TamingTara

Chapter Thirteen

They drove back to Highway 154, this time turning left toward Santa Ynez. It was another perfect day, the sky cerulean with a few wispy clouds streaking the sky. Orange and purple wildflowers brightened the roadside and rolling golden fields stretched away from the highway to the distance where the Santa Ynez Mountains jutted into the sky. Santa Ynez had a quaint, Western style. Joe found a place to park and then they stood on the sidewalk. “First things first,” he said. “We need a drugstore.”

He smiled down at her, the sun gilding her softly curling hair. She’d slid sunglasses onto her face so he couldn’t see her eyes, but he could see her cheeks pinken. Sun glinted off the fine golden hairs on her arms.

She nodded across the street. “There’s one right there.”

They took care of that errand, then emerged back into the bright sunshine. He put on his own sunglasses. “Where to now?” he asked.

She gave a heavy sigh as if she were being forced to be a tourist. “We can wander around, look in some of the shops,” she said, starting down the street. “There’s some cute places and wine tasting rooms.”

“Sounds cool.”

They spent a while in one room where artists were painting and tasted a few different wines, browsed in interesting little shops and galleries, sat on a patio and drank margaritas.

“What next?” he asked.

“We could go to one of the wineries near here,” Tara suggested after a short pause.

“I’d like that.” They walked back to the car, hand in hand again. “But first let’s pick up a few things and then later I’ll cook us dinner.”

“You cook?” She looked up at him.

He nodded. “Sure. Don’t you?”

“Well…I can make a few basic things. But I have to admit when it comes to cooking, I’m as spoiled as Sasha. Nina basically does all our cooking and on weekends we eat out a lot.”

He grinned at her. “Spoiled little rich girl. That’s okay. I can cook. My parents are both chefs, remember?”

She nodded and took him to a little shop where they could get a few groceries.

“Speaking of home, you should call and tell them you won’t be back ‘til tomorrow.”

She gave him a long look.

He gave her butt a gentle tap, a promise of what else could come if she didn’t do as he told her. “Call them.”

She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and made the call. “I’m going to tell them you kidnapped me and held me a naked hostage,” she said as the phone rang. He grinned and waited as she left a message saying she was out at the ranch.

“I saw some cookware in the kitchen, so we should have the basics, right?” he asked as he picked out baby greens for a salad, fresh tomatoes, garlic and herbs, bread and cheese. When he ordered muffins at the bakery and picked up a quart of milk, she looked at him inquiringly.

“Breakfast.”

“Oh my God.”

He grinned.

They climbed back in the car and turned off the highway to drive to The Bridle Path Winery. He admired the vineyards lining the road to the winery then pulled into a busy parking lot.

“I like this place,” Tara said. “And it’s close.”

Joe studied the white stucco building with traditional red tile roof as they walked toward it. Potted palms and colorful flowers adorned the stone courtyard and a long, shaded veranda lined one side. Water splashed in a fountain in the center of the courtyard, sparkling in the sun. They walked through a wide, vine-covered arch in the stucco wall.

“Nice,” he murmured, lowering his glasses to take it in. “This is what you’d like to have at the mill, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Can’t you picture it?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a smile. “Have you done your business case?”

She gave him a look that made his grin widen.

“Better get on that,” he said and gave her butt another little pat. Then he took her hand again to lead her out of the heat and into the cool tasting room and just laughed when she yanked it away from him.

“This is a Viognier,” they were told as they accepted a glass of a deep golden wine. They each swirled the glass, inhaled the aroma. “You’ll notice aromas of apricot and honey, perhaps a hint of anise. It’s rich and complex.” They sampled several other white wines, and then moved on to the reds. “The finish of this Pinot Noir lingers long with flavors evolving from cherries and currants to cocoa with an infusion of exotic spices,” the young woman said. A 1999 Cabernet Franc followed, a lighter, tawnier colored wine with aromas of pine needles and vanilla. It was tarter than the previous one, a little puckery.

At the end of their tasting, Joe said, “I liked the Pinot Noir. I’m going to get a bottle of that for dinner.” It was more than he usually paid for a bottle of wine, but what the hell, he had a spoiled rich girl to impress tonight.

The sun was lower as they drove back to the ranch. Inside the house, Joe wandered to the French doors off the living room and threw them open, then stepped out onto the terrace. The air was soft and warm and still outside, a quiet peacefulness he’d never experienced. He drew a deep breath, some of his tension easing.

