by Hayes, Lane
“In vino veritas.”
Wes smiled as he pulled his shirt on. “ ‘In wine, truth,’ ” he translated. “Different context, but yes…truth. Are you going to tell me why you’re here, or do I have to break out a bottle of Pinot to get the real story?”
Wes’s wolfish grin spread slowly across his handsome face as he closed the distance between us. He tilted my chin with his forefinger and stared deep into my eyes as though he was trying to read my mind. Or devour me whole.
“You look like you want to eat me,” I said before I could stop myself.
“I do. I want to do lots of things to you. Is that why you’re here? You want me to eat you, Nicky?”
“You invited me.” My eyes drifted shut when he ran his fingers along my jaw then splayed his hand behind my head and tugged my hair.
“I did. I’m glad you’re here, but I’m surprised. You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“Well, we were in the middle of listing our all-time favorite bands or artists by decade. That’s not the kind of thing you can leave for a whole week. It’s important.”
“You’re right. What were we thinking?” He licked my bottom lip in a sensual line from one corner of my mouth to the other. “We’ll have to continue that discussion later. I want to do other things first.”
“Like what?” I rubbed the pad of my thumb over his left nipple tentatively and then did the same to the other. I gave myself a mental high five when his breath caught, but I was the one gasping for air when he grabbed my wrists, yanked them behind my back, and pulled me hard against his chest. I nearly fainted when he licked the shell of my ear. The combination of rough then soft made me light-headed with desire.
“All kinds of things. Dirty things. But first—” He bit my earlobe and whispered in a gravelly voice, “What’s your game, baby?”
“What game?”
My heart tripped over itself. Wes surrounded me, breathed me in and made me think he could read every nasty thought in my mind. I didn’t know what the game was. Hell if I knew my own name at the moment. He was in full command. The game was whatever he said it was. No more. No less.
He pushed me backward so I was perched on the edge of the table. Then he nudged my knees apart and stood between my open thighs. If the maneuver was a power play, it was well done. He towered over me from this position. I couldn’t understand why I didn’t shove him away and reset boundaries. I never gave anyone this kind of control. Never at work and certainly never in the bedroom. At least I hadn’t until last week when Wes climbed on top of me and rode me like a rogue cowboy. I gulped and licked my lips again.
Wes tilted my chin again with one hand and set his other one on my crotch. He palmed my hardening cock and gave me another one of those wicked grins that said, “I own you” loud and clear, though he didn’t say a word. I scoffed at the errant thought and reached for his belt buckle. I ran my fingers over his zipper, tracing the outline of his shaft. I held his stare when he cupped my balls and slipped his thumb into my mouth; I didn’t flinch, I didn’t beg, and I didn’t lick.
Wes laughed at my weak defiance and brushed his nose against mine. Then he licked my bottom lip and his thumb over and over until I sighed into his mouth and took over for him, sucking on the digit voraciously.
“You want something, don’t you, Nicky? You’ve been thinking of me. Admit it.”
I nodded.
“Good boy. Honesty is important. What have you been thinking about, exactly?”
I released his thumb with a pop and gave him a lascivious look, hoping to regain some semblance of control. “Your ass, your cock,” I replied smoothly.
Wes captured my face between his hands and thrust his tongue between my lips, devouring me in a toe-curling kiss. I flung my arms over his shoulders, loving the feel of his warm skin and the faint but heady scent of sweat, cologne and something uniquely Wes. I resurfaced feeling disoriented like I’d just stepped off a merry-go-round. I blinked when Wes inched back to unbuckle his belt and unzip his cargo shorts.
“Prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“Show me what you’ve been thinking. Don’t tell me. Show me.”
Was he serious? Apparently so. He raised one brow and let his shorts hit the floor before hooking his thumbs under the elastic of his black briefs.
“Uh. Maybe we should go somewhere else.”
Yes, I was stalling, but Wes was throwing me off my game, big time. I was dizzy with desire. He held his thick cock at the base and flashed a wicked smile at me before stroking himself languidly.
