Chapter 24
By the time we reach the restaurant—a rustic winery with stucco brick walls and arched windows and doorways, I am a pool of gooey anticipation. Noah’s hand hasn’t lifted from me, and it seems he is intent on keeping it that way.
The four of us pile out of the car and meet the hostess at the door, where she welcomes Tom and Cheryl like they are old friends before leading us down a long hallway.
When we step through the arch at the end, we are greeted by a wide tasting room with wall to wall windows displaying a beautiful view of the vineyard below.
A massive bronze chandelier hangs over a long, elegantly set table and casts the room in shades of sunset.
We follow the Barkers towards the counter on one side of the room where several attendants stand ready to offer samples of at least a dozen different bottles.
They fall into friendly conversation with one of the sommeliers, and I take the opportunity to chide Noah for the distraction of his hands on me.
Even if this is a chance to play, we still have a job to do.
“You can’t be touching me like that while we’re here,” I whisper, my back turned to our hosts.
“I can’t help it,” he murmurs.
We both nod our thanks to the woman setting two glasses of chilled white wine on the counter next to us before I turn back to frown at him.
“Of all the times to try and help it, it’s tonight. We have an audience.”
“Kinky.”
“Stop it,” I hiss. “I need professional Noah.”
A playful smile tickles his cheek as he presses one of the glasses into my palm. “Sorry, he’s out of the office.”
I open my mouth to say something and he leans forward to press a chaste kiss to my forehead. The thoughts that follow are, of course, the furthest thing from chaste and I frown again. I’m beginning to see the flawed logic in completely ditching our no PDA rule.
“Noah,” Tom calls. “Come meet Arthur and his wife, Farrah.”
“Duty calls,” Noah says, prompting me towards the party.
We mingle with Tom and Cheryl’s friends, making small talk and hyping up Flourish’s new line of sleep aide products.
Slowly, as the men gather on one side of the room and the women on the other, we’re pulled apart.
Noah is completely in his element, dazzling his peers with stories and laughing at the occasional friendly barb.
He was born to be in rooms like this, charming people and winning them over.
I, on the other hand, struggle to do more than offer a polite laugh.
My stories don’t fit in here, and I fight off cresting inadequacies by justifying it’s all pretend.
After this trip my duty to charm the housewives of Pala will be little to none.
I do what I can to entertain, and while I start by faking an interest in their gossip about other women they know from the club, it becomes easier after a few stories about sordid affairs and back yard drug swaps.
Cheryl, too, seems to be in her element, and more of a pacifist compared to the others, always coming in with a careful chide or knowing look when one of them ventures too far into impropriety.
I get the distinct feeling she knows more of their secrets than they want to admit, because the subject is always promptly changed.
Ready for a break from the chit chat, I wobble my way towards the wine counter, waving off one of the sommeliers who comes rushing forward. As if on cue, Noah drops in at my side, his hand resting low on my back.
“Are you alright?”
“Mm,” I say. “Just warding off a headache.”
“It can’t be that bad over there, can it?”
“The drama is so far beyond wild. I don’t even know these women, but I can tell you who fucked their nail lady, and which of their neighbors are hooked on Xanax.”
“Sounds riveting. I’d hate to steal you away.”
The playful tone of his voice tells me hate is the wrong word for what he thinks about slipping me away from the chatter, and my heartbeat thumps against my chest, all thoughts of drama and gossip whispering away like leaves on the wind.
“Please do.”
He takes my hand, leading me back out of the room and down the long hallway towards the main entrance. The rest of the restaurant is empty, but we turn down a different hall where he begins checking door handles for one that’s unlocked.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for a quiet place.”
My cheeks warm as I realize why he would want a closed-door quiet place right this moment.
Clearly the anticipation he’d been so ready to accept earlier has worn out its welcome and he’s ready to give in.
He continues jiggling handles as my heels click along the brightly colored floor tiles.
