Wine, Tarts & Sex

Seven

But Jake played the gentleman first.

“Let me find some towels,” he said.

“From the looks of this brothel bed,” Liv murmured, stretching lazily, “I’d say look in the bedside table.”

It took him a moment for his brain to assimilate what she’d said, because he was busy thinking she looked like some lush Titian nude when she arched her back like that. Or was it Rubens? Not that it mattered when her boobs were lifted into perfect cushiony roundness like that. And they were real-a novelty for ones that big. Dragging himself back to earth, he said, “You’re probably right. This place screams Mustang Ranch.”

“Have you been there?”

“Uh-uh.” Leaning over, he opened the door on the bedside table. “I know people who have. It seems a waste of time to me. There you go, babe,” he added, grabbing two towels, sitting up, and handing her one. “You called that one right.”

“Chaz isn’t a romantic.”

“No shit. He has a complete drugstore in there. Mouthwash, Altoids, a gross of condoms, and whadda you know- gold-plated handcuffs.” Reaching down, he pulled them out and swung them in her direction.

“If you don’t behave, I might have to use them.”

He gave her a look. “Over my dead body.”

“So you’re not into bondage.”

“Not much.”

“Ever?”

“Is this a quiz?”

She opened her arms wide and smiled. “I’m done. No more questions. You may direct the entertainment.”

His brows rose. “I wouldn’t have typecast you as submissive. ”

“With a dick like yours, I’d be stupid not to be. I’m sure whatever you decide to do will feel mighty fine on my pleasure scale.”

“So I may indulge myself.”

“Us, sweetie,” she said with a smile, figuring she was way past any opportunity to play the shrinking violet.

“Right.” He liked that she didn’t play games, a rarity in his world. Throwing the handcuffs back into the bedside table, he quickly wiped himself off and came to his feet. “Do you need anything? I need a drink of water.” Smoothing back his hair with both hands, he readjusted the binder holding his ponytail in place. “How about you?”

“Me, too-water.”

“There’s plenty of liquor or wine around here- champagne, if you like.”

“I’d mostly like you.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” Had she known that her words had a familiar ring, requests like that frequent years ago when he was in culinary school and waiting tables on the side in upscale restaurants? It had been pretty much a fucking smorgasbord in those days. Between work, school, and keeping the ladies happy, sleep had been scarce.

He had a good feeling that getting to know darling Liv might be déjà vu all over again. “Rest up,” he said with a grin. “I’ll be right back.”

But he wasn’t.

Liv could hear him rummaging through Chaz’s kitchen cupboards, drawers opening and shutting, cabinet doors ditto, the sound of a refrigerator door closing with that soft thud of a vacuum seal.

“Need help?” she called out, her voice drifting over the glass block walls separating the living/bedroom area from the kitchen in the loft space.

“The kind of help you can give me doesn’t require you moving. Take it easy, reflect on the state of the world-or not, considering the current chaos. Better yet, count the condoms we have left. I was thinking we should try to use them up.”

Liv smiled. “You do know how to sweet-talk a lady.”

“How about some tapas? Does that put you in the mood, too?”

How did he know? she thought, jumping out of bed. Standing in the open doorway to the kitchen two seconds later, she decided not only was her personal chef more gorgeous than one could ever imagine-his awesome cock alone capable of making one starry-eyed-but here he was making her tapas, her all-time favorite food. “When I heard the word tapas, I thought I must have been dreaming. You’re going to feed me tapas?”

He shot her a grin. “That’s what I do, babe. Feed people. Besides, I’m hungry. I forgot to eat today.”

“Just for the record, I hate people who say they forgot to eat. I would never forget to eat.”

He wasn’t about to argue with her. “Whatever you’re doing seems to be working.” His gaze raked her from head to toe in a quick appraisal. “You’re every man’s fantasy.”

“Back at you. You’re definitely centerfold material.” She smiled. “As is your spectacular friend,” she added with a tip of her head to the pertinent object.

