Bottles & Blades (Eagles Hockey: Oak Ridge Vineyards #1)

Chapter 42

Forty-Two

Jean-Michel

“Jean-Mi,” she moans.

Christ she’s beautiful spread out beneath me, legs wide, pink cunt on display for me. Her breasts bounce with every breath she takes—and because I’m fucking her with my tongue and fingers, she’s taking a whole lot of them.

She shudders, grinding against my mouth, and I feel it then?—

That she’s close.

But I don’t give it to her.

Not right then, anyway.

Instead, I crawl up her body, kiss away her disappointed moan, and then flip to my back, yanking my wallet from my pants, tearing open a condom, rolling it down the length of my cock.

“Honey, please,” she begs, head turning from side to side on the blanket, thighs pressing together, as though trying to soothe the ache between them. “I need you.”

“Then climb on, buttercup,” I order. “And take what you need.”

She stills, lips parting, eyes going wide.

But only for a second.

Because then her mouth is curving up into a sexy smile and she’s propping her elbows beneath her, looking like a languid goddess gilded in moonlight. “Climb on?”

“That an order you can handle, baby?”

Her smile grows.

“Yeah, I can handle it.”

She clambers on top of me, and there’s nothing shy about the way she grabs my cock, positioning it between her thighs, rubbing her slick pussy over the tip of my dick, back and forth, back and forth.

I smother a groan, clenching my hands into fists in an attempt to hold tight to my control.

But when another back and forth movement sends pleasure skating through my body, I can’t hold still. I sit up, cupping her breasts in both hands, massaging them, teasing the taut nipples before sucking them deeply.

“Jean-Mi,” she moans, my cock notching at her entrance.

Her hips buck, but she doesn’t take me deep, just gently rocks, gently teases.

“Take it, buttercup,” I rasp, head spinning, need rippling through me.

“I l-like teasing y-you,” she stutters, letting me in an inch and then another.

“You’ll like having me deep more— fuck!”

She grins, thighs dropping to my hips, my cock suddenly balls deep inside her, the tight clasp of her pussy driving me insane. “Yeah, honey,” she murmurs, bending forward to brush her lips over mine. “I do like this better.”

And then she slides up. “Oh,” she moans, her head falling back.

“Take the rest, baby.”

She listens, grinding down, lifting up, rocking forward and backward, finding her rhythm like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I guess maybe it is.

Each touch feels like coming home. Every stroke is nirvana. Each of her moans the prettiest music I’ve ever heard.

It’s natural.

It’s perfect.

It’s her and me.

“God, I love you,” she whispers, finding her groove, taking what she needs, driving us both slowly insane.

And then not so slowly.

She grinds faster, takes me deeper.

“ Oh ,” she whispers.

I feel it.

Her pussy fluttering around me. Her orgasm right there.

I reach between us, seeking the hard bud of her clit.

Finding it.

She gasps, moves faster, harder. “Jean-Mi!”

But I don’t stop, just work her tits at the same time I rub at her clit, clinging to the edges of my control as I try to hold off my orgasm in the face of that slick, tight cunt, those bouncing tits, her soft moans, and those determined strokes.

“Honey—” She breaks off on a moan.

“Get there,” I order, sweat beading down my back, my orgasm gathering at the base of my spine, threatening to explode.

She keeps grinding.

I grit my teeth together, keep working her.

“Jean-Mi,” she moans.

Fuck, I’m coming. “ Get there .”

“I—”

“ Come for me, buttercup,” I rasp, pleasure exploding through my middle, making my hips jerk, my hands and mouth lose focus. “ Now.”

Thank fuck, she cries out, pussy clamping down around me, her hips wrenching, strokes losing their rhythm. “Oh God. Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. ”

We move together and it’s not graceful, not measured.

It’s frantic and uncontrolled, seeking out every last dredge of pleasure from our orgasms.

Until I collapse back onto the blanket and she collapses on top of me.

We lie there for long moments as I catch my breath, as I struggle to coax my limbs to start working again—and then give up and just enjoy the press of her body against mine. She’s limp and relaxed against me, her breathing regular, her skin like porcelain in the moonlight. The wind rustles through the oaks’ leaves, and I listen to the soft hoots of the owls in the distance.

It’s peaceful.

It’s perfect…except when she shivers.

The air is warm for a spring evening, but she’s naked and the breeze is picking up and…

I sigh.

It’s getting late.

So, I coax her to sit up again, help her get dressed then shake out the blanket and wrap it around her before I drag my own clothes on.

We walk through the vines, picking our steps carefully until we reach the location where I parked.

Not strictly a legal spot, but considering I own the place I think I can get away with it.

I hit the locks, sending the headlights flashing, but as we step out of the row, I freeze and turn my head, searching the shadows. I could have sworn there was a flicker of movement the next row over, a glint of something reflective.

“What is it?” she asks when I draw us to a halt, my gaze searching the darkness for that motion, the glimmer of metal.

“Thought I saw something,” I say, drawing us forward again, not stopping until I make it to the car and get her inside. “Hang on,” I order.

She nods.

I close the door, turn, and search the shadows again.

But there’s no sign of that flicker, nor of anything reflective.

Nothing except for moonlight and shadows and grapevines and oak trees and stars in the midnight sky.

Still, I pull out my phone and send a text to Pascal, asking him to have someone come out and take a look.

It doesn’t hurt being careful.

Even if the FBI is closing in on Angela.

Especially if they’re closing in on her.

Pascal replies right away, saying they’ll send someone over.

I take one more look, and still finding nothing, I climb into the driver’s seat and get us home.