“Your friend, Finn, came by the winery earlier today and—”
“What?” I pushed his chest to no avail and scowled. That news flash should have acted like a bucket of cold water but Wes hadn’t stopped stroking his dick and mine ached for release behind my zipper. Whatever was happening between us was more powerful than sneaky business associates.
“He came alone. He thanked Geordie for opening his home last weekend and wanted to chitchat about some of the guests. Like you.”
“What about me?”
“I think he wanted to know if I’d met you. Or maybe he wanted to know if we’d fucked,” he purred before leaning in to bite my chin. “I wonder why.”
“I have no idea.”
“Me either. Last weekend was hot, but I’m beginning to think you’re here because you think I have something you want. Or need. What is it?”
“I don’t want anything. I—I came to see you.”
“Mmm. That’s sweet. I wish I believed you. But it’s all right. You’ll give yourself away eventually. I’m willing to wait you out. Until then, let’s pass the time in a mutually beneficial way.”
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. My brain was in danger of short-circuiting, which may have had something to do with a lack of blood flow. My zipper was either going to split to release some pressure on my aching cock, or I’d faint from oxygen deprivation.
“How?” I asked, reaching out to smear the precum over the head of his dick. I held his gaze as I licked my finger clean. Damn, he tasted good.
“On your knees, Nicky.”
I held his gaze for a long moment. I wasn’t sure how we got here. One minute we were discussing disco divas and the next I was in a wine cellar being forced to my knees. Well, not forced, but I liked my version. It was hot. And it went a long way toward dispelling any outside noise, like Finn’s impromptu visit to the winery.
I obeyed without hesitation, slipping to my knees on the cold floor. I studied the prominent veins on his shaft and the smooth mushroom head before closing my fist and stroking Wes in a tight grip. I pushed the fabric from his plaid shirt out of the way and then caressed his ass before running my fingers along his crack. I wanted it all. His ass, his cock, his balls. I didn’t know where to begin.
Wes did. He set his hand on the back of my head and tapped his rigid flesh against my lips. My body hummed with need as I glanced up to meet his gaze before twirling my tongue over his slit and licking him from base to tip. Then I sucked his balls, one at a time, while jacking him steadily.
“So good, baby. More.”
More was good, but I was so uncomfortable, I couldn’t concentrate. I inched back to undo my belt and zipper and released my cock from the confines of my jeans and boxer briefs. When I licked my palm and stroked myself, Wes hummed in approval and took over where I’d left off. We held eye contact like that for a full minute. Me on my knees on the cold cement floor, staring up at the hunky man wearing a plaid shirt, work boots, and nothing else. We didn’t know each other well, but here we were again.
The decadence of being somewhere we could get caught behaving badly was its own aphrodisiac. Sure, I’d sucked plenty of guys off, but kneeling at Wes’s feet implied a submissiveness that was foreign to me. Or maybe it was the fact that I liked it. A lot. I wanted to do whatever the hell he wanted me to. I couldn’t remember why I was here or how I ended up on my knees. I only knew I needed this.
&nbs
p; That was my last thought when I finally leaned forward and sucked him whole. Wes gasped but regained his balance quickly and was back in the driver’s seat, directing me to suck harder and faster. He demanded more and I gave it. I clutched at his ass, pulling his cheeks apart to graze my finger over his entrance. The slightest touch over the sensitive skin worked like a switch. Wes bucked his hips wildly, fucking my mouth with abandon as he yanked my hair and spurred me on with a stream of nasty commands.
I pumped my fist and bobbed my head double-time. I was lost in a sensual haze, keeping perfect rhythm with my lover. I felt the familiar tingle at the base of my spine and knew I was done for. I froze when my orgasm slammed into me. Then I sat back on my heels as cum shot over my fingers. I heard someone cry out, but I couldn’t be sure if it was him or me. Wes sank to his knees a moment later and buried his face in my neck to muffle the sound of his roar when his release hit a moment later.
