“You like it?” he asks, reading my expression.

  I swallow.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “This wine comes from the vineyards of Portugal’s Douro Valley,” he says as I take another sip.

  As the fruity aroma rolls over my taste buds, the image of the Portuguese summer flashes through my mind–– a carousel of warm colors, and vivid snippets of life.

  “One day, I’ll take you there,” he says as he smoothly removes my drink from my mouth and brings his lips to mine.

  The aroma of wine lingers for a moment before the fire of his lips takes over me–– only for a second, and then he pivots in his seat and pulls away from me.

  Instinctively, I follow him, leaning closer.

  He lets me have another sip of wine, and takes a swig as well, our eyes sharing a not so secret, burning through our veins longing.

  The wine flows smoothly down my throat, warming up my blood before he gives me another kiss, drowning me in the sweet aroma of ripe grapes and the blaze coming from his lips.

  He retreats again just as I want seconds, sets the glass down and lifts the dessert spoon to my mouth, feeding me a piece of cake.

  “Slowly,” he murmurs, watching me roll my lips and capturing the bite of decadent chocolate cake before flicking the tip of my tongue out and sweeping the crumbs.

  With sultry bedroom eyes, he stares at my mouth, observing me while I swallow the morsel of sweet goodness before he brings his hand to my face, grips my chin and wipe his thumb across my lips, removing the last trace of lipstick and smudging the bits of melted chocolate across the swell of my lips.

  I smile beneath his touch.

  “Another one,” he says in a raspy voice, watching me amused.

  He lowers his eyelids, the smile tugging at his lips spurring a swarm of tingles down my legs.

  “No, rush...” he mutters as he takes a small piece of chocolate cake and feeds me again.

  Teasingly biting his lip, he studies me through long, dark lashes, his eyes glistening with a wolfish smile.

  I lick the spoon clean, the luscious taste of chocolate making my palate buzz with pleasure.

  He takes a sip of wine and brings his mouth to mine.

  For a moment, he breathes hot on my lips, spurring anticipation in me, making me smile.

  A second later, I feel the summer of his kiss again, the flavor of red wine dancing with the aroma of dark chocolate as I absorb them both with evident delight.

  I move closer while he pulls back slightly, prompting me to lean into him. My hands travel to his neck, my mouth sliding to his lips, my mind captivated by his game as my body longs for his.

  It’s a sensual, mysterious, insides melting, and senses conquering dance without the twirling, the audience or the dance floor. It’s fascinating and enthralling, tempting and alluring.

  Gently, he rolls his lip beneath his teeth while he slides his hand into my hair, curls it up into a fist, grabs my locks, and pulls me back. My neck arches just the way he wants it, my lips sliding away from his, my spine curving as my hands start clawing at his arms.

  Fist latched on my hair, he rises to his feet and stands tall in front of me. Towering over me, he pins my back against the counter, wedges himself between my legs, grabs my glass of wine again and brings it to my mouth.

  Smiling, he tilts it.

  “Open your mouth,” he says quietly.

  I part my lips.

  The first drop falls, sweeps my bottom lip, and rolls down my chin. He captures it with his lips before it has the chance to fall to my chest.

  The next few drops fall straight on my lips.

  I catch most of them but as he tips the glass again many more trickle down, sliding between my breasts.

  He places the glass on the counter, lowers his mouth and licks the wine off my skin before he slides his lips onto my chest, drawing a trail of hot, open mouth kisses across the swell of my mounds, making my nipples hard inside my dress.

  One deep breath lifts my chest against his mouth. Threading my fingers through his hair, I thrust my chest out and press the back of his head against my breasts, craving to feel his mouth on my tips.

  With two fingers, he tugs at the neckline of my dress and my bra on one side, lowering them both.

  My left breast pushes up, the garment sweeping my hard nipple, barely containing my mound. A twin motion follows, pushing my right breast out, exposing it down to my nipple.

