Autumn in the Vineyard (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) (26 page)

She rocked against him as his mouth found her breast. He drew her in, his lips creating an exquisite suction as his tongue flattened against her hard nipple.

Frankie’s head fell back on a sigh, and she pressed harder into him, trying to ease the building ache but it only left her dizzy. So she ground again, harder, desperate for release. She felt him smile against her breast before moving on to the other one, but his hands stayed put on her ass.

Not that she didn’t like foreplay, she did, but she was wound so tight that she was going to die if she didn’t find some kind of release. And soon.

“Just tell me what you want, Frankie.” Nate said, kissing his way back up to her mouth.

“You inside of me,” she whispered. He raised a brow, so she added, “Okay?”

“Okay.” His hand slid down the curve of her bottom, around the front, his finger sliding deep inside of her. “Like this?”

No, she had something else in mind, but she was too busy crying out, too busy taking pleasure in the smooth, intoxicating rhythm he created, to do anything other than gasp.

“Does that feel good?”

And if her panting and whimpering wasn’t proof enough, the way she pressed down against his fingers, her hips jerking with need, answered the question. Because if he kept up that pace, put his mouth right—Frankie grabbed his head and lowered it to her breast—right there and then—

“Oh, God,” she groaned. “Do that again.”

And he did, his thumb rubbed back and forth along her and suddenly two fingers were inside of her. He circled slowly while his teeth gently sank into her hardened nipple. And
Frankie was startled to realize that she was two circles and one bite away from an orgasm.

“Like that?”

Yes, exactly like that.

She bit her lip, trying to hold out, but the pressure built, fast and hard. It started in her toes and before she could stop it, heat rushed up, shattering every single thought in her mind until all she saw was a vast blankness and the best post-orgasm glow known to woman.

“You okay?” Nate whispered against her shoulder. His palm glided up and down her back, making opening her eyes impossible.

“I think so,” she said but couldn’t figure how her head managed to fall on his shoulder. He smelled good. She wanted to just lie there, in his arms and nuzzle against him.

“I can see that,” he chuckled and slid his hands under her butt. Frankie let out a sigh and cuddled closer into the yummy curve of his neck. Only instead of his pulling her to him, she felt gravity shift and heard his boots hit the deck.

“Where are we going?” She looked up to find them standing. Well, Nate was standing, she was still twisted around him like a pretzel. A very spent pretzel.

“Bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed.” Frankie felt panic well up. The reality of what she’d agreed to crashed in on her. Sure, she wanted to have sex with Nate. She even wanted to play the forever game for tonight. But bed-sex? She didn’t know if she could come back from that. “Why can’t we stay right here?”

“Because I still haven’t gotten to door number three yet. And getting
there
out
here
would require some creative positioning. Positions that would no doubt lead to slivers in unwanted
places since you’re practically sliding out of my arms.” He opened the front door and kicked it closed behind them.

“I’m not sliding out of your arms,” she argued, having a really hard time getting a grip on his neck. “And I have to brush Mittens or his hair will knot and tangle. He gets angry if I forget.”

“You promised me there was no alpaca behind that door. Now, lie back.” She did and realized that she was on a soft mattress. His soft mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. Immaculately made bed. Matching sheets and pillowcases. God awful pink chair. Yup. Definitely his bed. Crap. “And if in five minutes you still want to go brush the alpaca, then we can revisit this argument.”

“Five minutes? Is that all you got?”

“After today, that’s a generous estimation. I’m two and O, sweet cheeks. Meaning after two attempts I still haven’t gotten my O. So yeah, five minutes if we’re lucky.”

“Fine,” she said, looking up into his amazing eyes. “Five minutes in that shag chair and I promise to up your average.”

CHAPTER 13

N
ate rested his weight on his arms, the mattress sagging under him as he looked down at Frankie, watching every emotion she was feeling cross over her face. He wanted her for more than a single night. And he wanted to see all of her, not just what was under those shorts. Although he wanted that too. Bad. But one wrong move and he could mess this whole thing up, and that was not an option. Not when he was finally penetrating that wall she’d so skillfully built and maintained.

His goal was to get so deep under her skin and into her heart that she wouldn’t wake up tomorrow regretting tonight. But he could tell that, for whatever reason, once they’d entered the bedroom she’d freaked. To the point that she was actually considering bolting out of here in nothing but those soft, and minuscule, shorts she thought passed for pajamas. So he pushed off the bed, straightened, and in one move tossed her over his shoulder. With a smack on that incredible ass, he ignored her squeak and walked to the chair.

“What are you doing?” She smacked his butt so he smacked hers again then rubbed little circles on her thigh.

“Getting my shag on,” he said, setting her in the chair and smiling when her boobs bounced. Yeah, he could get used to Frankie. Topless. In his chair. Her hair a tangle of curls hanging loose around her shoulders.

She picked up a yellow legal pad that sat on the end table and grinned. “Color coded?” She flipped the page, then the next, her grin widening.

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“Do you have a list for me?” Did he ever. Only that one wasn’t written down. It was meticulous, had sub-columns, and was dirty as hell. In fact, the majority of every night in this house had been spent adding, restructuring, and ranking that particular list. And his face must have shown it because she asked, “What’s at the top?”

“Tonight?” He snagged the pad and tossed it on the bed. “You. Naked. Screaming out my name in that chair.”

“Take this off,” she ordered, tugging at his shirt. “And let’s see what we can do about checking that off your list.”

With a smile he pulled it over his head with one hand.