“As long as you’re happy, we’re happy. Do you want a robe? There might be one around here, although I thought we’d eat in bed.”

Jeez, he was a humble man, even with his looks and celebrity. How unusual was that? She knew men who looked like him who had egos from hell. “Bed sounds good. For whatever,” she murmured teasingly.

He looked up from cutting chorizo sausage in a blur of motion and offered her a flashing grin. “Food first and then whatever. And I’m definitely open to suggestions.”

Ever since she’d arrived in the doorway, he’d been swiftly slicing and dicing while keeping an eye on two pans on the stove. Flipping in ingredients from time to time, he’d toss them with an effortless flick of his wrist before resuming his cutting. His movements were sure, smooth as silk, his unruffled calm Zen-like. Clearly, his expertise extended beyond the bedroom.

Leaning over to pull out a bottle of champagne from an under-counter wine cooler, he opened it with a deft twist and set it next to two glasses. “Lucky for us, Chaz left his kitchen fully supplied. I’m guessing he entertained up here.”

“He did. Chaz didn’t like to be alone. He always had people around.”

“From the looks of his stock of condoms, I’d say women in particular.”

“He was known for his beautiful waitpeople.”

She’d kept her statement gender neutral, so out of curiosity, he asked, “Was he a switch-hitter?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. I just met him after I started my winery. He’s a local boy, though. Or was.”

“Very much was, according to him. Apparently, Saint Barts is his nirvana. He said he’s going to be buried there.”

“What about you?”

“About what?”

“Do you have any burial plans?”

He laughed. “Not in the near future, I hope. Do you ask that question often?”

“Not really. Coming from the West Coast, I just thought you might have some avant-garde notions… you know… like green burials.”

“Haven’t thought about it. You?” Was she into crystals and shit? Not that it was going to curb his enthusiasm in any way. As soon as he ate something, he was going to take care of his hard-on.

“My only plans are to live to a hundred.” She grinned. “So I’ve got time. What are you making?” She moved closer to the stove.

“Chorizo and chickpeas, some cubed potatoes with a few spices, and a hot green olive vinaigrette.” He pointed at one pan. “And this”-he jabbed his knife at the other pan- “is Gambas al Ajillo, Spanish shrimp. It should have garlic, but in the interests of not offending you, I left it out, but there’s some bay leaf, chili pepper, olive oil, and shrimp, of course, served with that crusty bread over there.” He nodded at an earthenware platter. “Pour yourself a glass of champagne and get two forks from that drawer”-he jabbed his thumb sideways-“while I get this food on some plates.” Opening the door on one of three waist-high ovens, he drew out a sheet pan of toasted tortillas and proceeded to break them into pieces. Setting a bowl of freshly made, chunky tomatillo salsa on a platter, he surrounded the bowl with the hot tortilla chips, briskly shoved it aside and, lifting the steaming pan of shrimp from the burner, piled the contents on another plate in a perfect mound. The chorizo dish was assembled as quickly. “After you,” he said with a smile, tucking the champagne bottle under one arm, arranging two platters on the same arm, picking up the tomatillo plate and two cloth napkins with his other hand. “I make a great steak-frites, too, if you feel like it later.”

“Are you kidding? I won’t be able to move after all this food.”

“Then feel free to lie there and think of England.”

“No joke. I might take you up on that.”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me.”

“You’re way too accommodating. You must have to kick women out afterward. Between your great cooking and fabulous dick, I doubt anyone wants to leave.”

Avoiding a reply to the kicking-women-out remark, which hit damn close to home, he said, “Actually, I don’t often cook… at times like this.” He politely chose the bland phrase. “I was just hungry.” He wasn’t about to admit to either her or himself that having her stay might have figured in his decision to cook.

“Then I lucked out.”

“I’d promised you a meal, although this is just starters. Feel free to hold me to my offer.” For some reason she was making him operate way the hell out in left field. Not that he was about to parse his feelings at the moment; he had more interesting options. Such as eat, then fuck until he couldn’t get it up anymore.

