my mouth and nose to her sex, breathing in deeply and then glancing up at Emerson as she stiffens. Her eyes close as I flick my tongue over her panty-covered mound.
“God,” she groans and pushes my head away. “Too much.”
I take her wrist in my hand and lick along the inside of her thigh. “Not nearly enough. Relax and let me taste you.”
She’s almost shaking by the time I tug her sexy panties off. I splay my fingers over her stomach as I push her sweater up. Her nipples are hard and wanting as they strain against her bra, and she arches her back into me as I play with the hard nubs. Trapping my hand against her breast, she opens her legs as she beckons me to enjoy her wet slit.
She tastes like honey, and I lap up everything she offers. My fingers probe her tight channel as I lick and taste, her muscles grasping and holding me inside. I hum to cause a slight vibration and she moans out her pleasure, filling my mouth with more of her sweet honey.
She’s the whole deal, the perfect woman as far as I’m concerned. It’s scary to think that something so close to perfection is in my grasp, and yet there’s a high chance I could very well fuck it all up this weekend.
I lead her to the tub, which smells of lavender, and quickly undress so we can climb in together, sitting opposite of each other. Mirrors cover the walls around us, and it’s very erotic. Her nipples peek at me from the water as she starts the jets, and I take her foot in my hands, massaging one and then the other. She leans back and moans, making my cock hard as a baseball bat, peeking out of the water.
Opening her eyes, she sees it waving at her and smiles. “I think our friend is looking for some attention.”
I lift my hips and she bends over, taking my cock deep into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the hard, bulbous head while stroking my balls. She swallows me deep in her mouth, going up and down while looking right at me. I watch, enraptured, feeling her tongue flatten so she can take more of my length deep into her throat. When she pulls up, she flicks at the tip. What an incredible sensation.
One hand cups my balls and plays with them while the other holds my cock steady at the base as she moves it in and out of her delicate mouth. She works me slowly and the fire spreads through my veins—pure, hot, unadulterated lust. God help me, I want her. I won’t let myself come in her mouth. It’s too early in my plans for the evening.
When we exit the tub, I grab a plush white towel and dry her, and she does the same to me. I caress her warm, soft skin as I spoon her by the fire. I whisper in her ear, “I love you, Emerson. I always have, and I always will.”
Rolling over to look at me, she says without hesitation, “I love you, Dillon. I always have and always will.”
My cock is poking at the apex of her thighs. I roll her on her back, my fingers finding her wet slit. She’s wet and ready for me. Lifting her hips up to meet mine, there’s a look of need on her face, and I know she’s ready. I slide my cock into her slowly, leaning down on my forearms so I can be close to her face, which I intend to cover in kisses.
Warm inside her, our bodies combined, I whisper, “I love you.”
I slowly move through her, never wanting to leave. Her pussy hugs my cock perfectly, and with every drive inside her, I want to come. But I ride it out, looking into her eyes and moving slowly, a major tease for us both. I get harder and start slamming my cock into her methodically as her face burns with desire.
We spend long stretches of time in bed feeling each other’s skin, running our hands over every inch of the other’s body, memorizing curves, lines, and angles. We make love again, and then we fall asleep. We somehow manage to order in room service, which we leisurely enjoy before turning back to each other once again. It’s an evening and early morning of love, sex, and sleep, with maybe a little food and a lot of Emerson.
A lot of naked Emerson.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Dillon
Stretching in bed as the sun rises, I’m comforted by how good Emerson feels in my arms. I want her with me always.
Ordering breakfast in, we enjoy a slow and relaxing morning. My next surprise to our weekend begins when there’s a knock at our door. Two masseurs come into our suite and set up their tables next to each other by the fire. They light candles with a seductive vanilla and lavender scent, and we enjoy our ninety-minute couples massage.
After they leave, we’re relaxed and enjoying our time together. We make love again, slow and sensual, each stroke pulling out another level of
pleasure until I’m sure I’ll pass out. I’ve never been as happy.
When we dress for dinner, my eyes move down her taut back to the curve of her ass, memorizing her sexiness and trying to talk myself out of reaching out and doing something that would surely prevent the evening I’ve planned.