Now that Tara had clothes, she could make a run for it, back to her car in the lot at the mill. But she followed him out onto the patio. Warmth spread through his chest.

“We’re staying here again tonight?” she asked.

He turned to look at her and saw the hesitation on her beautiful face.

“Yes.” He moved toward her put his hands on her shoulders. “After I make dinner and we drink that wine, I’m going to take you back to bed and fuck you all night.”

She blinked up at him and her eyes went hazy.

He had her.

“Come on. Let’s go try that wine.”

He led her into the kitchen and she helped him cook dinner, a pasta made with the fresh ingredients he’d purchased earlier, garlic bread with peppery olive oil from the ranch and salad dressed with a vinaigrette of balsamic vinegar and mellow oil. While they cooked and ate, they talked. Joe told her about his large Italian family, the restaurants his parents owned and where he’d worked since he was twelve years old until he finished college.

“This is good,” she said. “You really can cook.”

He reached for the bottle and poured more wine into their glasses. “Thanks.”

They cleaned up together, then wandered outside with their wineglasses as the sun set. Crickets chirruped in the fields around the house, the sky deepening to a rich cobalt blue, the stars appearing one by one. The cool night air brushed over them.

A tall queen palm beside the house swayed gently in the evening breeze. The bright moon lit up the sculptural shapes of the plants, the black and spiky agave, the cacti round and deceptively soft in the darkness. The sweet scent of jasmine drifted to them from the flowers growing up the wall near the front door, filling his senses, reminding him of Tara’s scent.

“Wow.” Joe gazed up at the sky. “Living in the city, you don’t see stars like that very often.”

“You’re a city guy, aren’t you?” she murmured.

“Yeah, I guess I am. But up here, it feels…good.” He shrugged.

“You’re feeling it,” she said. “The romance of it.”

He looked askance at her.

“It’s the terroir.”

“The what?”

“It’s the land. Terroir is the influence of the land on the quality of the oil, the romantic part nobody can quite put their finger on. When the oil is good, people often say it is because of the land—the ideal soil, wonderful climate or whatever.”

“And when it tastes bad, it’s because of something else,” Joe murmured with amusement.

Her lips curved up. “Of course.” She lifted a shoulder and his hand trailed down her cheek to touch her collarbone, revealed in the open V of her T-shirt. “There’s a lot of science involved in olive productions—you’ve seen that. But there’s something else too…things difficult to pin down. I know all that stuff like irrigation and soil quality are really what matter, but there has to be heart and soul and…love.” She lowered her eyes in embarrassment.

“I think I know what you mean,” he said, his voice low and husky, fingers trailing down lower now, between the curves of her breasts. “Tara, you’re so beautiful.”

He took the wineglass from her hand and set it down on the low stone wall that edged the terrace. He turned her to face him, a soft breeze fluttering tendrils of her hair around her face. He ran a thumb across her full lower lip.

Tara laid her hands on his chest, looked up at him, then nipped at the pad of his thumb as it stroked across her mouth. Heat exploded in him and he hauled her up against his body and took her mouth in a wild, voracious kiss, eating at her mouth with avid hunger.

She met him equally, pressing herself against him, winding her arms around his neck and burrowing her fingers into his hair. Her mouth devoured his too, their tongues sliding and rubbing. They kissed over and over, hotter and wetter, the heat between them building to inferno temperature. Joe rubbed his hard cock against her mindlessly, hands sliding down to her ass to cup her and hold her there for him to press and rub against.

“I’m about to combust,” he groaned.

“Me too.” She rubbed herself back against him, her soft breasts dragging across his chest. “How do you do this to me, Joe?”

He didn’t know how to answer that question, so he just kissed her again, his hands sliding up underneath the cotton T-shirt she wore. Her back was silky smooth and curvy and she moaned into his mouth. Finding the clasp of her bra, he flicked it open, then yanked the top and the bra off over her head together.

Her breasts were bare to him in the moonlight, gleaming pearly skin and puckered nipples. He sucked in a breath as she leaned back in his arms so he could look at her. Saliva pooled in his mouth and he was afraid he was about to drool on her.

“Fucking awesome,” he muttered, unable to look away.