He arranged the platters between them on the bed, handed her a napkin, drank down the glass of champagne she’d given him in one long draft, set the glass aside, and then, dropping into a propped-on-one-elbow sprawl, waved his hand at the food. “Please… be my guest.”

Seated opposite him, her legs crossed in an effortless yoga pose, she lifted her glass of champagne in his direction. “This is way nice.”

“Yeah… I agree.”

Their eyes met, and they both felt the freaking magic.

Absurd, he thought.

Only in movies, she thought.

“The food’s getting cold,” he said. The last person in the world to subscribe to voodoo emotion, he picked up a shrimp and took a bite.

Quickly draining her glass of champagne in an effort to dismiss the radical feeling with a dose of alcohol, she laid the empty glass on the bed, picked up her fork, and speared a piece of sausage.

They ate in silence for a brief time, both busy rationalizing away that moment when their eyes had met-words like aberrant and crackpot common to their thoughts.

Liv spoke first. She was less comfortable with silence. “This is absolutely delicious.” She waved her fork over the food. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled. “I’ve been eating out since I came, but fortunately, Chaz’s freezer and larder were full.”

“Having a personal chef is very nice.”

“You within reach is nice. Even if you’re doing a number on my head. But, whatever… I’m not complaining.”

“I’m feeling a little wacky, too. And it’s not as though this is virgin territory for me”-she lifted her hand to the room at large-“you know… sex.”

“No shit. Are you tired, too? I was up all night ordering stuff.” He shrugged. “That’s my excuse.”

“I slept for eight hours. I have no excuse.” She nodded at his erection. “Other than the bewitching power of that.”

“Then I’d better keep up my strength,” he said, reaching for another shrimp. “These are supposed to be aphrodisiacs, right?”

“So that’s why I’m wetter than wet.” She wasn’t about to tell him the truth-that she’d been riding a lustful wave from the first time she saw him.

He held out the shrimp. “So what d’you say? As long as we’re on a roll?”

“I guess,” she said, trying to sound blasé when there wasn’t a chance in hell she could have actually refused him anything.

“Open up, babe.” A genuinely blasé tone.

I am already, she thought. But she opted for discretion, since lusting women probably weren’t a news flash for Jake Chambers.

Easing upward, he slipped the shrimp into her mouth. “Now bite.”

His softly enunciated command shuddered through her vagina with an electrifying jolt. He was sure of himself, confident, familiar with women doing what he wanted. She shouldn’t have responded to such arrogance, but a hot rush of liquid longing flooded her cunt, and as though she were without will of her own, all she could think of was, Please, please, fuck me NOW, NOW, NOW!

Maybe he could read minds. His gaze narrowed slightly. “How about five minutes from now?” he said before falling back into a sprawl.

“Thanks.” She didn’t pretend not to understand; although it took effort to offer an urbane smile when she was really much, much too eager. “I blame the shrimp for my horniness.”

He smiled back. “Whatever works. Give me a few minutes, though. I need nourishment. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

As if, she thought, surveying his spectacular cock, undiminished and tempting. “Take your time.”

He looked up, a forkful of chorizo poised halfway to his mouth. “Really?”

“I was being polite.”

He grinned. “Gotcha. Four minutes and counting then,” he said, all chivalrous gallantry.

A short time later, after consuming a good portion of chorizo and shrimp, he set about clearing the dishes from the bed. Clearly experienced at stacking dishes, he picked up the perfectly balanced pile of plates and, twisting around, set them on the floor in the most gorgeous display of sinuous, tawny-colored muscle she’d ever had the good fortune to see. “You must work out,” she murmured, as he pulled himself back up in a supple surge of rock-hard abs.

“I do a little kendo.” He tossed the napkins and empty champagne bottle on the floor. “Fourteen hours a day throwing pots and pans around the kitchen also helps keep you in shape. Are we done talking?”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

His brows flickered. “You mean I didn’t have to eat that fast?”