I’ve ordered the hotel’s car service, wanting to look at her every moment I can. I don’t want to miss anything. As Emerson crosses the hotel lobby and enters the car, I see she’s captured the eye of every man in the vicinity. She’s stunning with her long legs, stiletto sandals, and emerald-green shift dress that hugs every curve, straining across her chest. Her hair is curled and piled high on her head, soft tendrils strategically falling around her face. She has a glow of happiness and contentment. She isn’t just beautiful, she’s stunning.
Giving me a million-dollar smile, she asks, “Where are we going?”
Smiling back, I reach for her hand, intertwining our fingers and squeezing gently. Bringing her hand to my mouth, I softly kiss it as she rests her head on my shoulder.
I’ve used my connections to get us a table at The French Laundry, a Michelin three-star restaurant. It’s considered by some to be the best in all of North and South America. I’ve only been here one other time, and it was probably the greatest meal I’ve ever had. It’s a destination restaurant for fine French cuisine in the Napa Valley, located in a rustic two-story stone cottage with a quaint courtyard.
We have the eight o’clock seating and will enjoy the tasting menu. As we walk in, we’re greeted by the host, dressed in a well-tailored coat and tie, by name. “Monsieur Healy and Mademoiselle Winthrop. Welcome to The French Laundry.” Walking us to our table in the quiet restaurant, which is immaculate in design and filled with exquisite smells of spices and fine aromas, he seats us in a high-back booth so we’re able to sit next to rather than across from one another. Much more intimate. “Phillipe will be your lead server, with Ramone and Francesca supporting him this evening, and Jennifer, our sommelier, will be with you shortly. May I offer you a bottle of sparkling water?”
My fingers are on her thigh as I run small circles around it, inching higher and higher up her leg. “Yes, please.”
As we sit together in the restaurant, I let my eyes move down the thickness of her bottom lip, remembering how good it feels pressed against mine. She tastes like passion and feels like heaven.
The tasting menu comes as an eight-course meal, each only a little bit more than a taste, and I’ve preordered wine paired with each one. It’s a different half glass for each of us, so we can remember our dinner. The ambiance is romantic, with a slight tinkle of piano keys that can be heard through the auspiciously placed speakers and the low lighting adding to the intimacy of a romantic dinner.
The raw oyster starter arrives with two delicious oysters on a half shell sprinkled with white sturgeon caviar. The sommelier places a cold half glass of 2015 Bevan Cellars Sauvignon Blanc before each of us, and we toast. “To us,” I say. We tip the small oysters into our mouths, tasting almost like pure butter as it slips down my throat. Emerson closes her eyes and gives the most delicious moan, which is extremely arousing.
We talk about how the first two presentations have gone well and the confidence we have in securing them without issue.
“I wonder how Perkins Klein is doing with the other four companies,” Emerson says.
“I almost feel bad that we have our team running circles to deceive them.”
“Me, too.”
The waitstaff soundlessly arrive delivering the second course: a duck foie gras soup paired with the 2011 Epoch Estate Wines Syrah. I love watching her enjoy the soup. When a small drip hits her chin, I want to lean over and lick it off.
She smiles at me as she wipes her chin. “This is delicious. I can taste layers of the soup--the duck foie gras, butter, a jolt of cognac-kissed smoothness.” Breathing in deeply, she continues, “There’s a pungent, earthy silkiness. This is magnificent. I’ve never had anything like it before. It’s rich, and absolutely divine!”
Phillipe asks if we’ve enjoyed the second course, and I joke, “It was terrible, as you can see. We’ve literally licked the bowls.”
Emerson and I talk about her friends. I’m surprised Greer works in marketing for a start-up that recently has a lot of buzz as it’s been announced that it’ll be acquired by Microsoft.
“Why didn’t I know she was working for them?”
She shrugs. “I guess she never mentioned it when you were around. She’s had some great stories of how they’ve been behaving and all the trouble she’s bailed them out of. She’s a little bit disappointed to be out of a job, but she has a significant interest in the company and will take some time off before she looks for other work.”
“Given she worked for that company, we may have a client who can use her. Would you mind working with her professionally?”
“Absolutely not! I think she’s a marketing genius, and we would be lucky if she were part of some of our investments.”
