Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Emerson
Lane fills up the office. Energy crackles in the air between us.
The kiss in the tasting room has ignited every nerve in my body to the point of pain.
Touching him is helping, and making it all infinitely worse.
My skin is too tight, I can’t draw in a full breath, and I’m overwhelmed—by this place, by the view, by him.
I twine my arms around his neck. He made the first move all the other times, and technically, he did tonight too. Now we need to keep going or I’m going to combust.
He spins us until my back hits the window. “Are you afraid someone will see you up here?”
“I don’t care.” I regret leaving the tasting room. I could be wrapped around him by now. I would’ve fit perfectly on his lap. “But thanks for checking.”
And I mean it. He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met. The trust stipulations aren’t his fault. He’s as trapped as me. When the house is sold, I’ll be gone and he’ll be relieved.
Something like panic flits through me, but I bury my hands in his hair and drag his head down to me. My lips hit his and he braces his hands on the glass, kissing me senseless.
I yank on the collar of his polo. Why is this even on? I tug it up and he puts enough space between us so I can slip it over his head. I toss it on the chair across from his desk.
I trail my fingers down his hard chest, the scattering of hair tickling my fingertips. “You are just . . .” Perfection. I stop at the tattoo of a tipped barrel next to an upright one. Then I nudge him to turn around. “Is there anything back here?” A soft gasp escapes.
The ink on his shoulder blade is a truck just like my dad’s. My pickup. The one he fixed up for me.
I spin him back around. “When did you get this?”
His expression is hard again, but in a way I haven’t seen. Vulnerable. He’s afraid to answer. “When he told me the stories, and I saw your picture, I just knew I had to rescue that truck. I knew it had to be a good memory for you.”
Emotion crawls up into my throat. He didn’t answer my question, but he’s only been living next to where I grew up for six years. “Why?”
He clenches his jaw and drops his gaze, but he doesn’t back away. “They were such happy memories. I didn’t get that when I was a kid, and I worried you’d lost them as an adult.”
“Oh, Lane.” I cup his face, and he lifts his gaze to mine.
“There’s a lot you don’t want to remember, but those stories? They struck me and stuck. Maybe there’s something good there that you look back on. Out of all that hurt? One old truck might be the thing that makes you smile.”
I never would’ve thought something could rip my attention off the pecs and abs in front of me. But this sweet man is so much more than his looks. “So you tattooed it on yourself?”
He nods and traces the line of my jaw. “He was getting unpredictable and short on cash. I thought maybe he’d sell it, and it’d be gone forever.”
I slip under his arm to stand behind him. I place a kiss on the little truck, warm from his furnace of a body, then rest my cheek on it and hook my arms around his waist. He clamps his hands over mine, and we breathe together.
“No one’s ever been so thoughtful,” I say softly.
“Get used to it, Em.”
My skin is shrinking again, and the desire from a minute ago comes roaring back, filling me to bursting.
I place another kiss under the tattoo and a third one between his shoulder blades.
I skim my hands down to his waistband and unbutton the jeans.
His abs are clenched, and when I lick along his spine, a low growl echoes against the glass.
“You can have your fun, Em, but then you’re mine.”
“You sure about that?” I lower his zipper, and the pressure behind it is impressive.
“I promise you, wife.”
My breath shudders in. The peak of one nipple scrapes against him, thanks to the undone flap of my overalls. Need shivers down my spine. I move his underwear out of the way and wrap my fingers around his searing-hot erection. He fills my grip, throbbing underneath my hold.
I pump up and down, fascinated by the way tremors roll through him.
“Of all the things I pictured, it wasn’t this,” he says on a pant. “You behind me, my dick in your hand.”
“How did you picture it?” I want to hear every word, every fantasy, but the flood of hormones in my blood is going to take over. The throb behind my thighs beats a demanding rhythm.
“Fuck. You on your knees, mouth stretched wide, looking up at me.”
“Like this?” I turn him around, and it’s the first time I see his cock. A proud crown at the top with a thick vein lining its length, it’s every bit as formidable as he is. I drop to my knees.
Air saws in and out of him. “Goddamn. With those sweet ponytails making you look like you don’t have the sassy mouth you do?” I lick across the tip, and he drops his head back. “Fuuuuck.”
I finally have control of something. I like that it’s Lane Foster.
I place another kiss, wetting my lips with the drop of precum. His salty flavor mixes with my watermelon lip gloss. A mixture of us on my taste buds. I suck him into my mouth.
A long groan is the only sound he makes as he braces himself.
I look up at him, and his blue irises are eaten up by his pupils. His hair’s rumpled from my hands, and it shadows his face. He looks dangerous. Like the bad boy he never wanted to be.
He’s a good man, and that turns me on even more.
I pump him up and down, running my tongue along that vein. He flexes his hands, moving them from my hair to the window behind him and back, like he doesn’t know what to do. Another heady experience.
I hum, and he jerks.
“Em, I’m gonna come, and it’s going to be long and hard.” His voice is rough. “But I won’t be done. I’m going to make you fall apart as much as you do to me.”
A quiver traces down my body, and then I hold on to his hips. He slaps his hands against the glass, and a snarl rips from his throat, just as his hot release spills down mine.
“Fucking hell, Em.” He bucks, his palms squeaking along the glass.
Then he sags, but not for long. I’m getting lifted to my feet.
I grab for the second flap, but he takes my hand and kisses my palm. “No. I get to undress you.”
I glance out the window. The last rays of sunlight fade behind the trees. The lights aren’t on in his office. It’s open, but it’s private. “Then undress me. Husband.”