We held on to each other in a crumpled mess on the floor as our breathing slowly returned to normal. I gently pushed at Wes’s shoulder and gestured toward the door.
“It’s closed. No one will bother us.”
“Is this just a regular day at the winery?”
“If you’re asking if I make a habit of getting sucked off in the reserve room, the answer is no. This is a first.”
“So, you’ve never had sex in here?”
Wes snorted. “No. I don’t usually have a problem keeping my dick in my pants. It must be you.”
“Aw, I’m touched.” I leaned in to plant a chaste kiss on his mouth before steadying myself on his shoulder to stand. I forgot my feet were tangled in my jeans and shoes. I fell backward with a yelp when my bare ass hit the cement a moment later. “Fuck, that’s cold.”
I glowered at Wes, who chuckled as he moved to cover me. The feel of his spent dick against mine made being half naked on the ground worth a little discomfort. He swayed his hips enticingly then bent to nibble my jaw and my chin before sliding his tongue between my lips. His kiss was fiery, possessive, and demanding. I draped my arms over his shoulders and lifted my hips, wordlessly requesting him to flatten his body and envelop me with his heat as his tongue glided and twirled with mine in an ancient dance. The cold floor suddenly seemed like warm sand on a beautiful beach. I never wanted to move again.
Wes broke for air and shifted to balance his weight on his hands like he was doing a push-up over me. “Get up, bad boy. Let’s get busy.”
“What kind of busy?” I purred, squeezing his ass.
“Not that kind. Yet.” Wes kissed me quickly then hopped gracefully to his feet. He stooped to gather his shorts and re-dress, eyeing me with humor as I pretended to make myself comfortable while I watched him button his shirt.
“I thought you said you were going to make me your sex slave until I told you my secrets. You might not have said it out loud, but I suspect you brought me here to tie me up and hold me against my will.”
Wes threw his head back and laughed. The crinkled lines of time at the corner of his eyes added another dimension to his amusement, making it impossible not to join in.
“I like the way you think, Nicky. Stand up.” He waited for me to obey then reached down to pull up my boxer briefs and jeans. He kneaded my ass then smacked both cheeks before stepping backward with a sly grin. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up before we get to work.”
“Work?”
“Yeah. This place doesn’t run itself and since you didn’t tell me you were coming”—he grabbed my crotch and winked—“I don’t have anyone to cover for me.”
“That’s okay. I’ll get something to eat and come back later when—”
“No. You’re mine now. My sex slave, as you so eloquently put it. I’m keeping you ’til tomorrow. At my side. All day, all night. Like I said, I know you’re up to something. I’m willing to play…for a price. But if you stay, we’re playing my way.”
I watched his retreating back with a mixture of wonder and a whole lot of need. I was turned on, upside down, and inside out. It took a second for me to remember what I was supposedly up to. Finn, Eric, the Byzantine deal…they hardly mattered anymore. If being bad meant I was attached to Wes’s side for twenty-four hours, sign me up.
We snuck out of the reserve room and exited the building through a partially hidden side door. Then we headed down a trail that ran parallel to the vineyard, bypassing a tour group along the way. Wes pointed out a few of the varietals of vines and talked excitedly about the harvest.
I listened with half an ear as I took in the majesty of the rolling hills against the brilliant blue sky. I liked the cadence of his voice and his easygoing mannerisms. Just being near him relaxed me and made it hard to believe he’d ever been in the tech business, let alone been a pioneer during the Wild West dot-com era. The stories of ruthless cutthroats hoping to turn a quick profit before their clients realized they’d been sold a bill of goods were legendary. Those who’d survived the crash did so with quality products, vision, and the smarts to hire young innovative thinkers. The rest were long gone. And in many cases, so was the money they’d made.
“…and the vats have to be cleaned multiple times so—”
“What are all those people doing out there?” I gestured toward the white tents erected in the distance and the swarms of people racing around them.
