But she pulls away, her dainty hand on my chest, and quickly runs her thumb over my brow. “I promised everyone we’d have lunch with them. We’re going to a winery.”
I frown, not wanting to see anyone but her and especially not wanting to go to a winery after last night.
She continues, reading my face. “Don’t worry, it’s not a wine tasting. Well, it is, but they’re already there, I think. I told them we’d meet them at the winery’s restaurant for lunch. It’s not far, and I heard it’s good food. Farm to table and all that.”
I groan and eye the alarm clock. It’s eleven o’clock. I can’t believe I even slept in that long. Usually I’m up at seven and raring to go.
She holds my hand and gives it a squeeze. “After lunch, I’m all yours. They all know. They don’t want to take you away from me.”
I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “They sound like good friends.”
“They know you make me happy.”
Her words are a fist to the gut, and they nearly leave me breathless.
I make you happy? I want to ask her, but I can’t. I don’t. I swallow her words down and pretend that they aren’t affecting me like a goddamn shot of vodka.
“Okay,” I tell her. “I’ll get ready.”
It’s not long before I’m dressed, Emily’s been fed and walked again, and Kayla and I are in her car driving to the winery. I have to admit, the day is absolutely brilliant, and the fresh country air is doing wonders to clear my head. I think the smog of San Francisco has started to clutter it up a little too much, and for a moment, my heart pangs for Edinburgh, with its quiet lanes and stone buildings and the slower pace of life.
I look over at Kayla as she drives, my hand at the back of her neck, my thumb rubbing against her skin. I could sit here for hours, as long as I can keep touching her. I wonder briefly, so briefly, just a flash, what she would think of Edinburgh if she could see it. Would she like Scotland? Would she see the country, the city that I see? Would she understand why its home?
But such thoughts are futile. They get pushed down into a locked box, and I stare out the window, watching sparrows dance in the blue sky and the endless curve of vineyards that stretch over the hills.
Soon we arrive at a winery composed of hay, rustic fences, and sprawling barns. One of the barns holds the restaurant, and we find my cousins and their women already sitting down, toasting each other with wine to something.
It makes me hold onto Kayla tighter. The four of them seem so tight-knit that I can’t imagine Kayla with them after I leave. Will she sit there, just happy to be on her own, happy for her friends, but forever the fifth wheel? Will she have someone else by her side, some other guy? One that she’s fucking, one that she maybe loves?
The thought of that nearly makes me sick. I have to stop, mid-stride, and throw my shoulders back to take in a deep breath.
“You okay?” Kayla asks, and I quickly nod, glad that no one else saw that.
“Just in time,” Bram says from the table, lifting his glass. “We were toasting to hangovers.”
“That seems about right,” I say, forcing brevity into my voice. I sit down and give them all a tight smile. My glass is filled with wine, but there’s also one with water, so I raise that. “Here’s to feeling like the dog’s bollocks,” I say.
“Here, here,” they all say. We all tap glasses, and I noticed that Bram is getting that sentimental look in his eyes that I don’t think anyone else ever notices except for me. I give him a sharp nod, not wanting to go down the schmaltzy road, then clink my glass with Kayla’s, who is also toasting with water.
I look deep in her eyes, the light in the barn bringing out the different shades of mahogany and teak. “Here’s to you, love,” I say softly, barely audible. “You’re quite the hangover cure.”
The corner of her mouth lifts in a soft smile and I impulsively lean over to kiss it.
Bram clears his throat, and I reluctantly look back at him. Maybe he can see in my eyes that I’m just daring him to say something, so he looks away, busying himself by picking up a menu. I can’t help but smirk at that. For all of Bram’s money and affluence, he’s still a bit intimidated by his younger cousin.
The lunch ends up going smoothly, and even though Linden was grating on my nerves yesterday, he’s more subdued today. Maybe it’s the hangover. Everyone has been turned down a few notches. Still, when the waitress comes by to take away our empty plates, I find myself sighing internally with relief. As much as I honestly do care for Bram and Linden, and I don’t mind Nicola and Steph, all I want to do is spend my last moments with the woman next to me. Little by little, I can feel that darkness creeping in, snaking black fingers that take hold of your brain, and I want to do what I can to keep them at bay.
Even though they seem to increase when I’m thinking about Kayla, she’s also the cure.
We all make tentative plans to meet later on at the bowling alley bar inside the hotel, even though in the back of my head I know I’m not going to show up. I’ll say goodbye to them in the morning. That will be enough for me.
The minute they leave and get in their cars, I grab Kayla’s hand and lead her along the peeling paint fence toward one of the barns in the background. Unlike the barns used for the restaurant and wine tasting, this one looks neglected.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks as I look around, checking to see if anyone is looking. From this angle there’s nothing in sight except hayfields and rows of grapes.
“I know you’re not too keen on the dog watching us,” I tell her, leading her into the barn, past farm equipment, to the ladder that leads up to the hayloft.
“I’m also not too keen on rolling around in rat poop,” she says.
I shoot her a smile and start to climb the ladder. “Wait there. Let me check.” I climb and pop my head over the edge. It’s not packed with hay, but there are a lot of bales stacked along one side, some of the hay loose and spreading onto the floor. It will be comfortable enough. And no, I don’t see any rats.
I step off the ladder and wave her up. “Come on,” I say quietly. “The hay is fine.”
She purses her lips, thinking it over. I stand at the edge and unzip my cargo pants, bringing my dick out of them, already stiff as a board.
Her eyes widen as I knew they would. My girl is a hungry little creature.
“I’ll be right up,” she says, her mouth parting sweetly as she clamors up the ladder. When she gets to the top, she stays down on her knees. Her hands grab the back of my thighs, her nails digging in, and she stares up at me with burning eyes.
She doesn’t break eye contact with me—I’m starting to think she gets off by watching me get off. I’ve been with my fair share of women, but none of them were as brazen as she is, not even close. And it’s not that I feel like she’s lusting over me like a slab of meat. At the beginning, maybe. But now, it’s more than that.
At least, I hope it’s more.
She takes me in her mouth, working me softly, sweetly, but oh so fucking wild. I close my eyes and throw my head back, both wanting her to continue and wanting her to stop.
When I’m close to coming, I pull back, breathless. She stares at me, soulful, yearning, her perfect mouth open and glistening, practically begging for my cum.
I lick my lips and grab her by the arms, hauling her up beside me. I put one hand behind her head, feeling how small she is, how perfectly she fits in my palm. The urge to protect her or fuck her is a war raged deep inside, all the time. No wonder she’s driving me mad.
Wanting her to feel my fire, what’s driving me, I pull her to me and kiss her urgently as the need, the lust, the want comes pouring out. I might just devour her. Everything she offers up is so beautiful, but it’s never enough. I don’t just want to touch her and be with her, I want to fuse with her. I want to sink inside her so deeply that she’ll feel bereft without me there. I want to be everything to her, this sly little minx who has turned my world upside down.