Chapter 33
Gavin
GOTTA KEEP MY MAN FED
Harvest hasn’t even started yet, and somehow I’m still buried up to my neck in work.
I’m transferring a test batch of Chardonnay into a neutral French oak barrel when I hear footsteps echo through the production bay. Nobody walks in here without calling out first—too many hazards, too much equipment—so whoever it is isn’t an employee.
And then I hear her voice.
“Are you in here?”
I step into view and there she is. My beautiful wife. Walking toward me carrying a brown paper bag, wearing a smile and a pretty little sundress that knocks every rational thought out of my skull.
“Hi,” I say, and it comes out softer than I intend.
“Hi.” She looks around us to see if we’re alone before standing on her tiptoes and pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “I brought you lunch.”
I snake my arm around her, kissing her again. Once just wasn’t enough. “What’s the occasion?”
She shrugs. “I grabbed lunch with Elyse and thought you might be hungry, so I ordered to-go for you. Gotta keep my man fed. Energized.” A suggestive eyebrow wiggle follows.
With my arm still holding her close, I slip my fingers beneath the strap of her dress, grazing that smooth, creamy skin over her collarbone. “Your man, huh?”
She pins me with a look, a little challenge in her eyes. “Yeah. Unless you’re someone else’s.”
“Only yours.”
Her smile cracks wide and bright, cheeks flushed pink.
We’ve been sneaking around for the past two weeks now that Lily is home.
And while it’s mildly annoying given we’re both adults, there’s something thrilling about sneaking her into the house after Lily falls asleep and making love to Scottie with hushed moans, whispering filthy, dirty things in her ear as I thrust my cock in and out of her, stretching her pussy to its limits.
The way she comes apart under me, moaning, biting my shoulder to stay quiet. It’s addicting.
But as fun as the secrecy has been, I’m ready to put an end to it. To tell people about us. To be a real couple.
We go into my office off the crush pad, shutting the door for added privacy in case someone walks in. My two assistants are dealing with an issue at the Woodinville facility, so I don’t anticipate anyone walking in besides my nosy family.
I open up the bag to pull out the lunch she brought me.
“It’s just a sandwich from the diner.” She shrugs like she’s worried I’ll be disappointed.
“It’s perfect,” I tell her. “Exactly what I needed.”
I actually am starved. Sometimes when I get too deep into my work, I forget to eat. But before I take a bite, I grab my water bottle and chug half of it, trying to wash the dryness off my tongue.
Scottie raises a brow. “Damn. Someone’s dehydrated.”
“I’ve been tasting samples all morning. Bench trials, acid adjustments, barrel previews. My mouth feels like cotton.”
She laughs. “Okay, but how are you not drunk if you’ve been drinking wine all day?”
I smirk. “I’m not actually drinking it. I spit during tastings.”
Her face scrunches like she’s disappointed, but there’s a twinkle in her eyes. “Oh, so you’re a spitter. I see.” She taps her finger against her chin, pretending to think. “Lucky for you, I’m a swallower.”
I choke on my sandwich. “Jesus,” I murmur, laughing, dragging a hand down my face. “You enjoy making me flustered.”
She looks up at me through her lashes—sweet, innocent, fucking lethal. “You’re very sexy when you get all hot and bothered.”
I take another bite just to keep from groaning. “Keep talking like that and I’m never finishing this sandwich.”
She smiles like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Take your time.”
We talk while I finish eating—nothing particularly exciting, just easy things.
Lily’s latest obsession, a new animated show about a girl band that hunts demons.
The sale of the Wallula Lake house finalizing.
A new listing Scottie’s excited about. I love listening to her talk.
I always have. Her hands move when she gets excited about something, whole body in motion, like her joy doesn’t know how to stay contained.
We don’t talk about Chicago despite her impending plans to leave soon.
I have no intention of ending our relationship, or getting a divorce like we planned on. I’m in this. And if that means flying back and forth to Chicago until Lily starts college, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m not giving up on her. Or us.
And I’m hoping I can gather the courage to speak to her about it sooner rather than later.
After I finish eating, I wipe my hands off and stand.
“Come here. I’ll show you around.”
I grab my clipboard and lead her deeper into the facility. The cool air of the barrel room wraps around us, the smell of oak, fruit, and fermentation wafting in the air.
“Okay,” she says, eyes wide, taking everything in. “This is… intense.”
I laugh. “Not really. But then again, I spend about half my time in here, so I’m used to it.”
I show her the tanks, the press, the barrel stacks.
Explain how the Chardonnay I’ve been working on started out.
She listens like everything I say is worth hearing, like she’s actually listening.
