Page 56 of Love on the Vine
I stretched a finger up inside her. Damn, she was tight. It would be heaven to be inside her. My cock throbbed against her back at the idea.
The walls of her pussy tightened against me when I found the little mound of flesh, bent my finger against it and then pumped my finger inside her as she writhed against me, whimpering. The base of my hand ground against her clit.
“Do you have any idea how hard I want to fuck you?” I growled in her ear, still pumping as if it was my cock inside her instead of my finger. I could feel the tension building inside her, so I slowed down and brought my fingers back to her clit until she was arching her back against me, her tits flushed and peeking out of her hair.
“Shhh,” I whispered. “Don’t make so much noise, or everyone on this beach will know you’re about to come.”
“I am, Jake. I’m going to . . .” I circled harder, faster. And then she was making the sweetest keening sounds, trying to stifle her pleasure. I reached my finger back up inside her, pumping gently, as she squeezed out her orgasm.
After the spasms passed, she slumped into me, and I reluctantly removed my fingers from inside her. I kissed her shoulder through the veil of her hair, still not willing to let her go.
“That was incredible . . . and unexpected,” she murmured. I smiled into her hair and wrapped my arms around her, held her as her breathing went back to normal.
So much for avoiding complications.
And yet, right now, holding her soft body against mine as we listened to the rhythmic crash of the waves against the rocks, being with her didn’t feel so complicated. It felt as natural as the tide returning to the sea.
After a few minutes, Olivia stirred in my arms. “Can we go back home now?”
Home. Hearing her say those words made me realize for the first time that Moustiers was beginning to feel like home in a way it hadn’t before she came to stay.
* * *
As soon as we were back on the road, Olivia fell into a deep, sated sleep. I shook my head and smiled. If she was lucky, I might carry her to her room and let her sleep. Or I’d take her upstairs and make her come again, but this time on my cock.
When I pulled up to the house, however, I had to quickly revise those plans. There was a car in the driveway. One that I recognized.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumbled as I turned the engine off. Only then did I remember what day it was. I’d done my best to block it from my mind.
Olivia stirred in her seat, blinking in confusion at the black BMW. “Whose car is that?”
“Lucie’s,” I answered, silently cursing my luck. So much for my plan to carry Olivia upstairs and finish what we’d started back at the beach. I stepped out of the car and opened the door for her, sliding my arm around her waist as I helped her out. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, better than okay.” Her neck flushed, and I wanted to press my lips to the rosy spot of color against her collarbone. For a crazy moment, I considered dragging her back to the cottage to hide out until Lucie and whoever else she’d brought along had left. But it was too late. Lucie was already standing at the door waving.
“There he is! The birthday boy,” she cried as she descended upon us.
“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday!” Olivia stared at me indignantly as Lucie threw her arms around me and kissed my cheek.
“He always keeps it so quiet.” Lucie laughed and embraced her.
“Because it’s not a big deal.” There was a reason I never celebrated my birthday. Too many bad memories of birthdays ignored or forgotten as a kid. I’d learned to ignore it myself. It was just another day after all.
“Well, I wish I’d known.” Olivia threw me a hurt and confused look as Lucie led us toward the house.
“I thought maybe you were out celebrating, and I’d brought all this food for nothing. Come see,” Lucie said, guiding us inside where my “friends,” mostly old industry acquaintances, were waiting.
“Joyeux anniversaire!” they cried in unison.
“Wow.” I flung my keys and sunglasses into the ceramic bowl on the hall table. It was hard to act pleasantly surprised when all I wanted was to toss all my uninvited guests out the door. This was the biggest cockblock in history.
Spencer Apsley, one of Lucie’s fashion photographer friends, was making his way toward me as I stared dumbfounded. I barely recognized him. He had a full beard now and some artfully placed tattoos on display. Most perplexing, he was wearing a beanie in July.
Spencer and Lucie had dated off and on for years. In fact, we’d probably overlapped. I didn’t consider the guy a friend, but he slapped me on the back like he was overjoyed to see me. “Jake, my man. How’s it going, bro?”
“Could be better,” I answered, taking in the rest of my guests: Olivier David, restaurant critic, Fred Minghella, an editor at Lucie’s magazine, and Luc Bernard, the sommelier at Eden Rock. It dawned on me. This wasn’t a surprise party; it was an ambush. Lucie was determined to make me part of the fall issue ofVatel.
Reluctantly, I introduced Olivia to them. The way their eyes ran over her made me want to take each outside and grind their face into the gravel. Especially Apsley, who had a reputation for sleeping with young models.
