Chapter Seven #2
"Probably not," she gasps.
"Good girl." I grin. I don't give a fuck who hears her.
Hell, a fucked up, possessive part of me wants them to hear.
It wants everyone to know that I'm the one inside her.
I'm the one making her come. I'm the one who makes her scream and moan and plead.
I'm the one she gave herself to, the one she trusts enough to give herself to like this.
That part isn't rational. But it is hers. Property of Paisley.
Her eyes roll back in her head when I lift her up and then drop her down. The heat of her pussy engulfs the head of my cock, branding me with her ownership. And Christ, it feels good.
"Goddamn, Dimples," I rasp, pressing my forehead to hers. "You make a grown man want to cry, baby."
"Ridley, God. You're so damn big."
I chuckle through a groan, yanking her down on me. "Your fault. You're the one who makes him this fucking hard."
"Are you complaining?"
"Hell no. Never."
"Good. Fuck me."
I grin, loving this side of her. Back then, she was so confident, so sassy. Seeing little pieces of the old her peeking out at me is sexy as hell. I may have broken her heart, but I didn't break her. Thank God.
"Yes, ma'am," I drawl, lifting her off me and then yanking her back down. The way she whimpers and clenches around me is heaven. There's no way this is going to last long. She feels too fucking good.
"Play with your clit, Dimples. Help me get you there," I demand, bouncing her on my cock as the sun beats down on my back and the smell of the sea and vines swirls in the air around us. "Make yourself come all over my cock."
She whimpers, her hand trembling as it slips down her stomach. I watch as she plunges it into her panties. Her fingertips bump my cock before another whimper rolls from her perfect lips.
"That feel good, baby?"
"Yes," she gasps.
"Good. Keep doing it. Don't stop until you're falling apart on my cock."
She obeys like a dream, playing with her clit while I pound into her. Every time her fingers bump my cock, my blood steams in my veins. It's a race to get her there before I explode, but I'll be damned if I get off before she does. That isn't how this shit works. She comes first, always.
"Ridley, I…I…"
"I know, Dimples. I feel it." I lift her higher, drop her harder.
"You think I don't remember everything about you?
How to get you there? What makes you wild?
" I plant my lips against her ear, dropping her again.
"You think I could ever forget how fucking perfect you feel when you're right on the edge, ready to come all over my cock? "
"Ridley," she whimpers.
"Never, baby. Not for a single second." I nip her ear. "Now, fucking come for me."
She isn't quiet. She comes with a sharp cry that echoes across the vineyard, pulling me over the edge with her. I slam her down on my cock, spilling into her as an answering roar leaves my lips. I don't try to hold it back. Fuck that. I'm never holding another damn thing back with her again.
" W hy the fuck are you smiling like that?" Bastian growls, scowling at me across the table at the karaoke bar later that night. He's in rare form today. And by rare form, I mean he's surlier than ever.
But I've noticed the way he keeps staring at our newest employee, Constance Maverick, as she laughs and dances with the girls in the middle of the floor. He can't keep his eyes off her.
She's been looking at him the same way. If they aren't already fucking, I have a feeling they will be soon…but that's not my business. Unlike my cousins, I don't meddle.
"Constance is an interesting woman," I say. Okay, maybe I don't meddle much.
Bastian's hand clenches around his bottle. "So is Paisley."
My bottle thuds against the table, which makes his lips twitch. "Touche, motherfucker."
His lips lift into a tiny smirk before his eyes dart back to Constance, and his smile compresses into a thin line. "Why the fuck did she have to wear that?" he mumbles, more to himself than to me.
I know he's talking about Constance, but he might as well be talking about Paisley because I've been asking myself the same question all night. She looks like a siren in her little black dress. It barely covers her round ass. I wanted to rip it from her body the minute I saw her in it.
The only reason I didn't was because I knew that would piss her off. And since I plan on spending the night inside her again, well…better not to push my luck.
"They always dress like that," Oliver mutters from Bastian's other side, staring at Lucy like someone kicked his puppy.
Her dress is just as short. "High heels and those dresses are basically their armor.
And you know what?" He glances between me and Bastian.
"It's exactly why they always win the goddamn war. We're defenseless against that shit."
Trystan snorts beside me. "You're an idiot."
They're both right. It is why they win the war, and Oliver is an idiot.
"I'm serious," my little brother protests. "Just wait until you're married."
"He isn't wrong," Liam agrees, glowering at Lola. Braxton is seated beside him with his arm around his shoulders, glaring daggers at their wife.
"I'm never fucking getting married," Tryst mutters.
"Why the fuck not? It's great," Braxton protests.
"Not interested." Tryst shrugs, trying to play it off, but he can't hide the flash of longing in his eyes.
Oliver sees it too and meets my gaze.
I just shrug in response. There's no fucking way I'm getting in the middle of Trystan's situation.
If Wyatt doesn't kill him for falling for his sister, Chloe might do it herself.
She's a little savage. I think she's wild about Tryst, though.
He's the only one who has ever been able to talk sense into her.