  Every breath I take brings them closer to his mouth, but his lips no longer come to them.

  Instead, he lets more wine drip. Thick, velvety, red liquid trickles on my lips, my chin and my chest.

  He drinks the rest of my drink, forgets about the wine spilled on me and locks my mouth when I least expect it.

  Our lips and tongues connect and slide into a frantic dance that makes my blood swirl heat in my veins.

  Soaked in wine, his kiss teases me, conquers me, subjugates me, driving me crazy, making me drink the last drops of wine from his mouth.

  My blood zips faster through my veins, growing my delicious torment tenfold.

  Between the wine-induced euphoria and every nerve ending stitched into my skin revved up by his lips, I only crave more of the same.

  He grips my chin with one hand while grabbing the back of hair with the other, and plunges his tongue into my mouth.

  A moan vibrates in my chest when he breaks away from me just as fast.

  “Don’t stop doing this, please...” I beg.

  He seals my mouth again, and swirls his tongue with mine, not giving me all I want, but feeding me bit by bit, turning me on and leaving me hanging before turning me some more.

  He lowers his mouth to trace the drops of wine that dripped on my chest and into my bra, soaking my dress.

  Open mouth kisses trace the column of my neck before going down my chest, collecting every bit of wine, painting the Portuguese summer again, this time the inspiration coming from his lips, and oh, his, so hot, blood.

  His hands are on my chest now, straight on my skin, along with his lips and tongue–– there’s no wine left, only the raging fire in his flesh.

  His fingers go up, curl around my neck, and slide into my hair before they pull curtly, dragging me off the barstool.

  Eyes heavy, a broken, twisted smile dangling from my lips, I push up to shaky legs, my hands going to his arms as I try to keep my balance.

  His gaze goes down, undressing me, his lips curving softly into a delicious warning before he crashes into me.

  Back bent over the counter, I take the assault of his lips with clipped breaths, my blood running way to fast not to make me dizzy and crazy and powerfully aroused.

  My body catches on fire as he runs his hands down on me and kneads my breasts harshly, his kisses only interrupted by the pain spurred by the grazing of his teeth on the delicate skin of my neck.

  A moment later, he bites my chest, the flesh underneath puckering in pain, my nails digging deep into his arms, a clipped scream falling from my lips.

  He does it again when I push off the counter, short breaths rocking my chest. With one perfectly coordinated motion, he grabs the sides of my neckline and rips my dress, tearing it off me. The piece of fabric falls from my body, sliding to the floor as if it’s nothing.

  With smooth moves, he removes my bra, my panties, and my stockings. Within seconds, I find myself naked in front of him.

  He’s still impeccably dressed, his shirt still sharp-looking, his suit pants perfectly pressed, his belt buckle and metallic watch catching the light, gleaming against the dimness. His eyes burn, his lips curving into a lustful grin.

  Dazed, I look at him, smiling, anticipating, tingling, hot and wet from his eyes.

  His fingers clasp my chin, his thumb creeping across my lips before he kisses me. It’s a different pace, a trap, a mix of enticing sensuality and hidden passion, portioned dribs of pleasure.

  His free hand moves to the side, finds the dessert plate on the counter, breaks a small piece of chocolate cake, and brings it to me.

  His fingers slip into my mouth along with the bite of food.

  I take the piece of cake before I suck on his fingers and collect the crumbs from my lips with a few flicks of my tongue.

  His gaze stays on me, a smile growing on his lips when my head starts buzzing, the chocolate and the wine and his smoldering eyes turning me into a trembling, hot mess.

  “Thirsty?” he asks.

  He lifts his glass of wine to his mouth, takes a swig, and locks my lips.

  It’s too late to pull out of this game, so I taste the wine on his lips, winding my arms around his neck and pressing my naked body against his.

  My skin becomes a canvas of sensations as my brain processes the information induced by his touch.

