24. Couples Weekend
24 COUPLES WEEKEND
Daphne
When Sarah asked me to visit in Traverse City for the weekend, I grudgingly agreed to drive four hours north. Traverse City was lovely, but I suspected there was more to this request than a weekend at their family’s sprawling lake house. No sooner had I arrived than I realized everyone was paired. No amount of fresh lake views and winery tours could make up for the awkwardness—not even the relatively handsome offering that I was immediately introduced to.
Sarah pulled me over to a man wearing khaki shorts and a blue t-shirt. He had a baby face, but his wrinkles suggested he wasn’t all that young. We were probably well-matched in age. He was handsome but short and slender—not my type.
“Daphne, this is Ken. And Ken, this is Daphne, my cousin. Daphne, Ken is an attorney—just like you.”
So was Chandler. I swore I’d never date another attorney.
Smiling weakly, I extended my hand. “Super nice to meet you.”
Ken gave a firm handshake. “And you. All Sarah says about you is that you are smart, and she’s so excited you’re back in the States.”
“I would selfishly love to give her a reason to stay permanently. ” Sarah winked.
Fighting an eyeroll, I smiled slightly and sipped wine.
“Okay, wine tour in ten!” Erik announced. “We’re waiting on one more.”
I wanted to die. Instead, I visited the cheese plate.
“They go all out, don’t they?” Ken asked nervously.
“They do, yeah,” I agreed. “Sarah’s mother is very theatrical. She gets it from her. Erik is also a social butterfly. This is how they’ve always been. How do you know them?”
“Horton and Newland works with us sometimes,” Ken said of Erik’s firm. “And I golf with Erik a lot. My ex knew Sarah first, ironically.”
I looked around, concerned.
“I got the friends in the divorce. You can calm down,” Ken joked.
“I get it. I am… still trying to figure all of that out. Thankfully, most of my close friends are my sisters and cousins. That’s the nature of a big Catholic family.”
“You’re recently divorced?”
“Divorc-ing. He’s also a barrister—in the UK.”
“Ah, well fuck. That is rough . My apologies. We’re the worst people to divorce.”
“Your ex is a lawyer?”
“Nah. Yoga teacher.”
Well, there was no way this worked. She had to be some nubile waif of a girl. I was not that woman.
“It gets easier,” Ken insisted.
I nodded, unsure what to say. My divorce was one thing. This experience was another. Whenever I visited a winery, I thought about our dad’s deep interest in our own. If I thought too hard, I’d start crying. I had yet to go to our family’s winemaking operation. Mum encouraged me, but it was too painful. Some of my best memories were of harvest time. It felt so free and calm. It felt so normal . And now? Now, it felt too vulnerable and nostalgic. I wasn’t ready. Today would be rough.
“Thanks,” I said instead.
“Hey! Mr. Mayor! Making us late!” Erik declared loudly over the din of adult conversation.
I stared over, heart stopping, and made full-on eye contact with Cal Markham. Between the rolled-up shirtsleeves and his excellent stubble, I could not look away. I only envisioned the look he gave me when he ducked between my thighs and ate me out. One weekend of debauchery stirred up so many big feelings—a continuation of the things I felt for weeks after the first time he had me. The sexual chemistry was unmatched, but I wouldn’t risk a hookup here.
“And Cal joins us,” Ken sounded happy. “Do you know Cal?”
“Cal was one of my father’s best friends,” I said. “I am well acquainted with Cal.”
I tried not to stare as Sarah introduced Cal to the only other single at the party—a socialite. She and Cal were well-matched. She was pretty, tall, and had shiny chestnut hair. They made a much more handsome couple than we ever would.
“Let’s round up and head out!” Erik declared.
We piled into the waiting limo bus for our multi-stop wine tour. I decided it was time to get drunk. If I was to survive watching Cal flirt with this brunette and as I pretended to care about Ken—a lovely man I wasn’t interested in—I would need something to dull the pain. I listened to Ken carry the conversation, talking about Big Law and his partnership buy-in. I couldn’t have cared less if I tried. I was so over work talk, and sad I missed that key part of my own life.
We filed out to the first winery for a tasting of primarily dry wines.
“Bone dry. Your favorite,” I heard over my shoulder.
Turning, I spotted Cal.
“You are correct.”