"Speaking of weddings…" Gabe smirks at me. "Want to tell the table what you and Paisley were doing on the side of the road yesterday?"
All eyes turn to me.
I narrow mine on my cousin. "She had a flat."
"Oh, it definitely looked like she had something," he says with a chuckle. "I'm not sure I'd call it flat, though. It seemed more…phallic."
Oh, he's an asshole.
"You were fucking on the side of the road?" Tryst asks.
"Jesus Christ." I scowl at Gabe. "No. We weren't fucking on the side of the road."
"They were definitely fucking behind the winery this morning," Jax mutters. "Haven and I could hear them from the front desk."
"That was you?" Tryst turns wide eyes on me. "Jesus. I thought a fucking bull got onto the property."
My brother and cousins all crack up.
I close my eyes and count to three. It doesn't help. Why did my parents and uncles have to have so fucking many kids? They're all nosy as hell.
"When is Jareth getting back from Tennessee?" I ask. At least he's normal. He doesn't annoy the hell out of me.
"Two weeks. They decided to spend a few weeks with Zoya's family since Nadia and Teo are there with the baby," Bastian says.
"Hey!" Lucy waddles up to the table with her hands on her hips. "Why are we dancing alone?"
"Uh, because we didn't sign up for this torture tradition of yours?" Tryst retorts, one brow arched.
Oliver smacks him across the back of the head. "You want me to dance with you, baby girl?"
"Yes."
"Then let's dance." He grins at his wife, nudging Bastian to let him up.
She beams at him, all sunshine and happiness, so fucking easy to please. My gaze drifts back to the dance floor, where Paisley is still shimmying with my cousins. She never asked me to dance with her…
I scoot my chair back, the legs grinding against the hardwood floor. "I'm going to dance with Paisley."
Everyone looks at me like I just announced that I plan to rob a bank or something. Jesus. Is it that weird to dance with your girl?
"If by dancing, you mean fucking in the bathroom, I will kill you," Tryst says cheerfully. "I do not need to hear that again."
I scratch the side of my eye with my middle finger, leaving a trail of laughter in my wake as I turn to stride onto the dance floor.
Paisley doesn't see me coming, so I sidle up behind her and wrap an arm around her waist, yanking her back against me.
She whips her head around, blinking up at me. "Oh." Surprise melts into a bright smile. "It's you."
"Expecting someone else?"
"No." She turns in my arms, looping hers around my neck. "I just didn't think you'd want to dance."
"Did you want to dance with me?"
"Um, duh."
"You should have told me, Dimples. I wouldn't have taken so long had I known."
She cocks her head to the side, her expression full of doubt. "Really?"
"Yes, really." I chuckle, dipping my head to kiss the frown from her lips. "You think it's a hardship?"
"Most guys don't like to dance."
I spin her back around, hauling her up against me until my cock is nestled between the plump cheeks of her ass. My lips brush the side of her throat as she sways her hips against me.
"I'm not most guys, baby," I murmur against her skin, licking a line all the way to her ear. "I remember the way we moved together at Lucy and Oliver's wedding. Do you?"
She moans softly, and I know she does. It was that fucking dance that broke us both.
After two weeks of torturing each other in every corner of the vineyard, going as far as we could without actually fucking, we snapped that night.
It was impossible not to break with her body moving against mine like a wet dream.
We barely made it back to my place before she had her hand in my pants, begging me to fuck her.
We sway together now just like we did then, our bodies flowing against one another as the music vibrates the floor beneath our feet.
It throbs through our bodies, each heavy thud shaking loose the same desperation we felt back then.
Only, it's more powerful now. Because we know exactly how good we are together.
We know exactly what we're missing right now.
Her body on mine. My hands in her hair. Her hips rocking. My breath in her ear.
"Fuck," I growl, my hips bucking when I feel her hand brushing against the hard ridge of my cock. I wrap my hand around her throat, turning her head to capture her lips in a scorching kiss. I'm starving for her, every damn minute of the day.
Her soft moan only spurs me on. Our breath and tongues tangle as one song flows into the next. I get lost in her and the rhythm. No one else exists. Nothing else matters. With her, it never does.
"Ridley," she whimpers when my hands skim her sides before sinking into her hips. "I need you."
Those three little words break me.
I grab her hand, pulling her from the dance floor. We don't say goodbye. We just run. Toward solitude. Toward us.
We barely make it to the truck before I'm all over her. We fuck in the backseat, frantic and messy. She rides me with her hair tangled around her face in a wild halo and my name on her lips, our bodies crashing together again and again.
She's a goddess on top of me, claiming what belongs to her. My body. My heart. My fucking soul. I give it all to her, holding nothing in reserve.
"Are you still afraid?" I ask when the storm passes and the sweat is drying on her skin. She's in my arms, splayed across my lap like a wanton sacrifice.
"A little," she whispers.
I tip her head back, brushing my lips across hers. "I'm not going anywhere."
It's a reassurance, a promise, and a reminder all rolled into one. I'm not going anywhere. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Maybe I just need to work a little bit harder to prove it to her.