“But about upping that average, I think you have some catching up to do first.” Frankie levered herself up so she sat on the edge of the seat. She reached for the buttons of his jeans and, zipper down, slid the Levis and briefs off his hips and to the floor. Her long legs parted to make room for him as she pulled him toward her.

He managed to step out of his boots and pants while her palm wrapped around the length of him, her fingers cool and sure, gently stroking and caressing him from base to tip and back down. Watching her hands, he was fascinated how one
minute they could looks so strong and the next elegant. When her mouth joined the party, fascination didn’t even begin to explain what he felt.

“Oh, God, Frankie.” His fingers ended up in her hair, fisting tighter with each lick. Her hands were magic, and her mouth.
God, that mouth.
If he wanted this to last longer than two seconds, he couldn’t even go there. She sucked him in hard and his hips bucked, driving him deeper.

“Any more of that and we won’t make it to door three.” He stepped back, and she released him.

He took her elbow and helped her stand. Grabbing a condom from the bedside table, he sank into the chair and ran his hands all the way down her arms, to her hips, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her shorts. He pulled her to him and placed an openmouthed kiss right on her center, applying just enough tongue to make her gasp. Burying his face against the soft cotton, he did it again, only this time her hips shifted forward, and he could taste her arousal on his lips.

“More,” she moaned.

People pleaser that he was, he tugged the hem of her shorts down, just below the V of her thighs and gave her more. Right up the middle. From the center to top in one swipe of the tongue. On the third pass he felt her stomach tremble and her legs began to give out.

He peeled her shorts down to the floor, kissing her knee, thigh, stomach, before pulling her onto his lap and kissing her lips.

Frankie straddled him and sank down, her wet, hot skin settling over his tip. She took the condom off the table and, after a whole lot of stroking and teasing, slid it home. Then with a smile, that if he were being honest scared him as much
as it turned him on, she reached down and pulled the chair’s lever.

The seat tilted back. Frankie tilted forward, her hands braced on either side of his head, and, Jesus, those incredible breasts were situated right in his face.

“Whoever invented this chair deserves an award,” he said, because all he had to do was lean up and—oh, yeah. She smelled like wine, bold and spicy, and tasted even better. And she was definitely a D.

Nate had never considered himself a breast man—he usually went for legs, which Frankie had in spades—but there was something about her breasts, something that he hoped to spend days figuring out.

Frankie, however, had other plans, because she arched her back and sank down, and slowly pushed until he was all the way inside of her. They both stopped breathing, stopped moving, and for a second took in the moment. Then Frankie started moving.

She rose up only to sink deliciously back down, taking even more of him. Her hips moved faster, harder, and breathing seemed to piss off his chest so he gave up on it. She let out a low throaty moan and closed her eyes and all Nate could do was watch her. The way her hair tumbled around her shoulders, her mouth parted as she let loose sweet little moans of pleasure, how she was two seconds away from exploding in his arms.

She was so damn beautiful.

“I’m going to,” she gasped. “I need to…”

“Me too.”

Nate gripped her hips, and rose up, moving faster and deeper. He wanted to make this last, but then her thighs started squeezing his, and she started making these noises that
drove him out of his fucking mind, and he started thrusting harder.

The pressure built, but he held himself in check, barely, determined for her to go over first. He slid his hand between their bodies, rubbing his thumb back and forth over where they were joined. He felt her stiffen, take in a breath and hold it.

“Come on, Francesca, let go.”

And thank God she did. She arched back, pushed down as he was coming up and her breath exploded from her lungs. Her walls clenched around him, nearly strangling his dick until it throbbed and Nate gave one final thrust and felt all the blood rush south. Then everything went black and he collapsed against the chair, while Frankie collapsed against him.

After he was able to breathe without gasping, he grabbed a tissue from the side table and cleaned up. Placing a kiss to the top of her head, he whispered into her hair, “That was incredible. You were incredible.”

Her face was pillowed into his chest and all he could hear was the steady rhythm of her breathing. He ran a hand down her back to cup her butt and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Frankie?”

Her answer was to burrow further into his chest and let out a soft, sleepy sigh. Nate gave a sigh of his own, grabbed the matching afghan off the back of the chair and, pulling her tightly to him, covered them.

After a while his legs started to go numb and his cheeks began to hurt. He was grinning. He knew it and yet he couldn’t stop. Then Frankie shifted, her lean arms sliding around his middle and he decided he didn’t care.

A pounding came from right outside Frankie’s window followed by pounding in her head. She cracked open her eyes and winced; the sun was barely peeking through her window, yet managed to pierce her right through the retina. She rolled over and—

“Holy poppycock,” she groaned, grabbing her forehead. But it didn’t help. Her mouth felt as though she’d spent the evening grooming Mittens—with her tongue—and pain pushed through the top of her head right down to her toes, making the pink shag chair even more nauseating than ever.

Shag chair?

Her hands did a quick morning-after pat down and—yup. She was alone, in Nate’s bed, totally naked.

She struggled to piece together last night. She had only managed to get to the part where Nate found her on the porch having a pity party for one, which turned into a sex party for two, which led to the shag chair, and somehow bed—his bed, which explained the allergic reaction she was currently experiencing—when another crash shot through the air.

This time it vibrated the entire house and was followed by a pissed off bleating and several hostile
warks
.

“No, Mittens!” In one motion Frankie was on her feet and headed for the front door. She grabbed a clean top and bottoms—both neatly folded in the basket on her bed—and slipped into her boots on the way. According to the clock it was nearly ten, which meant Mittens would be hungry. “Not this time.”

Images of horse teeth chewing through the side of the new tank flashed as she raced down the hall, past the now re-organized pantry, snagging a box of Pop Tarts, and out the front door.