“So, you were offered up to the Ken Doll,” Cal said.
“And you are the match for Brunette Barbie, Cal.”
Cal, breath hot on my neck, whispered. “Not interested. I should be grateful for being forced into this pity-arrangement, but all I can think about is watching you cum.”
Fuck . Why did he do this? Why did he constantly torture me?
“We cannot…” I lowered my voice. “We cannot do this, Cal. This is not something?—”
“You’re going to tell me we’ll spend the whole weekend not doing anything?”
I swiveled, needing to face him. “Do you want to risk this, Cal?”
“I shouldn’t, but damn, I want to.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Mayor.”
“And your resolve will weaken, princess. Mark my words.”
* * *
Cal
At the third winery, we were treated to wine amid fruit bushes. Daphne immediately decided to thwart less-than-stellar wine and beelined it for the berry baskets the owners offered. I could see the wheels turning as she went to hunt blueberries on her lonesome. She needed a break. I saw an opportunity and followed her with a basket into the field.
It took me a minute to find her. She loaded her basket with blueberries.
“I knew I’d find you out here,” I said.
Daphne said. “Blueberries are the best, okay? The Riesling was a grave disappointment, however.”
I tasted a berry. “So, how do these rate?”
“I prefer the ones at our farmstand.”
“You’re quite the critic, Ms. Delphine.”
“I know better. Can you blame me? Why drink shitty light beer when you can drink Blanc de Blancs?”
How she pursed her lips made me want to do everything to her. Why did she tempt me so much when she looked like this and spoke her mind so freely?
“I would only want the best champagne if I could have it.”
“And why can’t you, Cal?” Daphne slowly ate a blueberry, never dropping eye contact.
“You tell me, Daphne,” I growled, pulling her towards me.
She gazed at me, green eyes boring into my soul.
“You really cannot resist me, Daph,” I ran my thumb over her chin and lower lip.
As if out of a fantasy, Daphne took my hand, sucking my finger. Now, rock hard in public, I knew better than to do anything. I also wanted to fuck her and wasn’t going to have an easy time beating down my impulse to run her off to any place at all.
Daphne let my finger go. “You’re hard, Cal, aren’t you?”
I pressed her hand against my erection. “Yeah. You did that. You’re just going to torture me?”
“Cal, we’re in public!” Daphne scoffed, pulling her hand back. “This is fun, but?—”
I pulled on the hem of her dress, running my hand up the outside of her thigh. I whispered sweetly, “You don’t want me—not at all.”
She replied, “The vision of you eating me out on the kitchen island lives in my mind rent-free, but that’s not what we’re?—”
She grew speechless as my fingers rubbed the side of her lacy panties.
I kissed her now, delighting in the vibration from her slight moan as I pulled her panties aside. She played coy, but the option to get off always won out with Daphne. She was easy to please and desperate for more.
“You want to cum on my fingers, baby?” I whispered.
“Yes,” Daphne panted as I slipped two fingers, then three inside. “Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah, you like that?”
“You’re a bad boy.”
“And you’re a naughty girl, Daphne.”
Her head fell back as my fingers dipped inside her, the same thumb she’d sucked on moments before slapping against her clit with every thrust. Daphne’s hips couldn’t have pressed harder against mine. I ran my left hand down her hips to her ass, allowing her to brace against me. She moaned louder.
“Quiet,” I whispered. “You don’t want to be discovered, do you?”
“Oh, God, Cal. You are so, so good.”
“Yeah? Do you want to cum, princess? To make a mess?”
“I want to cum so badly,” Daphne said breathlessly. “Please, Cal.”
I wasn’t one to deny her an orgasm. I persisted, kissing her again so she could stay quiet. I soon felt her pussy pulse around me as her nails dug into my shirt. She bit my lip, then pulled away, looking truly satisfied and a little deviant. I slid my fingers from her wet pussy, again denying my pleasure for hers.
“You really should stop coming onto me,” Daphne whispered.
I reran my right hand over her chin, spreading her wetness as I did. I worried she might bristle, but she didn’t. Instead, she again took my thumb in her mouth, sucking once more and never losing eye contact. It was the sexiest thing she ever did.
“You like that?” I asked.
“Uh-huh,” Daphne replied.
“Good. Sit on my face later, and we’ll call it even,” I said, hoping to do much more.