Page 56 of Love You Truly

He’s also kissing me, which feels so good—just not good enough. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. I’m breathless and desperate for another orgasm like the one he just gave me. It’s a drug, and he’s pretending he doesn’t know how badly I want it.

“I need you inside,” I pant, more exasperated than seductive.

He laughs. “Am I frustrating you?”

“Yes.” I hate to admit it because I know it’s what he wants, but it feels like the only way to get what I want.

“Sorry, not sorry?”

He kisses me again and moves so the tip of his erection is just inside me before pulling away.

“You are killing me…” I groan.

“And it feels so good to lose control to someone else. Admit it,” he whispers. I hear a condom wrapper tear open and don’t have the wherewithal to figure out where he got it.

Just as I’m about to agree and disagree at the same time, he pushes inside me fully, and I lose all sense of time and place. Every pleasure center in my body flashes to life at the same time, and I cry out because it’s all I can do. It’s all anyone can do when she’s with a man who feels this good. He’s bigger and thicker than any man I’ve been with, like I’ve been waiting my whole life for something I didn’t know existed.

I want him to stay inside me forever, and that’s insane. It’s certainly not something I’m going to tell him even though I’m pretty sure he already knows from the way he’s staring at me.

He looks like he’s seeing something incredible, eyes wide and amazed—or maybe just scared because I probably look like I feel. Like I never want to let him go.

It’s crazy and it’s incredible and it’s scary as hell because I absolutely need to let him go just as soon as we’re done here because that was the deal.

So I do what any responsible, man-hangry woman would do in my situation, which is to let Dashiell Corbett work his magic tongue and hands—and goddammit, his amazing cock—on me until I’m screaming his name at the top of my lungs as well as things about god and other nonsense because he’s giving me the most incredible orgasm I’ve had in my life.

And from the way he’s cursing and panting my name, he feels exactly the same way.

Which is why I’m totally screwed. Literally and figuratively.

CHAPTER 21

Dash

Maybe I should be stressed out. Ordinarily, sex makes things complicated. It’s why I stopped hooking up with women and stopped dating at all, for that matter.

The questions about where things are going and the fear I’ll hurt someone because I don’t have deep emotional feelings that accompany sex…those are all good reasons to keep my dick in my pants and say good night with a kiss.

Oddly, I don’t feel any of those concerns here.

It’s been six days since Mallory and I had the best sex of my life, and I can’t get her out of my head. Thankfully, we agreed that we can be real friends who are fake-engaged and have white-hot sex when we want to—which is pretty much all the time.

Nothing complicated about that. Fight me if you disagree.

We’re walking through the fallow fields at Autumn Lake and imagining vineyards as far as the eye can see. “I can ask Archer, but I think cabernet grapes would do best on this side. They’re hearty, and this soil is perfect, so you can pretty much take your pick.”

“No, I was thinking about planting cab on this side too.” She smiles. “Brilliant minds.”

“I still can’t believe your parents have been sitting on all this land, knowing its value to the winemakers around here and just…”

“Growing weeds? Yeah, they’re unreliable wanderers,” Mallory says, walking past several sheep that graze on a combination of grass, weeds, and wildflowers.

I’m struck by how different Autumn Lake is from Buttercup Hill. Our property is manicured and planned from end to end. After he inherited the business from our grandfather, our dad devised a master plan for every inch of the space. I wasn’t even born when he started developing the expanded acreage into our cabernet vineyard.

All I remember is growing up running among the vines and eating the sweet grapes until my hands and face were stained purple. Part of that was probably due to my general cluelessness, but I also got used to a huge number of trucks and workers on the property all the time. Something was always happening somewhere. Progress all the time.

By the time I reached high school, Buttercup Hill looked much the way it does today, with a café, a high-end restaurant, and inn on the property, with the old barn serving as a sort of headquarters. Now it’s the one place every guest wants to see. Display cases in the lobby show older iterations of wine labels and a photo history of the property.

Eventually, our dad began building houses on the perimeter of the property, and now each of us lives on-site. Looking at the vast fields surrounding us, I can picture it developed with vineyards and buildings because that’s all I know.

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