Why did I say that?
It’s just harmless fun. Like this, it’s just sex. A release of pressure. Something I badly need.
His nostrils flare, and he unhooks the metal latch, flicking the flap over my shoulder and tugging them down. I’m in nothing but a snug baby-pink shirt and my underwear.
“Better than Christmas,” he murmurs before yanking me into him and claiming my mouth.
He picks me up and walks to his desk. My ass hits the edge, and I kick my overalls all the way off my feet and toe out of my shoes. His taste is on my tongue, and I just . . . need.
He pulls my shirt over my head and drinks in the sight of me in my bra. Flipping the cups down to free my nipples, I moan at the brush of the fabric. When he sucks one into his mouth and flicks it with his tongue, I cry out and hug his head to me.
“More,” I gasp.
He moves to the other side, and I scissor my legs as well as I can. Have I ever been this turned on before? We haven’t done that much foreplay, and it’s been me getting him off.
Just when the suction of his mouth pales against the throb of my pussy, he drops to his knees. Hooking his fingers in my waistband, he draws them down my thighs. I wiggle enough to make it happen, and then my bare ass is on the cool desktop.
“Spread those knees wide, Em. I’m hungry.”
I’m helpless to do as he says. He’s the answer to all this pressure inside me, pushing out and demanding. Shadows fall across the office, and he delves between my legs. He licks through my seam and finds my clit like he’s gone down on me a million times.
Pleasure rocks me, and I prop a hand behind me. I shove my other hand through his hair and hang on.
The ride he takes me on is smooth, but strong. “Lane.” Like the last time, I’m begging him. Pleading. The pleasure that’s only seconds away might spin my world around, but it might just be worth it.
I hitch my knees up and rest my heels on the edge of the desk. The wanton woman I’ve become is a stranger. I’m not like this, but I’ll turn myself inside out for Lane. My thighs flex as I roll and thrust into him.
When he pushes a finger inside, a sigh leaves me. Finally, I’m full. But even in my blissed-out state, I know it could be more. I’ve had that more in my mouth.
He puts his thumb in place of his tongue. “Ride it.”
I keep doing exactly that.
“Look at you. So fucking needy, but only I can do this.” He kisses the inside of a thigh.
“Yes.”
He scrapes his teeth along the inside of my leg. “Say it louder.”
“God yes.”
“Fuck, Em. I’m hard again.” He grips his shaft. Lane has control of me and himself. “You do this to me. You and this needy cunt of yours that just begs for me. Only”—he plants another kiss right over where his thumb is working me—“you.”
When he replaces his thumb with his tongue, I lose it. I catapult into the stars. “Lane!”
Euphoria washes over me. I arch so far, I would’ve fallen off the desk, but he keeps me in place.
I’m all his.
The thought is a splash of cold water, but it heats up again as soon as he rises. He’s still working me with his hand, eking every last drop of pleasure from me, and he shoves his pants down with the other.
He’s slowed his pace, and aftershocks ripple through me, making me almost too sensitive. Not enough to stop this. Because I have to know what’s coming next.
“Do I need a condom?” he asks with a rasp.
I lick my dry lips. The force of my undulations isn’t as strong. I’ve never not used protection. For the extra mile, I’m taking the pill. I wasn’t going to attach myself to someone who didn’t plan to stick around. “I’m on birth control.”
He centers himself and pushes my legs even farther apart. We’re soaked in darkness, and a shadowed Lane sends ripples of awareness over my skin.
“Nothing between us.” His hold on my knees tightens. “This pussy is mine.”
“Yours.” There’s an echo between my ribs. I’m his.
But for how long?
Then he pushes in, slowly filling me in a way that’s so damn right, and I don’t care. For now, I need this pleasure. I get something to keep with me.
“Lane,” I whimper.
“I’ve got you.” He seats himself fully. “Fuck, you grip me so well. Perfect, like you were made for me.”
Those words. I squeeze my eyes shut, glad he can’t see any fear that’s slipping through. What if I was made for him? What if he ruins me, and I have to watch him lose interest?
“Em, are you still with me?” He rocks without pulling out.
I open my eyes. “Yes. I’m here.” With him. In the distillery.
“That beautiful brain of yours is going to steal you away.” He grabs the bottle of gin, opens it, and takes a drink. Leaning over, he tilts my face up. When he puts his lips on mine, I open. Warm lavender-infused gin trickles into my mouth. It’s even richer with his flavor intermixed.
I moan into him.
The gin-soaked kiss relaxes me and he starts thrusting. Easy and languid until he picks up the pace. The position I’m in, with his size, carries me right to the peak. The sound of our skin slapping together fills the air and a drop of gin leaks out of the corner of my mouth.
Lane licks it up and straightens. “Hang on. I need you to come with me.”
I grip the edge of the desk and he rams into me, over and over. I need each slam of his cock. Each spike of pleasure goes into my memory bank, tucked around that thoughtful pickup tattoo on his back.
A permanent tattoo.
“Lane!” I’m cartwheeling again, lost in him, in the dark office, but thankfully, not in my thoughts. The taste of gin on my tongue orients me to him.
He stiffens and his heat fills me. We come together, and there’s never been a time I’ve felt so whole, like I belonged. Then I’m floating down. He’s quit bucking into me, holding me against him while his limbs quiver and shake.
I swallow, not knowing what to say.
He kisses the top of my head and doesn’t move his mouth away. “I’m bringing you and that bottle of gin to bed, and you’re not getting out until morning.”