The third course arrives with a beautiful 2005 Peter Michael Winery Chardonnay along with what’s called the Mediterranean John Dory. It’s a light, firm, and flaky white fish that is delicate on the palate.
“The fish essentially melts in your mouth as you eat. It’s gorgeous on the plate, and taking a bite is like destroying art, but the wonderful smell wafting from the plate makes it difficult to resist.
Every course improves over the last. How is it possible?”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
She nods as she savors every bite like it’s her last. “Definitely.”
“You impressed my family when you met them at the wake and funeral, so we’re even.”
“I very much doubt they remember me beyond being one of the partners in your firm.”
“You know, when Celeste was starting her craziness, my mom asked about you. Did you tell her I stayed in your room at the Townsend?”
“Goodness, no! She’s a good Catholic. I know better.”
“Somehow she knew. She likes you.”
“Well, that’s good. We’ll have to make a trip out to visit your mom soon.”
“I’ve promised my sister and mom that I’d come scatter my dad’s ashes later this summer. We want to go on a boat to Mackinac Island. Will you come with me?”
“Of course, but that’s a very intimate activity. Are you sure you want me to join you? It’s such a private moment.”
“I have no doubt that I want you with me. I can’t imagine doing anything without you at my side.”
She leans in and kisses me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
As we sit in silence, holding hands, the fourth course is served with the Honig Winery’s Sauvignon Blanc. Plated in front of us is a beautiful plump lobster half-tail sautéed with chili flakes and placed on a bed of watercress with a hint of lemon. Moaning while enjoying the delicious course, Emerson says, “It’s fresh, vibrant, and crunchy, with enough spicy zing to wake us up.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had lobster served like this. Have you?”
“Amazing,” she agrees.
As they clear the course, she carefully asks, “Have you heard anything from Adam?”
I shake my head. “No. Have you?”
“Oh God no!” After a few seconds of silence, she asks, “It occurred to me that he might have shared the videos he made with others. Do we know anything about that?”
“According to the black hat, he did share them with the one other guy, but we don’t know their connection. We believe he was his partner and possible drug dealer, so we’ve also gone after him the same way we did Adam.” Stroking her arm, I look at her intently. “We don’t think the video exists anywhere else.”
“Have I told you recently how much I love you?”
“You can tell me that all day, every day if you’d like.”
Smiling, she says, “I think I’ll do that.”
The fifth course a
rrives, the truffle selection which includes a generous serving of white truffles grated over risotto, paired with the 2013 J. Wilkes Santa Maria Valley Pinot Noir. Emerson continues to groan and enjoy our meal. “Wow! This risotto is nothing like I’ve ever tasted. Such a wild array of textures: an airy crunch at the edges, and the softer grain of the rice with rolling bubbles of flavor populated by the truffles, creating pockets of perfection skittering across the surface.”
I laugh. “You should be a food critic.”
She shakes her head. “I would be huge. But honestly, this has been the best meal I’ve ever had. Thank you for making this special.”
My heart warms at her endearment. “It’s only special because we’re here together.”
Leaning in, she kisses me deeply. Our lips part and our tongues dance a soft romantic ballet.
I want to know everything about her, all of her hopes and dreams. “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?” I ask her.
“Wow! That’s a tough question. I’d like to explore so many places. I think there’s something on every continent that I want to one day see and do. What about you?”
“I’d love to explore where my dad is from in Ireland. We went when we were kids, but I hardly remember it. I want to go see the polar bears in the wild in the Arctic Circle. I want to take a boat down the Amazon. I guess I also have a long list of things I want to do on every continent.”
“You’re a romantic at heart you, know.” I nod at her and she asks, “Would you ever do any of those things alone?”
“I think I’ve been waiting for someone to join me who wants to do those things as much as I do.”
She holds my hand and we snuggle in close to one another. It all just feels right.
We have three more courses to go and now are ready for the two meat courses. Starting the sixth course, they place a natural-fed veal alongside Yukon Gold potatoes, baby red beets, Brussels sprouts, horseradish créme fraîche, and a sauce borscht, paired with the 1999 Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon.
Forbidden Love (Venture Capitalist Book 1) Page 19