Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise Stories Book 2) (19 page)

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

“Where are you going?” I answered, a touch of unnecessary fear in my voice.

“Nowhere,” he responded, then braced his large hands on the edge of my bed, on either side of my covered feet. His eyes focused on mine and I watched as he slowly crawled upward, straddling my legs with his thick thighs. His mighty chest came toward me. His body slowly crept to cover me. On instinct, I cautiously sat up, pressing my body against my pillow and then the headboard, as if the strength at my back could support me. When he looked at me like that, I had no backbone with this man.

“Forgive me.” That was all he said. “I’ll file the papers and set you free.”

My heart pinched for some reason. His dark eyes focused on mine. Orbs of blackness swirled. The air was being sucked from me. Hypnotized by the seductive glare, I didn’t move. I couldn’t nod in agreement. I couldn’t work my mouth to say I approved. My heart began to slow.

“But I want one thing first.”

Oh God.

“One kiss.”

We’d kissed before, but somehow I sensed he meant something other than those impassioned kisses on his lawn or in his garage. I still could not move my head to acknowledge his request, so I remained still as his face drew closer. His breath mingled with mine, and I realized my morning breath was going to kill his mood. Sensing my distress, he spoke, “Just kiss me.”

His voice was so smooth, it wound its way inside me, slithering through my ear, and striking at my heart. My breath hitched, my mouth opened, and suddenly his lips met mine. It was tender but taking. He tugged and pulled at the bow and the curl of my mouth. He sucked and nipped, as if he was memorizing the shape, the taste, and the tip. His tongue licked slowly, lapping in an exaggerated drag that held me breathless and wanting, anticipating the invasion. It wasn’t an attack, though. He slipped inside a willful mouth that opened and breathed him in. Our tongues mated like coiling reptiles, languid and luscious in the curl and twist as we climbed one another.

His body had come to rest over mine, and his hands found their way to my hair. He loosened the twist I went to bed in, and my fingers found his shoulders.

“Hold onto me,” he breathed, adding a soft plea of, “please,” as his lips and tongue trailed down my jaw. The need in his kiss was so palpable; I felt it in every stroke over my skin. It wasn’t a desire for sex, but a desire for
me
. He wasn’t just kissing, but drawing over me, outlining the curve of my neck, the edge of my jaw. I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, covering the back of his head with my hands, as he lowered to get a better angle on the juncture of shoulder to spine. He reversed the sketching under my ear and the moan that exulted from me was as great as a sound during sex. My hips rocked and he pushed the sheet down so that his body matched up to mine. With the force of my chest, I pushed forward, and he rolled us without breaking the connection of our lips that returned to each other. My thighs spread wide to straddle the breadth of him, and thin pajama shorts hit the hard length of steel wedged into those tight briefs. I rested on him, but my natural instinct was to grind against him. His hands came to my hip to still me.

“Kiss,” he muttered, flipping me over, to lie against the pillows. My legs were opened wide and the center of him thrust forward against me. If he only wanted to kiss, his tempting rhythm below told a different tale. I was like a waterfall, wet with need, moistening my underwear and his. The smell of desire fragranced the room. My hips rocked forward again. His heavy hand gripped my hipbone, which only reinforced the motion to press against him.

“Kiss,” he growled against my lips, as our tongues delved deeper. Sensing that his tongue in my mouth was the only intrusion I would receive, there was urgency to draw him in. His knee moved, and it spread me farther. He slipped his lower body back, and my hands slid down his solid back to cover his ass. He was round and firm, with tightened globes of perfected muscle that I pushed forward, meeting the tip of his extension against the moist center of me. We both groaned at the sensation and the building pressure. My hands retreated up his back, working fingers through the barely-there hair on his head. I couldn’t get enough of his mouth until he rocked against me, and I was brought back to the length of him, eager to enter me in another manner.

A soft knock on my door caused me pause. I ignored it, thinking I’d misunderstood the sound.

The knock came again.

“No,” Cain mumbled against my mouth. “Kiss,” he demanded. His mouth continued to work over mine, slowly drawing out each lip, then dipping his tongue to meet mine.

“Sofie?” A heavy Italian accent called my name and I froze. Cain moved to my jaw, then my neck. My voice squeaked as I called out: “Papa?”

I could feel Cain’s head shaking against my sensitive skin as he skimmed below my ear to my shoulder.

“Sofie …” I couldn’t focus on the Italian. I heard words that meant “rise” and “work.”

“Five minutes, Papa,” I called out.

“Ten,” Cain whispered, as he kissed my ear then traced it with the tip of his nose. It tickled and I shivered. He pressed the tip of his length against me again and my head fell back. I couldn’t respond to either man.

The Italian started again. Something about the devil will steal my day, and I stopped Cain with hands on his shoulders. He groaned and he released the weight of himself that covered me. His mouth muttered against my neck. He rolled us so I straddled him. I sat up, which only repositioned the pulsing center of me over the hardness of him. Each of his hands rested on my hips, and he dragged me back and forth over him.

My great grandfather spoke again.

“Bring the devil with you,” he sputtered in Italian. My hands held me upright on Cain’s chest, but I pressed my core down to reinforce the need to stop. Too late. I was going to tip over the edge.

“No,” he mouthed, moving me one more time.

“Oh, yes,” I whispered, then covered my mouth with my hand, suppressing the scream, as I clenched over him.

One final kiss was all I wanted, but one taste of her was never enough. Bringing her to orgasm from a kiss made me feel like a world champion. We dressed and exited her room to be met by a vineyard worker near the back entrance to the private residence.