She smiled. “I appreciate it, of course.”

“I thought you might. And with dessert waiting, I had plenty of incentive to hurry.” Seizing her ankles, he flipped her onto her back and in answer to her wide-eyed look, said with a lazy smile, “Any special instructions?” Without waiting for an answer, he ran his palms up her legs, eased her thighs apart and, silently thanking Chaz for his oversized bed, adjusted himself comfortably between Liv’s legs. Glancing up to meet her heated gaze, he quirked one brow. “No orders? Last chance.”

“Just a minute,” Liv murmured on a suffocated breath, her vagina pulsing so hard the desperate ache slid all the way up her spine and spiked into her brain, his idea of dessert, his outrageous desirability and magnetic appeal making her unstrung and ravenous when she was never ravenous. “I’m not sure I like… being… out of control,” she gasped.

“Sure you do.”

“Screw you,” she breathed, pissed at his casual assurance. She should have listened to her voice of reason downstairs and kept walking when she had the chance. Now she wasn’t so sure she could.

“Hey. I’m barely holding it together, too,” he gruffly retorted. But rather than explain, he put his hand over her mouth-the male answer to baffling doubts. Abruptly dipping his head, he opened her dewy cleft with his fingertips and ran his tongue up her slick tissue with delicacy and finesse, with perfect GPS know-how in terms of nerve locations. He could have been thoughtfully arranging a fantasy dessert to best effect, so exacting was the placement of his tongue and fingers. As though he knew to perfection how to turn her on-or maybe the scores of women before her had been a universal sisterhood when it came to getting off this way.

In due course, when her labia-major and minor-had been excited to a frenzied nicety, he turned his attention to her clit, and if being out of control had once been an issue, it no longer was.

Complete and absolute sensation took precedence.

Carte blanche, as it were, on the road to ecstasy.

For the next blissful interval only Liv’s breathy moans and orgasmic cries punctuated the silence of the loft. Jake deftly brought her to climax once, then twice, and lifting his head slightly, he paused, waiting for some cue about a possible third time.

Stabbing her fingers through his thick hair, she jerked his head back.

Definitely a cue. He got back down to business.

And Liv gave herself up to raw, over-the-edge, soul-stirring rapture that insinuated itself into every sensitive, greedy nook and cranny, every rapt nerve and throbbing bit of flesh previously unaccustomed to such neon-lit carnal splendor.

Not that she was currently in the right frame of mind to consider that past discrepancy.

For his part, Jake found Liv’s total abandon appealing. That she was completely genuine in a world given increasingly to spin and pretense held a distinctly down-home charm. Or perhaps it was disarming only in contrast to his glitterati world where poseurs were the norm.

Not that any of his philosophical reflections were relevant up against his increasing randiness. And just as soon as darling Livvi came again, he was going to replace his tongue with his cock and blast off.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God-oh God,” she panted.

Perfect timing, he thought, gently sucking her clit as her third orgasm ripped through her vagina. She was definitely on some kind of hair trigger. Not that he was complaining when it would soon be his turn. Although he knew better than to stop what he was doing until her last little sigh died away. Even then, he gave her time to return to the real world before easing back and resting on his elbows.

“You’re way too good,” she breathed, glancing down at him from under her lashes. “I’m writing off Shelly tonight.”

He liked that she didn’t ask. He particularly liked that her plans matched his. He’d written off Shelly a long time ago. “I was hoping you’d stay,” he said with a smile, “seeing how it’s my turn now.”

“Definitely. After that last glorious orgasm, I owe you. Any special instructions?” she waggishly inquired.

“In my current purist frame of mind,” he murmured, coming up on his knees and reaching for a condom, “all I want is the feel of your hot cunt closing around my cock. Say a couple hundred times.”

She gave him a sunny smile. “I’m really, really glad I stopped by.”

