Page 43 of A Vintage of Regret
He pulled his wallet from his pocket and opened the billfold, tossing a condom on the nightstand.
“Good call,” she whispered as he eased in next to her.
Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, the steady rhythm fascinating, hypnotizing. He marveled, not for the first time, athow perfectly she fit with him, into him, around him. The scent of her mingling with the earthiness of the vineyard easing in through the window was heady, intoxicating. It filled his senses, leaving no space for anything but her. She was his sun, his moon, his stars, his sky. For a moment, he paused, his gaze feasting on every inch. If she decided to leave again, and this moment was all he ever had with her again, would it be enough?
His fingers traced a slow, torturous path down her chest, skimming over the swell of her breasts. She gasped, a soft, pleasured sound that echoed in the silence, bouncing off the old inn’s walls. The sound teetered on the precipice of a moan, sending an answering ripple of desire through his veins.
He trailed his mouth lazily over the sensitive skin of her collarbone, savoring the salty-sweet taste of her. Her breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping from between her lips as he descended lower, the valley between her breasts, the altar he worshiped at. He could feel her pulse race beneath his fingers, a silent testament to her arousal. A moan escaped his lips, the sound primal, filled with raw desire, reverberating around the small room.
Taking her nipple into his mouth, he gently swirled his tongue, until he couldn’t stand it a second longer. He sucked, hard, needing more.
She arched into him, gripping his shoulders, her breath gusted past his ear like a breeze rustling through the vines.
Her hands, fingers splayed wide, threaded through his hair as she made a soft, pleading sound, urging him on. His hand moved down her stomach, tracing the buttons of her jeans. Her hips lifted off the bed slightly, seeking the pressure, wanting more.
Taking the unspoken invitation, he moved his hand lower, dipping into the waistband of her jeans. He could almost taste the anticipation in the air, the seconds ticking by like hours as heslowly unbuttoned her pants, sliding them off her hips, tossing them aside.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured.
A soft sigh escaped her as he moved in closer, his hands exploring the familiar yet exciting realms of her body. His fingers brushed along the edge of her panties, his own breath hitching at the contact. The sight of her beneath him was turning him inside out. She was a vision and she left him feeling vulnerable in ways he hadn’t thought possible.
“Bryson,” she whispered, her voice a soft melody that fluttered over the drumming rain outside. “Don’t make me beg.”
He licked his lips. “I always liked it when you did that.”
“Just remember what they say about payback.”
He groaned as he gently removed her lacy thong.
The tips of his fingers traced over the soft skin of her thighs, eliciting a shiver from her, her muscles tensing under his touch. His fingers flirted dangerously close to her core, her soft gasps and whimpers only stoking his desire.
He dared to glance at her face, her cheeks flushed and her eyes half-lidded. Her lips parted, and she breathed out his name, like a plea, like a command, all at once.
“Bryson.”
With that, he moved closer, his fingers exploring her, her hips lifting to meet his hand. Her body was a furnace, and he was being sucked into the flame. He reveled in it, the intensity of her desire burning his fingers as he delved deeper. Her whimpers turned into soft cries, her back arching off the bed like a bowstring pulled taut.
The primal need was potent, blurring his rational thoughts. All he could focus on was her—the taste of her under his tongue, the softness of her body against his, the intoxicating scent of her arousal. The world outside ceased to exist.
He didn’t rush, not with this. Every caress was purposeful, every stroke aimed to elicit a response. Her hips rose off the bed, chasing the pleasure he bestowed. His name ripped from her throat as he pushed a finger inside and brushed his tongue over her swollen clit, an echoing plea for more. He obliged, adding another, the squelching sound of her arousal filling the room.
When he added a third finger, her legs trembled around him, and her nails dug into his scalp. Her body was coiling, wound tight like a spring.
He could feel her pulse around his fingers, her body convulsing with a pleasure so intense it was almost debilitating. Her release took her, consumed her entirely, and he rode it with her, his own body responding to the pleasure coursing through hers.
He took a moment to just watch her. Splayed out beneath him, her body glowed under the dim light of the lamp. He leaned down to kiss her. It was a heady mix, the tang of their arousal, the dull hint of Pinot, and her own sweet taste. He could get drunk on her alone.
“Your turn,” she said, her eyes glinting with a promise of a night well spent.
“If you insist.” He tore off his shirt and tossed it to the floor.
She made a grab for the buckle of his jeans, her fingers trembling slightly. He bit back a groan as her hands moved over him, anticipation tightening the coil in his gut.
With a determined tug, his jeans and boxers were discarded on the floor, his arousal freed from its confinement. Her fingers circled his length, her eyes never leaving his. The sight was intoxicating.
She leaned forward, her tongue darting out, licking his tip before taking him into her mouth.
Holding his breath, he did his best to maintain control. It wasn’t easy. She glanced up at him, and he all but came undone.