“Franco, this is Cain Callahan,” Sofie introduced me. “He’s going to be working here today.”

“I am?” I stated, narrowing my eyes at her.

“I need to help with the wedding preparations.”

There must have been something in my expression because she laughed; a hearty laugh that sent my dick upward. She was so sweet; it crushed me.

“The wedding party from last night,” she implied, and I remembered the group celebrating the rehearsal of their nuptials. For a moment, I was sad that we hadn’t had a proper wedding. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a clusterfuck if we had. Then again, I would have never been with someone as sweet as her, if we hadn’t had the false wedding. The thought of never meeting her made me shiver. I didn’t want to think about the possibility.

Sofie disappeared and Franco led the way to a cool cellar inside a large barn. We went down a flight of stairs and there the work began. Moving barrels of wine was the start of my day. Hauling cases of prepared bottles was the middle of my day. Unloading crates of grapes was the end of my day. I’d had a full workout before I saw her again. We’d stopped mid-day, in what felt like hundred-degree weather, to eat and share a bottle of wine. It wasn’t the best refreshment as the alcohol flooded my blood stream, not quenched my thirst. In the heat, I worked out the remainder of the wine, and thirsted for water. And Sofie.

Late evening, I found her near the private entrance. She looked refreshed in shorts and another loose fitting, red shirt. Her glasses were gone and her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. She looked young and spry, and I marveled at her long tan legs. She was right. She wasn’t what I typically went after, but it wasn’t that she wasn’t right for me. She was everything I needed, and something I didn’t deserve.

She walked over to a golf cart and motioned with her head for me to come to her.

“Not the cart again,” I chuckled, despite my exhaustion. “I need a shower.”

“You don’t have time for a shower,” she stated, climbing into the driver’s seat. We couldn’t be having another déjà vu, and yet, we seemed to be constantly repeating the roles we played when we first met. While some moments were different, others were exactly the same.

I crossed in front of the cart and lowered onto the passenger seat. She took off with a jolt and my arm came to rest behind her. My fingers twirled into her hair while she drove through the vineyard in the evening light. The ride was bumpy over uneven grass paths and gravel strips. Eventually, we parked at a spot I remembered and exited the golf cart.

“Papa,” she said, greeting the elderly man, who eyed me with suspicion. My dirty attire didn’t help impress him.

“Do you remember Cain Callahan?” she inquired as way of introduction. She spoke in English, so I fully understood the conversation. He responded to her in rapid Italian that I could not follow. Slowly, her head hung in what appeared to be shame, and my hand reached out for her shoulder.

“What’s he saying?”

“He knows you were in my room last night,” she said softly, averting her eyes from mine.

“You’re twenty-two years old,” I emphasized, but she shook her head. I turned to face the old man, whose eyes were focused on my hand. Sofie’s head lowered more as his speed of speech increased.

“Tell him to stop,” I said, stepping toward her, sensing her distress at whatever he was saying to her. “Tell him the truth,” I demanded, becoming slightly distressed myself, as hands fluttered and arms flared.

“What truth?” she muttered to me, afraid to look up from her focus on the dry ground at her feet.

“I’m your husband.”

The words resounded through the evening air. It was as if the breeze died and the trees stilled. Nature was taking in what I’d said. Her great-grandfather stopped speaking instantly, his mouth hung open, preparing for more Italian insults to seep out. Sofie’s head twisted so quickly, her ponytail swung back and forth like a pendulum.

“Marito?”
Married
, I interpreted as he slowly questioned Sofie, his eyes narrowing at me before turning back to her.

“Si, marito,” she spoke shamefacedly. The old man took a moment to process what she said. His fluttering hands had lowered. His head turned away, looking off in the distance for a long moment before returning to take in her expression. My hand still rested on her shoulder, holding her steady. I let it slip around her back and tugged her toward me. The need to protect her overcame me, as well as my desire to display my right to her. She was mine.

“Bene!” he said slowly, dragging out the syllables. Sofie’s head shot up to look at her elder.

“Bene?” she questioned. “Good,” she clarified for me.

“E una brava persona?” It was stated as a question, each syllable emphasized.

“He is. He is a good person,” she interpreted, looking directly at me with a slow curve to her lips. Something warmed inside me. It wasn’t the heat of the day, but the way she looked at me. I didn’t deserve the words, but they thrilled me all the same.

“Bene,” he said again, kissing each cheek of hers. He turned to me, looking distrustful. He didn’t extend his hand, but nodded once, then turned away from us. Sofie looked concerned and reached for him. Without turning back to her, he raised his hand and Sofie stopped at the gesture. Even I could interpret the language of dismissal.

In silence, we returned to the cart and continued on our drive to an area I longed to see again.

Eden, she’d called it: a slice of paradise in the middle of this hot haven. Surrounded by trees on one side, a stream of ice cold water flowed along a shallow sand area. We’d been here before, for a picnic lunch, and it appeared we were stopping again for dinner. Sofie spread a sheet under one of the trees and carried an over-sized basket to our shelter. Unloading the items, she displayed cold ham, some type of pasta salad, an abundance of fruit, a bottle of water and another bottle of wine.

“I really need a shower,” I said, catching the scent of myself in the cooling breeze. I was soaked through my t-shirt and didn’t feel appropriately dressed, compared to her fresh appearance, for this intimate dinner.

“Let’s take a swim,” she suggested. I groaned, as this was going to be a baptism of sin if I saw her barely clothed.