Finally, at the end of the hallway, one of the doors gives and we fall into a well stocked, and exceptionally tidy utility closet.
With a quiet click, we’re submerged in the dark.
“What if someone comes in here?” I ask, his hands already wrapped around my hips, his face in my neck.
“Then they’ll get quite a show.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He kisses me, greedy and eager, tasting of wine and juniper.
His hands are already tugging at the skirt of my dress, as his tongue dances in and out of my mouth, our breath falling in tandem.
My fears about being discovered are shoved back with every desperate reach for gratification and forgotten entirely as his hands continue to tease and pull pools of passion in their wake.
“This dress,” he grumbles, his fingers curved under its hem. “I would pay for it ten times over again.”
The wine swirls with my arousal, casting everything in a frenzy. We can’t see anything, but the dark doesn’t deter us. If anything, it makes us braver, pushing for more and determined to get it.
“Wait,” I breathe, pulling my face from his.
“A ridiculous request, but I’m listening.”
“It’s my turn.”
Before he can respond, I drop to my knees and trace my hands along the top of his pants, undoing his belt and sliding his zipper down.
Guided only by my fingertips, I pull his already hardened cock free and lean forward to lick it from base to tip.
A drop of salty precum hits my tongue and my mouth waters.
“It is entirely unfair that I cannot see you right now,” Noah grumbles.
“Use your imagination,” I say, before taking him part of the way in my mouth—a warm up, as I get my bearings. Sliding off, I blow lightly. “And don’t forget the lipstick.”
“Fuck,” he groans.
I cradle him in my palm, letting my hand assist me in taking his full length.
His fingertips trace my jaw and I know he’s conjuring the sordid image of me on my knees.
I slide back, swirling my tongue around the tip when I get there.
Not such a tease now, I think as I take him in again, a little further this time.
In the pitch black, every other sensation is heightened—the sound of his breath coming faster and teetering on the edge of a moan, the smell of juniper and sex, and the weight of his erection threatening to gag me.
I slide back, releasing him with a light pop so I can go back to licking him from base to tip—flat tongue like he’s an ice cream cone I don’t want to waste.
I use my hands to slide and swirl so I can trace sloppy kisses down around one ball, and then the next, before taking him fully in the mouth again.
“Fuck, Lottie.” His words are labored, spurring me further in my offering.
I hum my approval and curve my hands up the back of his thighs and grip his ass, pulling him deeper, and letting him hit the back of my throat.
It took me a long time to be able to do this, but all I can think about is how the many embarrassing failures before are worth these few moments of stolen pleasure with Noah.
I want him to know I enjoy this as much as he enjoyed me last night; that it isn’t just a favor to repay, but a gift I am eager to give.
My movements are more frantic now, the slow enjoyment giving way to his desperate climb towards release.
His hands are on the back of my head, guiding me faster and faster as he gets closer.
It’s a carnal rhythm, every thrust pushing us further from reality as I take him deeper.
In one last moment of clarity, I swallow, letting the contraction suck him further.
It works as I expect and he loses himself, his orgasm spurting down my throat as I gulp each release.
As the pulsing slows, I slide back, sucking lightly to make sure there’s no mess left, and Noah shivers and slouches against the wall.
“You’ve ruined me,” he says, reaching down to help me to my feet. He pulls me closer, kissing me gently on the lips. “Thoroughly and completely.”
Pride swells in my chest as I tenderly tuck him back in his pants and fasten them closed.
“I suppose we’re even then. Though you might owe me when the rest of the dinner party notices my lipstick is smeared everywhere but my lips.”
“Name your price and I’ll pay it,” he breathes, wrapping me in another warm embrace and running his nose along the soft spot under my ear.
“Your post-nut high is showing,” I tease, pecking him lightly on the cheek. “But really. I’m going to need the bathroom before I go back in there.”
Giggling like horny teenagers and unable to keep our hands off each other, we sneak our way back to the bathrooms, miraculously without seeing anyone.
