The Winemaker's Relief

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Forty was not the new thirty.

As Archer peeled himself off the leather chaise, he felt in his bones every cluster of grapes he’d picked that morning, every pound of them he’d shoveled that afternoon, and every minute he’d spent spread on the St. Andrew’s Cross that night.

He ached in a good way from all those things, but he ached nonetheless.

And he did not relish the thought of folding his aching body into his truck tomorrow for a five-hour drive home.

But when one of his oldest and dearest friends—and fellow winemaker—had sent him an SOS, he hadn’t hesitated to answer.

A glass of wine and said friend, her cheeks still rosy and sweat still dappling the valley between her breasts, appeared beside him. “You’re already dreading tomorrow, aren’t you?”

He was but he wouldn’t tell Bea that. “I’ve gotta leave early with the grapes.” He shrugged into the robe she offered, the cool silk soothing the welts on his back. “Less traffic should make it quicker.”

She handed him the wine. “That and you drive like a bat outta hell.”

“If it gets me there faster . . .”

“I had no idea my tractor could go that fast.”

He smirked behind the rim of his glass.

“Don’t,” she chided, dark eyes sparkling. “I meant the machine—” She cut herself off at his brow waggle. “I’m going to stop now.”

“Probably for the best.” He chuckled before taking a sip of the wine. Sour cherry burst on his tongue, then pepper and herbs on the back of his palette, the balanced deliciousness of Bea’s estate red lingering thanks to the wine’s firm tannins.

“But seriously . . .” She looped an arm around his waist, careful of his back that she’d flogged. “Thank you. With Billy deployed, I couldn’t have managed this harvest by myself.”

Bea and her younger brother ran a small family winery in the Temecula Valley.

They grew some of the best grapes and made some of the best wine in Southern California; it would be a shame to miss a vintage.

And Archer really didn’t mind the weekend of work or the drive, especially when he got a pleasurable night and a few bins of stellar grapes out of it.

“I’m going back with enough sangi to round out whatever I pick next week.

” He took another long swallow from his glass, tasting and savoring the older vintage. “We’re square.”

“Almost.” Her grin turned wicked, as she lowered her hand and squeezed his tender ass. “You promised me a hard fucking too.”

“Don’t worry.” He kissed the regal brunette’s temple.

She’d put herself through college, earning a B.S.

in viticulture and enology by walking runways from LA to New York, her willowy, five-ten stature only a few inches shy of his burlier six-two.

But for all the fancy clothes he’d seen her model, it was those long legs poured into skin-tight leather that looked the best on her.

In his humble opinion. She’d taken him to his first party like this one almost twenty years ago, and they’d played together from time to time since. “Just needed some recovery time.”

“I can help with that.” She stole the glass from his hand and tossed back the rest of the wine, laughing when he scoffed and swatted her ass.

She danced out of his reach, giving him no choice but to follow.

Down the long hallway of the host couple’s hacienda-style mansion, past rooms with closed doors, past others where more scenes were playing out, until he caught up with her at the solarium where she’d tied him to the cross earlier.

Only now, the cross had been replaced by a stool, and straddling it was a curvaceous Black woman with light eyes and long lashes dressed in nothing but a red silk thong and red-soled heels.

As strikingly beautiful as she was, it was the Black man behind her, a leather crop in one hand, a feathered one in the other, that made Archer gasp.

He was huge, taller than Archer, and so broad across the chest that the chain between the clamps on his nipples was nearly taut.

His skin was a rich dark brown, his head shaved, his ass a glorious bubble in navy fitted pants, his cock straining the fly.

He lifted the leather crop, then brought it down with the softest of pats, right at the spot where the strings of the woman’s thong met the triangle of silk in the back.

So much restrained power under his control. Under hers, the chain to the clamps woven through the fingers of her left hand, a band on the fourth finger.

Same as his.

She shivered and squirmed, her legs opening wider.

For the feather to tease the insides of her thighs.

For the answering tug of the chain.

They groaned, laughed, kissed.

Whispered in each other’s ears.

Enchanting Archer and everyone watching.

Bea slid her hand into his and tugged him to a spot along the wall with a better view. “I saw them when I went to grab you a drink.”

“They’re married?” At her nod, he added, “Regulars here?”

“Unfortunately not. They’re visiting from up north.

” She untied his robe, pushed it off his shoulders, then turned her back and moved in front of him.

Taking the hint, Archer notched his dick against her crack over the soft leather and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close and dipping his hand just inside her waistband, teasing and tempting.

While keeping his gaze locked on the mesmerizing couple. Watching the power continue to flow back and forth between them.

How the man shifted between crop and feather, making his partner moan.

How the woman tugged the chain in response and made him hiss and groan.

How they each knew exactly what the other liked, how much the other could take.

No punishment in the acts, no dominance or submission, only laughter and love.

Archer’s heart pounded. He wanted that—someday.

He wasn’t quite ready for it yet, though.

Today, he—and Bea—wanted something else.

And they were both ready for it, Bea writhing in his arms, close to coming from teasing and watching alone, close to making him do the same.

He nipped at her earlobe and thrust his hips, rutting against her behind.

“How about that hard fucking I promised you?”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Taking him by the hand again, she tugged him off the wall and toward the hallway.

Before turning the corner, Archer glanced over his shoulder one last time, wanting one last glimpse of perfection.

Of the future he wanted—someday.

And met a heated brown gaze that seared him to his core.

That made his heart skip, then pound harder.

Whether he ever saw the man again, Archer knew those dark eyes would haunt his fantasies forever.