Page 42 of Corkscrew You
When I think he’s good and ready, I wet my index finger, slide it along the cleft of his ass, and start paying attention to the most sensitive spot, while I continue to ply his cock with my mouth, and gently fondle his balls. Women are so good at multitasking.
His fingers twine in my hair.
“Shel…? he whispers. “Seriously, I’m …fuck…”
I feel his balls tense, and then it’s all on. I take him deep as I can as he pushes into me, and I take the whole load, while he shouts loud enough to wake people in New Zealand.
Then I have the pleasure of sitting straddled above him, watching him lay there, eyes closed, ripped abs heaving as he gets his breathing under control. I might have also stolen a little more pie, because waste not, want not.
Finally, he opens his eyes.
“You,” he says, still a little breathless, “are—”
“Say it in French,” I demand, because right now, I am the triumphant queen.
He runs his hands along my thighs, and OK, yes, I make a little inarticulate noise of my own as his fingers near my queenly throne.
Then, in a sneaky manoeuvre of his own, he grabs hold of either side of my butt and pulls me up right up toward him.
“You know what?” he says, his face about an inch from my regal dominion. “I think we should continue with the Latin terms.”
The only Latin I know is “Hallelujah”, if that evenisLatin.
But – oh wow – how about I look it up later?
ChapterSixteen
NATE
Three things I know for sure: I’m in love with Shelby Armstrong, I still hate that goose, and I can never go back to the Cracker Café, because I swear to God that Iris will know just by looking at me what we did with her pie.
This morning, Shelby and I were so worn out, we mutually agreed to defer any more sex until this evening. We tag-teamed the shower, and Shelby found me a clean pair of underpants, left behind, she said, by one of her brothers. I hope that was the truth. Wearing her late father’s Hanes would be seriously weird.
Over breakfast, we did what we’d intended to do before we violated Iris’s pie. She told me about her family – two older brothers, Jackson and Tyler, and her younger sister, Frankie. They’ve all gone on to careers that are nothing to do with wine and live in three different states. Shelby talked about them with affection, but it must have been hard for her, being the only one who loved the winery enough to fight for it.
It struck me how brave she’d been, dealing with her dad’s death and the shock of him leaving no will, and then cold-calling endless investors. Never giving up, despite knockback after knockback. Takes courage to be that optimistic. Much easier to assume everything will fall to shit, because then you have the satisfaction of being right even when you’ve failed. Philosophy 101, courtesy of Nathan Durant. You’re welcome.
I told her the basics about my family. Downplayed my father’s illness. When you’ve lost your own father, you don’t want to be triggered by someone else’s being at death’s door. Shelby said she hoped she’d get to meet my siblings before they all headed home again. My initial reaction was resistance because who knows what they’d tell her about me? Right now, I feel like I’m a king in her eyes, and I’d like to preserve that illusion as long as possible.
Might have been because we were floating on a rosy post-multi-orgasmic cloud, but we had a productive day. Researched local web designers. Chose the one Shelby went to high school with because that’s how it is around here. Finally got all the accounts online, which has to win the award for the world’s most tedious yet crucial job. Sketched out a plan for the tasting room, worked out what consents were needed, did a back of the napkin budget. Shelby took our thinking to Cam the Commando and, apparently, he was enthusiastic about the project. Hope he didn’t strain anything getting all excited.
Yeah, I’m still jealous. Yeah, I know that’s childish. But fuck him.
We took a late lunch. Broke our agreement to wait and had sex in the kitchen. I lifted Shelby onto the counter, she wrapped her legs around me, and we went from there. No pie was harmed. Though my knees were pretty shaky afterwards.
All in all, a good day. Until five minutes past four, when I got a call from Ava.
Shelby saw my face. Didn’t question why when I said, “I have to go.”
She trusts me. I hope like hell I will never have cause to let her down.
So now I’m entering the Martinburg district hospital, where Dad’s been admitted. According to Ava, he decided to go for “a little jog.”
“Doc Wilson said he could do moderate exercise.” Ava’s frustration was clear. “So Dad went out,wethought, for about twenty minutes. Only he failed to mention thathisidea of moderate exercise was a fricking 10k trail run. He collapsed about 6k in and is not dead only because a mountain biker saw him go down and called 911. Who, fortunately, were there in five minutes.”
“Did his heart fail?” I asked her.
“Arrhythmia,” she replied. “Heartbeats have a rave party. You pass out.”