A quick peek at Noah before he ducks into the men’s room confirms he does not in fact have lipstick smeared all over his face and neck, and when I’m finally in front of a mirror, I am pleased to see my lips are still perfectly lined and filled.
Whatever Darrin used is surprisingly durable.
My hair is a little worse for the wear but with some quick tucking and a little tap water it’s presentable again.
I rinse my mouth and twist my dress back into place, doing a quick twirl before exiting.
We strut, hand in hand, back to the tasting room where Noah kisses my temple before melting in to resume his conversations with the men.
I too fall back into my respective circle without anyone seeming to have noticed I was gone.
Catching his eye from across the room, I allow myself this moment to revel in the secret we share, and swipe a new wine glass from a passing waiter.
The hot depravity we were wrapped in only a few minutes ago continues to pull my arousal tighter and tighter, the sips of wine doing little to keep me from reliving it or fantasizing about more.
I’m teasing dangerous territory, even knowing the bounds of this trip will keep this contained, but with the cushion of alcohol filling all the cracks of fear and anxiety, I don’t care. I like having this secret, and I like getting handsy with Noah in utility closets.
Without bringing his expectations into things, the stakes have eased and my pretending we could be more comes easily. I’m left wondering how long we could keep things a secret, the idea of slipping away with him on whatever whim we are chasing an addictive notion.
When dinner is finally presented, I have sipped my way through countless bottle tastings and, still reeling from the high of the utility closet blow job, am even more unsteady on my feet than I was just by wearing Cheryl’s heels.
As we approach the dinner table, Noah catches my arm and helps me into the seat with my name card.
“Careful,” he says, as I sink into the chair. “There’s no pool tables for you to dominate tonight.”
I snort a laugh and clap my hand over my mouth, embarrassed. But no one seems to be paying us any mind, and Noah’s grin tells me it was exactly the reaction he was looking for. I lean forward, narrowing my eyes.
“You’re trying to uncover more of my secret talents, aren’t you?”
“Can you blame me? The last one was delectable.”
Unable to form a quippy response, I reach for my water glass, my head still swimming and my thighs growing damp. Delectable indeed.
The first course, a fennel soup and plenty of bread, is the one I use for sobering up.
I skip the paired wine and focus on controlling the drippy sensation in my brain.
Noah continues his small talk with the couple seated next to him, and I nod and smile as much as I’m able while shoving carbs into my mouth.
By the second course, a spinach salad with sweet apples and crispy bacon, I’m much more myself, though admittedly still drunk.
Just before the third course is set to arrive, Tom stands at the head of the table and taps on his wine glass.
The room falls quiet, all attention set on the robust cowboy.
“I want to thank each of you for coming out tonight, and express gratitude for the support you’ve all lended over the past year as Scented Acres has continued to thrive.
I also want to take this time to publicly acknowledge Noah Graves and his partner Charlotte Wilde, and the relationship we are building with them at Flourish.
It takes a lot to prove an old man like myself wrong, but the integrity they’ve shown in coming out here to prove their devotion for their company has warmed mine and Cheryl’s hearts.
We couldn’t imagine two better people to join the Scented Acres family. ”
Noah’s hand finds mine under the table as a warm round of applause breaks out and my stomach sinks.
All this time I’ve been assuming the act we’ve been playing only holds the potential to hurt us—but sitting here listening to Tom spout off about family values and integrity illustrates how our actions could have very real consequences.
What happens when Tom mentions Noah and I at the next meeting with Flourish executives?
Or when he sends a Christmas card to Noah and Charlotte and it arrives at the Portland office?
Surely Noah isn’t naive enough to think he’s the only person at work who will have to interact with them.
I’m not even planning to stay at Flourish, but it wouldn’t be hard for someone to try and pin any future success on this dalliance.
Do I really want to risk my independence and the way people view my business dealings for a playful, sexy secret?