“Touch me,” she whispered. “Please.” It was the closest to begging she had gotten yet. His dick hardened painfully. Her head fell back, her arms straight as she clasped her hands together behind his neck. Her arms pushed her breasts together.

“Oh baby, all I can think about is sliding my dick up and down between those sweet tits.” His body burned with lust for her, his cock so hard he hurt, his skin hot and prickling. With trembling hands, he undid the button at the top of the skirt he’d allowed her to wear. It sat low on her hips and when he tugged down the short zipper, the skirt fell to the patio. She was wearing different underwear today, no less sexy but a little more covered up, white panties that looked like tiny lace-edged shorts. He stared down at them for a moment, then reached up to release her hands from behind his neck.

She made a little murmured questioning sound and he turned her around. “Let’s see the back,” he murmured. His gaze traveled down the curve of her back and he sucked in air through his teeth. “Oh baby, those little shorts only cover half your cheeks.” The rounded curve of her bottom beneath the lace edge set his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

“They’re not shorts,” she said, her voice choked. “They’re panties.”

“Whatever they are, they’re fucking hot.” He just had to touch. His hands stroked the rounded flesh, traced the crease where cheek met thigh and trailed down the back of her thighs.

Her body twitched hard at his touch and he knew he’d found a new erogenous zone. Overwhelmed with erotic need, he stroked her softly again and again there while she trembled and shook, her hands on the low wall in front of her, leaning slightly forward.

“I love your ass,” he whispered, leaning over her back to kiss her shoulder. “So smooth and round and soft.” Then he remembered his original plan and he whisked the panties down over her legs. While one hand fondled a breast, he opened his jeans with the other and released his throbbing cock. The night air drifted coolness over his burning flesh. He dug a condom out of his pocket and quickly rolled it on. Then he turned her back to face him and hoisted her up against him with his hands under that beautiful ass.

“Oh God, Joe, out here?” she whispered, clutching his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said. “Right here. Right now.”

He managed to hold her with one arm while he nudged his way into her folds. She was wet, literally dripping wet and he almost dropped her as his knees went weak. “Normally I’d take a little more time,” he panted. “To make you ready. To get you nice and wet. But…Jesus…you’re already wet. And I…can’t…wait…” He pushed into her, struggling for control and patience. She was so tight and he felt heat and wet, warm tugging as she pulled him in. Slowly he eased into her, two hands back on her butt, bending his knees for a better angle.

She held on tightly, lifting and lowering herself slightly to help the fit, making little whimpers of need and urgency. Then he was in her all the way, his dark thatch of curls pressed to her tiny blonde patch. He looked down at where they were joined, amazed himself at how he fit into her slender body. He thrust up into her. “Look,” he gasped. “Look at us, Tara.”

She too looked down as their bodies drew apart and then slid together, a low ragged moan coming from deep inside her. The visual mesmerized, his thick flesh gleaming with her cream moving in and out of her. The sensation was indescribable, the tight friction of her body on his, the way he filled her, the way her body tightened and quivered as he held her up against him. He couldn’t keep his orgasm at bay much longer, but he wanted her to come.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered her. “Make yourself come.” He bit his lip hard as she let go of his shoulder and slid a hand down between them to find her clit. She’d barely touched herself when she went off, crying out, her pussy rippling around him, and he thrust harder to intensify her orgasm. He let himself go. He poured himself into her, shuddering violently, as she pulsed around him, milking him.

Weakness slid down his legs and he staggered in a semicircle to sit down hard on the low wall, narrowly missing the two wineglasses perched there. Tara straddled him, still impaled on his cock, and collapsed onto him, her head buried in the crook of his neck.

Their breathing heaved together as they clutched each other, eyes closed, Tara’s face pressed to his neck, his hot face pressed to her cool silky hair. After long moments, he realized goose bumps dotted her silky flesh.

“Cold?” he murmured into her hair. Her naked body was draped over him and for a moment he felt bad that he’d stripped her bare and all he’d done was open his fly. She nodded against him and he stood up, still holding her against him, and walked into the house. He headed straight to the bedroom, tossed back the duvet and laid her tenderly on the bed. He covered her, then stripped off his shirt and jeans and stepped out of the deck shoes he wore without socks. Then he slid in beside her, tucked her under his arm and fitted her body to his. She kissed his chest and nestled in closer, still limp from her climax.