He glanced up as he ripped open a foil packet, a smile slowly forming on his finely modeled mouth. “Believe me, I couldn’t have asked for a better wine merchant. ” He unrolled the condom over his throbbing cock, snapped it in place, and, placing the flat of his hands on either side of her arms, smoothly dropped between her widespread legs.

It was a seriously unforgettable sensation, he decided a moment later, as he glided inside her soft, slick warmth, her cunt’s tightness conforming to his hard-on with a highly provocative, all-absorbing reluctance. His toes curled, a thin film of sweat appeared on his forehead, and only with sheer will did he resist his body’s inclination to enter her at ramming speed. But by the end, he was champing at the bit, more impatient than usual, more frenzied, and when he finally bottomed out, only then did he notice her tautness. “Christ,” he muttered, instantly pulling back. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” A soft almost inaudible sound.

He met her gaze, his brows rising faintly in query.

Her nostrils flared, and it took her a moment to find her breath. “I don’t actually believe in karma, but the earth moved back there.”

“No shit,” he grunted. “And I don’t believe in much of anything.”

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “So… can you do it again?”

“Like this?” He glided back in.

Her eyes drifted shut, she raised her hips into his downthrust, accentuating the stunning pressure. “Exactly like that,” she breathed, sliding her hands around his neck. “Don’t ever stop…”

He knew what she meant; he had no intention of stopping. Nor would he have, if the phone on the bedside table hadn’t begun ringing at such jarring decibel levels it hurt his ears. Swearing, he glanced at the phone. But too far gone at the moment to consider answering it, he concentrated instead on the onset of Liv’s next orgasm, ultimately joining her in another mind-blowing climax so awesome it momentarily drowned out the ringing of the phone.

They lay collapsed afterward, replete.

He unconsciously shifted on his elbows, not crushing the woman under him hardwired into his brain.

“It stopped,” Liv murmured.

“What?” He was still drifting in that never-never land of sweet gratification.

“The phone.”

“Good.”

They both ignored the red voice mail light that had started blinking. They both had better things on their minds.

Later though, when Jake was once again capable of coherent thought and speech, he debated listening to the message. But it was getting late. Whoever called could wait until morning.

If the phone hadn’t rung again moments later and yet a third and fourth time shortly after that, he might have persevered in his decision. But he’d been in restaurant crisis management too long to ignore the fourth call.

“Do you mind?” It was politesse only; he was already rolling into a seated position on the edge of the bed and stripping off his condom. A second later, he punched into the voice mail and listened to the increasingly frantic messages before glancing at Liv. “I have to respond to these,” he gruffly noted. “My manager in L.A. is negotiating for some hard-to-get wines. Devain’s vineyard only produces a few cases a year.” He smoothed his palms over his hair and blew out a breath. “I don’t want to lose them.”

“You don’t want to lose wines like that,” Liv murmured, stretching lazily, knowing Devain as well as any wine connoisseur. “No problem. I’ll wait.”

His dark brows came together in a frown. “This could take a while. He’s a prick to deal with.”

Coming up on her elbows, she looked at him squarely. “Are you brushing me off?” She was never brushed off, which may have accounted for her mildly pugnacious tone. Or maybe the idea of relinquishing the pleasure he offered displeased her more.

“God, no,” he said, leaning over and dropping a conciliatory kiss on her cheek. “Stay a week.” Anyone knowing Jake would have been shocked by his statement. “In fact,” he added, immune to previous lifestyle habits when right after this phone call, getting off again was number one on his list, “I’ll be right back with something to amuse you while I talk this over with Eduardo.”

“I’m not in the mood to read,” Liv drolly noted.

He winked. “You won’t be reading, babe.” Coming to his feet, he jabbed a finger at her. “Now, stay put.”

“Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir,” she teasingly replied.

He grinned. “I can see we’re gonna get along just fine.”

They were already getting along finer than she’d ever gotten along with anyone, but his ego probably didn’t need further stroking.