“They’re harvesting. We’re in the final weeks of the season. Most of those people are interns. They pull the last of the grapes from the vines, sort through them, and bring them to the fermentation room. They work twelve-plus-hour shifts to get every last grape off the vine. We’ll stay out of the way for now. Margaret had to pull some of our regular staff from the tasting room and guest areas to help out, which means Geordie is understaffed.” He gave me a wicked grin as he pushed open the door leading from the herb garden to his office. “So you and I are going to pour wine.”
I yanked my Ray Bans off my nose and stopped in my tracks. “Excuse me?”
“Chop-chop, Nicky. Let’s clean that jizz off your jeans, find you a new T-shirt, and get to work.”
* * *
The tasting room was buzzing. Wes moved behind the bar, greeting his employees and introducing me to anyone we bumped into who wasn’t serving a customer. They all looked to be in their twenties, and from the bits of conversation I overheard, they were serious aficionados. These people knew their shit. They threw out words like buttery, crisp, oak, and berry to describe the tiniest thimble-sized taste of wine they poured for the awe-struck tourists bellied up to the bar three people deep.
I looked down at the black T-shirt with the Conrad Winery logo Wes had insisted I change into. It fit like a glove, lovingly hugging my biceps and pecs. And if I was brutally honest, Wes’s double take appealed to my vanity. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this aware of how another man saw me. I knew I was considered good-looking, and I wasn’t above using perception to further my cause, sexually or professionally. But in a normal everyday setting, I rarely stopped to check my reflection. Looks meant next to nothing to a guy who spent the bulk of his day in a lab. Brainpower was the only thing that truly mattered. I got by just fine pairing jeans or plain trousers with the designer oxford shirts the personal shopper Eric insisted we hire put in my closet.
The thing was, I’d never worn a uniform in my life. Suit and tie, yes. But not a shirt like this one. This wasn’t a plain black tee. This was a symbol of knowledge I didn’t possess. It was like wearing a chef’s hat into a diner and being immediately escorted into the kitchen to whip up hamburgers for a hungry crowd when you didn’t know one end of a spatula from the other. It was fraud. False advertisement. And for someone who shamelessly got off on being a know-it-all, it was fucking hell.
“Why am I dressed like this?” I hissed in Wes’s ear. “I can’t do this. I don’t know how to pour wine.”
Wes cocked his head and gave me a quizzical look. “Of course you do. You’ve probably done it hundreds of times. The only difference is, you’re sta
nding behind a counter.”
“Right. Which means someone will ask me questions I won’t know how to answer.” I plucked at the collar of my shirt uncomfortably and glanced out at the boisterous throng of wine junkies.
“You’ll be fine. If someone asks a technical question, flag me down and—”
“I’m not worried about technical questions. I’m worried about wine questions!”
Wes let out a short laugh then put his arm over my shoulder and kissed my cheek. “You got this. I’m going to pair you with Ryan. He knows his stuff. He can handle a couple of groups and deal with pesky questions while you pour.”
He gestured toward a vaguely familiar lanky, curly-haired man wielding a bottle of red wine at the end of the bar.
“Hey, he’s the guy from the party who had his hands all over you. Your former boy toy, right?”
Wes gave me an annoyed look then shook his head. “Behave. He’s my friend and employee. That’s all. And he’s smart as a whip. Trust me. All you have to do is follow this menu”—he grabbed a fancy clipboard from the counter and pointed at the verbiage—“this is the wine flight we’re serving today for reds. There’s another menu for whites. This tells you everything you need to know about the wine…the varietal, vintage, and any outstanding characteristics. It’s like a cheat sheet. One glass per customer, unless they insist on a second. Generally, they know to clean their glass with a splash of water from the pitcher before the next pour. We usually pour in this specific order. Lighter wines to full-bodied and then—”
I threw my hands in the air in frustration then hissed in a low whisper, “What the fuck does full-bodied mean?”