And I know it’s not exciting to most, especially when I get too technical, diving into the science of it all, but I appreciate that she cares enough to know about what I do.
When we reach the small private tasting bench tucked between barrel racks, she climbs up to sit on the edge, swinging her legs lightly.
“Try this,” I say, pouring just a splash of the test Chardonnay into a glass and handing it to her.
She swirls, sniffs, does the whole performance for me, her eyes bright with mischief.
“Mmm,” she hums, slow and appreciative. “Peach. Maybe pear? And something warm. Vanilla?”
I shake my head, a laugh rumbling out of me. “None of those things. Like, not one of those is a tasting note.”
She giggles, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m pretty sure tasting notes are made up. No wine on this planet tastes like dark chocolate on a summer porch with exotic fruit and whispers of cedar.”
That’s not a combination I’m familiar with, but I don’t argue, because it’s irrelevant.
I’ve got other things on my mind.
Like the fact that we’re alone.
And that she showed up here in a short little sundress, knowing it would drive me wild.
Her legs are still swinging gently from where she sits on the tasting bench, the hem of her dress sliding higher and higher every time her thigh brushes the edge.
It’s very distracting.
I set the glass aside and step in closer, bracing one hand on the barrel beside her hip.
“They’re not made up.” My hand slides between her legs, parting them to move between them.
“It’s about creating ambiance.” I cage her in with both hands, palms settling on either side of her hips, thumbs brushing the warm crease where thigh meets torso.
“Setting the mood.” My head dips, inhaling that sweet, bitter citrus that’s always clinging to her skin.
She swallows, sucking in a breath. “You’re doing that on purpose,” she whispers.
“I am,” I admit.
She lets out a laugh that sounds more like a groan before I crush my mouth to hers.
She tastes like the Chardonnay.
Like my Chardonnay.
And I lose my mind a little, curling my tongue to hers, going deeper, devouring her mouth.
The taste of my wine on her lips makes me damn near feral.
I break the kiss only long enough to breathe against her skin, my mouth trailing heat along her jaw and down her neck. Then to the spot where her shoulder meets her throat. She tilts her head for me without thinking.
I place a kiss there. Then lower.
To the top of her chest.
To the swell of her breasts.
Savoring her, while slowly sliding the skirt of her dress up her thighs.
“Gav.” She sighs. “What if someone walks in?”
“They won’t,” I tell her firmly.
They won’t because I locked the door behind us when we stepped in.
She must trust my words because her thighs widen more.
“Can I have a taste, baby?”
She nods. “Mm-hmm.” And then bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes staring down at me as I drag her panties off before bunching them in my pocket.
“I need a palate cleanser.” I nip at her inner thigh.
My glasses fog up from the heat between her legs, but I’m too far gone to bother with taking them off.
Her fingers thread into my hair, gentle at first, then tighter when I drag my mouth closer to where she’s warmest. I hook my hands beneath her knees and guide her a little closer to the edge of the bench, dress bunched up around her hips, thighs open for me.
I look up at her over the frame of my glasses from between her legs. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling faster than before. She’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Hold still for me,” I murmur.
She swallows and then nods.
I lean in, inhaling deeply, dragging my nose between her wet slit, dampening the tip. My glasses get hazier, smearing with the heat and slick of her before my tongue finds its favorite place.
I lick her slowly, with long, languid flicks.
She tries to breathe through it, but she can’t. A tangle of gasps and bursts of exhales float up her throat. Her hips move, seeking more.
“It’s so good,” she pants, voice trembling. “It’s so good I could cry.”
I glance up at her from between her thighs, my mouth still wet with her.
I press one last kiss against her and pull back just enough to speak, my breath rough against her skin.
“The only tears I ever want to cause,” I murmur, voice ragged, “are the ones running down your thighs.”
My thumb drags lightly over her slick skin, teasing.
“I want this pussy weeping for me.”
She laughs—half-moan, half-groan. “Jesus, Gavin,” she breathes, tugging on my hair.
That sound of her laughter breaking apart into a moan—undoes me. I drop back between her legs and keep working her, harder this time, until her breath hitches and the laughter dissolves into trembling, helpless sounds.
It’s not long before her thighs are trembling around my shoulders, her fingers are locked in my hair, sounds of ecstasy crying out of her as the orgasm rips through her.
By the time she slumps back against the barrel rack, chest heaving, eyes glossy and dazed, I’m still kneeling between her legs, hands on her thighs, mouth swollen with her, glasses ruined.
“That was nice.” She laughs—a shaky, blissed-out sound.
I drag a hand over my mouth, wiping at her release, even though there’s no point. It’s in my beard, on my lips, all over my face.
“I’m a pretty nice guy.”