She watched him walk away: tall and tanned-swarthy by nature, she suspected-muscled like a stevedore, handsome as sin… with a cock to die for and a real proficiency at using it. She’d be crazy not to wait.

And before she had time to do more than thank her lucky stars for having stopped by, Jake returned from the kitchen balancing a large, peeled zucchini upright on his palm. It had been carved into a realistic facsimile of an erect penis with smoothly rounded glans, sculpted veins and the slight arc of full-blown arousal.

“Here’s something to keep you interested until I’m off the phone. I wouldn’t want you to be unhappy while you’re waiting.”

“It doesn’t look like I will be. You’re so very talented,” Liv purred, her body already opening in anticipation.

“Ice swans or dildos, it’s all in a day’s work,” he said with a grin. “But more importantly,” he added, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “let’s see if I figured the size right. I was guessing you’d like the economy size.” Leaning over, he eased her legs apart with one hand and slipped the smooth head past her labia, slowly forcing the large dildo deep inside her.

The coolness, the exquisite pressure instantly triggered her already overwrought nerves. She shivered as a shimmering rush of arousal washed over her. No longer questioning her inexplicable longing, she basked in the feverish glow instead, giving Jake high marks for estimating the perfect, optimal size. The zucchini was big, but not too big or almost… almost… too big in the most exquisite possible way.

When he finally whispered, “There. It’s all the way in,” and nudged it just a little deeper with his palm, she shut her eyes against the wild, explosive delirium convulsing her senses.

“I’m not usually like this,” she panted a moment later, as if she needed to apologize for her lack of restraint. But with an enormous dildo cramming her full, with her every sexual receptor singing the “Hallelujah Chorus” at frenzied pitch, she decided it didn’t really matter about restraint or the lack thereof.

“Hey, everything’s good,” Jake whispered. “Go for it.”

How sweet he was-not selfish, chivalrous even, thinking of her pleasure, apparently understanding the finer points of truth and beauty as related to unbridled desire as well.

And since when had she felt the need to apologize for her sexual urges?

Never.

So there.

Having rationalized away her novel unease having to do with really blissfully countless orgasms that she had to admit were unusual even in her worldly take on life, she stopped quibbling or thinking at all and gave herself up to the extraordinary, superacute pleasure occasioned by Jake’s sculptural talents.

She screamed more than usual when she came the next time.

Perhaps he wouldn’t make his call just yet, Jake decided. Perhaps he’d first talk to her about making less noise. Diplomatically, of course.

On the other hand, it wasn’t as though Eduardo would really give a damn.

Christ, what was he thinking?

Withdrawing the dildo marginally, he shoved it back in and smiled faintly at her gratified sigh. “Enjoy yourself, darling. I’ll make this quick,” he murmured, settling once again into a gentle, adroit rhythm of arousal as he reached for the phone.

Negotiating via a conference call with Eduardo and Devain to save time, Jake kept the conversation as brief as possible. He wasn’t in the mood to quibble over price, which speeded up the process considerably, not to mention Jake’s French was serviceable enough to soothe over Devain ’s notorious irritability.

A price was agreed on in mere minutes, the rare wines locked in for Jake’s restaurants. As Jake made his adieus, Christophe Devain, owner of one of the best vineyards in the world, said, “Jake, mon ami, my regards to your lady. Such lovely little moans. I envy you your evening’s pleasure. ”

Jake didn’t offer demur. He only said, “Merci,” understanding how fortunate he was to have darling Livvi in his bed.

Immediately Jake set down the phone, he forgot what- only hours before-would have been a coup of prime import. Rare Bordeaux vintages were dismissed from his thoughts, as was Eduardo’s earlier hysteria. Reaching for one of Chaz’s convenient supply of condoms, he shifted his attention to more pressing activities.

A moment later, the zucchini dildo was tossed aside, Jake settled between Liv’s legs, and the two individuals on the Bollywood bed returned to their quest for the perfect orgasm.