  In one sweep of awareness, I register the soft wool of his dress pants against my bare thighs, the crisp cotton of his shirt against my chest, his fingertips along my jawline and down my neck and then the merciless grip of his fist as he grabs my hair and makes me break away from him.

  We could go on and on like this forever as he is no rush to let me touch him, quench my thirst and draw satisfaction or relief.

  His kiss turns into a ghost as he peels his lips away from mine, flexes his muscles and sweeps me off my feet. My arms drape on him, my lips still hungry for his kiss.

  4

  EVE

  He enters the living room with me in his arms and deposits me on the sofa.

  “Stay there,” he says in a commanding voice as I start to crawl toward him on all fours.

  He takes a step back before he snatches a drawing pad, erasers, and a few charcoal pencils from the side table.

  “No,” I blurt, giggling, hazy, and aroused.

  “Yes,” he says, smiling.

  I push up to my knees, my legs folded beneath me, my hair tumbling down my back.

  He closes the distance between us and stops in front of me. Tall, his body hard, his shoulders broad, his smile dripping fire, warming up my skin.

  “You have to stay still, baby...”

  I tip my face up and look at him, my fingers dancing on his belt, a playful smile across my lips.

  “That’s easier said than done...” I say, chuckling.

  My eyelids feel heavy, my lips dying for his kiss.

  His eyes run over my face as he starts to capture the lines and shadows of my face.

  I have no idea how he does it since I can’t stay still, or keep my face tipped up, or my hands in check as my fingers begin trailing, creeping across his belt, playing with his buckle, before slowly tracing down, touching his pants, his fly and the ridge of his erection.

  Molding my hand on him, I lift my gaze.

  “You are hard,” I say, grinning, my lips tingling in anticipation.

  He shoots me a glance from above the rim of his sketch pad, a couple of stray bangs swooping over his smiling eyes.

  I can’t see his grin, but I can sure spot the glint of his smile in his narrowed eyes.

  “And you are so hot,” he mutters, his pencil moving fast against the paper.

  Tormented, I run my palm up his fly, sweeping his hard length again before nuzzling the exact same trail through the fabric of his pants.

  Grinning, I look up at him, vying for his attention.

  His eyes follow the erratic motion of his pencil as he moves his crayon against the paper when I start to misbehave, fighting for his attention even more.

  Tenderly, I press my palm against his hard flesh and start to rub it before I nuzzle it again.

  “You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?” he drawls, amusement flashing through his voice.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you want me to punish you?”

  “Always,” I say in a sultry voice.

  Briefly, he pulls his eyes away from his sketchbook and tosses me a smoldering look. My skin covers with goosebumps, a shudder falling through my frame.

  He stops for a moment, frees his right hand, wraps it around my neck, and drags me up to his mouth while he tips his head down to me.

  My sex tingles when he locks my lips, my hands moving, eager to grip him, my mouth watering as I want to be filled with him.

  He breaks our kiss while I’m seconds away from ripping his clothes off. He sets his drawing pad on the coffee table and takes a step back.

  Slowly, he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his dress shirt. It’s open across his torso, down to his pants.

  I bite my lip and smile, impatient and excited, pleasure pulsing softly between my legs.

  Smoothly, he closes the space between us.

  He’s about to trick me in some way, I figure, if nothing else for the belt dangling from his hand, but I’m too busy dragging my fingers across his shredded abs and brushing the smooth skin encasing the bumps with my lips.

  “Mmm...” I moan before I push upright, moving my exploration to his chest.

  I lick his hard pecks and bite his tight nipples, too turned on to realize that no matter what I do, he’ll only give me what I want when he chooses to.

  Another moan falls from my chest when I feel his hard flesh twitching inside his trousers, and I press my breasts against it.

  I slide my hand down as I push my gaze up.

  His cheeks get flushed with a rush of blood, his lips glistening as they slowly part, his eyelids going down a little, shadowing his eyes.

