Page 25 of Intoxicating Pursuit

He pulled the steaming lasagna from the oven and took a quick peek beneath the foil, uncovering it to cool. “Do you want a salad? I think there are some in the fridge.”

I took a look and pulled out a few prepared plates of dark leafy greens covered with berries, cheese crumbles, and nuts. I found a jar labeled “Vinaigrette” and set that on the counter as well.

We munched the salads while the lasagna cooled, then dove into the gooey pasta. The al dente noodles were steaming, the vegetables were fresh and flavorful, and long strings of melted cheese trailed behind our forks.

“Oh, my lord, Gabe. This afternoon with you was pretty amazing, but I think I might run off with your chef.”

He smiled. “Yeah? Well, you're no slouch yourself, but that cognac-aged porter you served me at your brewery a few weeks ago? I dunno, I might have to run off with your brewmaster.”

“Well, my brewmaster is Marco. So have fun with that.”

We laughed and dove back into the amazing food.

When dinner was over, we cleared the dishes, and Gabe found the dessert his chef had left—a flourless chocolate torte covered in fresh raspberries and decadent curls of dark chocolate.

He set it on the table, along with a small dish of whipped cream, and pried the cork from a tall, dark bottle. “Do you like port?” He poured a small glass for each of us.

“It’s a great sip.”

“Hmm.” His gaze on my face simmered, and I felt a blush creep into my cheeks. “Sipping is one way to enjoy it, but I’ve got another idea.”

He scooched his chair toward mine and dipped the cork in his glass of port. He stroked it down the sensitive skin of my neck before pressing open-mouthed kisses against the trail of sweet wine.

The luscious pull on my skin radiated pleasure, and I lay my head back as the magical sensation unfurled. Coupled with the buzz of the cider, the coziness of the cabin, and the comforting draw of Gabe’s company, it felt borderline hypnotic.

When he pulled away, I breathed a heavy sigh, opening my eyes. “So, that’s how you enjoy port? I’ve been doing it wrong.” I dipped the cork in my own glass. “I should practice.”

I traced the cork down his throat and lavished kisses along the sweet sheen of liquid it left behind. His skin was warm, and the luscious flavor of caramel and dark berries spread across my tongue.

Everything about him was enticing—magnetic—and I scooted onto his lap to get closer. I continued kissing his neck until he exhaled a soft groan, his hands caressing my figure. I put my lips to his ear. “I like to hear you make that sound, you know.”

His eyes took on a drunken quality, and he grabbed the cork to spread more port on me. His mouth was more insistent this time—a warm, demanding tug that shot electricity to all the right places.

“You know, I hear port goes well with chocolate.” I plucked one of the chocolate curls from the torte. After softening its edges in the candle flame, I stroked a rich, sugary trail along the most tender part of his throat.

His eyes fell closed, and he grunted with satisfaction as I worked my mouth across his skin.

Anticipation simmered in my blood.

“You know, Gabe, these whiskers are hard to work around. I think I’m gonna need access to some smoother flesh.”

I got up and carried the candle and the chocolate torte to the bedside table. He caught on quickly and followed me with the whipped cream and a glass of port, the cork bobbing gently on its surface.

“That t-shirt and jeans aren’t gonna work. Can we get a little more skin showing?” I tugged at his top, and he helped lift it over his head while I worked at the button and zipper of his jeans.

Our clothes were off in a flurry, and he pushed me down on the bed, his erection digging into the flesh by my hip bone.

“Un-uh. Wait,” I said as he sucked kisses down my neck. “I think it's still my turn.”

He’d selflessly turned me into a puddle of illogical craving today in the vineyard. I wanted to make him lose control, too.

I rolled him onto his back, then reached for another chocolate curl.

After warming it in the candle flame, I traced the melting sweetness beside the short hairs of his happy trail.

Unhurried, I followed the chocolate’s path with my tongue—from the yielding flesh of his belly to the throbbing pulse of his hard-on—allowing my hands to explore the contours and ridges of his sturdy frame while I took my kisses lower.

I smeared a dollop of whipped cream on him and slid him in my mouth.

The groan he emitted was louder than before, and his hips lifted slightly. His cottony sheets tugged beneath my knees as he squeezed and knotted them in his fists.

I surrendered myself to pleasing him, relaxing and taking him in, focusing on his sounds and the response of his body. He was warm and full in my mouth, and my free hand wandered, stroking and cradling every sensitive inch of him.

He grew more and more delirious. “ Fuck. . . Sammy. . . ”

His breath accelerated and grew heavy, and his muscles started to twitch and tense. He was getting very tightly wound up, and I knew I had to shift gears soon if I didn’t want this to be over.

And it couldn’t be yet. I needed more.

Releasing him gently, I worked kisses from his belly to his throat, letting my breasts dangle against his skin. I brought my hips astride his and rested myself gently against his cock.

“Sweet Jesus,” he moaned. He reached in the bedside stand for a condom and rolled it on.

I eased him into me, then gripped the wrought iron headboard, so we could rock together in slow, easy waves.

Sex in the vineyard had been all kinds of things: frenzied, impulsive, mind-melting. But it hadn’t been an opportunity to savor. I was merely lucky to have remained upright, to have kept a grip on the trellis. Here, though, on a soft mattress, I could enjoy the luxury of his body.

And a luxury it was. He was a thick, intoxicating, aching heft inside of me.

My nipples were in his mouth, one by one, and his hands consumed my curves. I concentrated on a steady rhythm, despite the electricity that flickered beneath my skin and the shimmering dissolution that merged my cells and nerves.

I fought for time to enjoy him: the terrain of his rugged shoulders, the fine scruff of hair on his chest, the feeling of his thick torso between my thighs.

His was not a show business physique, not a ropy mass of unyielding muscle.

Rather, it was manly and real, with softness around the edges, some bulk to squeeze—hearty and tangible in a comforting way that showed he walked the same ground, indulged in the same earthly delights we all did. I couldn’t get enough.

'"Sammy. . ." He brought his hot breath to my ear. “So good.”

Rough and raspy around the edges, his voice sizzled like fire inside me. His sexy, comforting timbre had been my companion for years. But now, it was a deep, breathy whisper between us. It was my name on the tip of his tongue.

He lifted his hips into me, and a rising tide of sensation eroded the tether between my mind and body.

I struggled to hold out, to enjoy the sound of his mumblings, to absorb the feeling of him a bit longer.

But Gabe was full steam ahead and growing frantic in his touch. He massaged my ass, my breasts, everything within reach before opening his eyes —determination set in his features. Then he licked his thumb and anchored it between my legs, pressing firm, wet circles against my most sensitive nerves.

It was a mainline, bullseye, direct hit to my nervous system, and I lost it. My brain unraveled and my hips took on their own life.

“ Yes. . . ” Gabe strengthened his grip on my ass with his free hand. “Yes. . . Go crazy.” He brought me down hard against him again and again.

All control disappeared.

I raised my voice, shouting incoherently. The world disintegrated into a bucking, crazed, uncontrollable shaking until my nerves finally detonated, and a flood of pleasure gushed through me.

He kept on, powering into me brutally, before coming with an inhuman moan.

I collapsed forward on his chest, with the thunderous beat of his heart in my ear.

Except for the pounding beneath his ribs and deep, huffing breaths, he was motionless. “Fucking amazing,” he muttered.

“Yeah. . .” Every cell in my body buzzed, heavy as lead, and I kissed his chest, my brain lost in a fog.

When I could eventually move again, I rolled off him, staring in a daze at the candlelight dancing across the ceiling.

He was so much more than I had expected.

In every respect. His body was perfect for me, and his touch was confident and attentive.

Plus, he was funnier than I remembered. Playful and intelligent.

And—by some miracle—our conversation was so normal.

So easy and down to earth. Even if nothing else good came from the trip, this feeling now—being sexed into utter bliss by such a stellar specimen of a man—it would be enough.

When our bodies finally settled, Gabe got up and fetched a couple forks from the kitchen counter. We passed the chocolate torte back and forth, finishing a last few bits of sweetness before we were too sated for anything more.

Gabe rose to turn off the lights at that point, came back to bed, and blew out the candle. He spooned my naked figure. “Thanks for coming all this way, Sammy.” He buried his nose in my hair.

“Thanks for having me.”

He murmured a sleepy chuckle. “I’ll have you anytime .”

We laughed, and he pulled me tight against him.

I’d been cold my whole life, always sleeping in a frothy pile of comforters, but he radiated warmth, and I snuggled in.

If there were problems in the world, at that moment, I couldn’t imagine them.