  I grip the zipper pull, so anxious to slide it down, so eager to press my lips against his hot flesh, so hungry to sweep his hard crown with my lips and tongue, I don’t even realize that his belt snakes around my wrists, locking and tightening around it.

  Before I know it, my hands are curled up into fists, pressing against each other. He slides his arms beneath my thighs, lifts me and lays me down on the couch.

  My back crashes into a pillow as my arms lift above my head, and his hands curl around my hips, his lips hovering over my sex. He lifts my hips, parts my folds with his tongue, and flicks my clit, prompting a moan to roll off my lips, soaked in frustration.

  He laughs between my legs, his hot breath searing my flesh.

  I tilt my hips up on my own to meet his touch again.

  That very moment, he pushes up and away from the couch, sweeping his drawing pad from the coffee table and crashing into an armchair across from me.

  He sets his ankle on his knee and the sketching pad against his thigh before he resumes drawing.

  I fidget and roll and clench my thighs, curving my back and rubbing my legs together, pushing my chest up and doing every little trick I know to make him stop drawing and come back to me.

  He smiles entertained.

  “Stay still, baby.”

  “I can’t,” I say, grinning.

  “Tell me what you want then... Or ask.”

  I slip to my side, slide my right knee up, and open my legs, setting off the curvature of my hips and prompting my breasts to bounce.

  He touches his groin but doesn’t budge.

  “I said ask,” he mutters, a smile flickering across his face.

  “I want you...”

  “Wait for it, baby.”

  “I can’t... I want you now.”

  I pout and squirm, doing everything in my power to get his attention.

  I have his attention, all right, if nothing else for the frown on his brow while he focuses on his drawing despite my efforts to sabotage his effort.

  “Tell me what you want from me...” he says in a luring voice.

  I smile.

  I don’t think we would’ve ever gotten to this point if it wasn’t for the delicious wine that killed my inhibitions, and his kisses that got me all worked up.

  Somehow it all feels natural now as it flows, unhindered–– my desire for him, his power over me, my mouth that no longer has a filter and my thoughts that are so raw and genuine and dirty.

  I finally crash on my back and pose for him, one knee slightly lifted, my hard nipples pointed to the ceiling, my arms lying relaxed above my head, my chest rising and falling evenly.

  I close my eyes as I start to speak.

  “If I’d have my way...” I start softly.

  “Yes...”

  I smile.

  “If I’d have my way... I’d want you to be standing in front of me, your back propped against a wall, your shirt open–– as it is right now, my knees set against the floor, your fingers tangled in my hair. I’d take your hard-on from your pants, feel its smooth skin beneath my hands, press it tight against my lips, tease the underside with my tongue, and lick the plump vein snaking on top...”

  I pause, keeping my eyes closed, the darkness lining my eyelids giving me the courage to continue. I register the hissing sound of his charcoal pencil, still swishing across the drawing paper.

  It stops for a moment, and my hope grows for a split second.

  “Go on...”

  I hear that sound again before I take in a long breath and let out a quiet sigh.

  “And then...” I say. “I’d want...”

  He listens–– I know he does, and watches me–– of course he does. I bet he stirs against his touch, perhaps he strokes himself and then adjusts his cock, releasing some of that tension.

  The same delicious tightness I feel in my belly.

  Tipping my head to the side, I sneak a glance at him. His eyes are glued to the paper as I run my gaze on him.

  His legs are open, his sketch pad propped on his arm, his hand moving faster, so much faster, his pumped pecks shifting beneath his skin every time he jerks his hand, his eyes sparkling like smoldering embers, burning between his lashes.

  I lower my eyelids just as he lifts his gaze to me, and make sure he doesn’t know that I’m watching him.

  In response to my words, he runs his hand up his groin–– his eyes hooded, his lips open, his breaths strained before he makes an effort to focus on his work again.

  “What would you do next?” he rasps, his voice loaded with suppressed hunger.

  “I would wrap my lips around you, press my mouth against your flesh... Bob my head against your groin... Back and forth ... Back and forth.”