Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise Stories Book 2) (20 page)

Admitting he was my husband had been nerve-wracking and liberating at the same time. Relief washed out of me, as his presence in my room was justified, after the shaming my great-grandfather was giving me. I didn’t expect Cain to be the one to admit our situation. He’d promised this morning to set me free, and I’d struggled with that reality all day. I hadn’t even known I was married a few weeks ago, and yet I was not prepared to divorce him either. I meant what I said. I believed there was some good in Cain, untapped and unshared, but good he wanted to give.

My suggestion to swim wasn’t what I had planned. Our picnic was a last supper of sorts. I just wanted to talk with him. I wanted to hear about his day. Learn more about him as a person before I let him go. Our kiss this morning had left me reeling throughout the day, as well, and I had moments of smiling without purpose. The feel of his lips lingered on mine. Seeing him mostly naked would be my undoing, but it was warm.
He was sweaty, and dirty, and looked strangely delicious. He was the wine I wanted to get drunk on. And I was thirsty.

I peeled off my lightweight blouse with shaky hands. His eyes watched each calculated movement. He didn’t reach for me; simply watched the performance. I let the material slip down my arms and fall from my fingers. Unsnapping my shorts, I shimmied them down my thighs. When they fell to my ankles, I stepped out of them, kicking them gently to the side. I wasn’t going to bare myself to him. We’d dry in the heat and keeping my private areas covered was the best defense I could have against him.

He pulled his shirt over his head in one tug from the back of his neck. It was damp with moisture from hard work on a vineyard that at its core was a glorified farm. Trellises of grapevines covered our land. Crates of small fruit added up to heavy pounds in wooden boxes. Filled bottles of wine were ounces of weight someone his size would find child’s play, but working in such a manner, when one didn’t do it daily, was tiring. He stood and removed his shorts, covered in a mixture of dirt and small slivers of wood. He reached out a large hand, and then guided me to the stream.

The water was cold. There was no other descriptor for it. It shocked the system, despite the heat. As the river reached his mid-section, the expression on his face proved he didn’t remember the sensation.

“That might kill the erection,” he muttered.

My eyes traveled down his cut waist to a portion of his body I could no longer see under the water. He had released my hand to dip deeper, exhaling at the shock of the temperature. He sunk completely under, bringing up his hands to brush over his head before breaking the surface.

“God damn is it cold, but it feels refreshing,” he declared, as he stood to his full height in my space. My eyes were so focused on the deep cuts to his abs, I hardly noticed when he wrapped a cold arm around my waist and tugged me against him. The surprise of his frigid skin against me, made my nipples instantly peak to hard nubs that pressed into his chest. My hands came to rest on his pecs, before slipping up over his shoulders, then down to curl around his biceps. I was holding onto him when he bent his knees and we slipped into the water.

“Ah,” I cried out, as the coolness crept over my stomach. He leaned back and my feet left the ground. Straddling him, he paddled backward while I braced over him. He was my life raft, and I clung to him as he guided us silently through the stream. It was peaceful as he stroked backward and I rested against him. He dunked again eventually, and I scrubbed at some of the dirty streaks on his arms and neck as he rose up from the water. Washing him, I felt like I was cleansing him of his sins, and his eyes closed at each touch that stroked away the dirt and grime.

He didn’t ask for a repeat of that morning, and unfortunately, I longed to kiss him. We eventually exited the stream when I shivered and my skin goose bumped to the point of rough sand paper. He rubbed his giant hands up and down my arms, as we silently left the cool water and trudged to the sheet where our meal awaited. We were quiet for some reason. Neither of us seemed to want to talk, and I was comforted in the silence. The world was talkative around us. Birds chirped, the river chortled, and the leaves rustled with the breeze. It was a perfect summer evening. It was Eden.

At first, I served the food to him, but he held out a nibble for me. He fed me like a queen as he handed me cubes of cut ham or a ripe grape. Each bite was an experience and he watched me eat, like it was the most fascinating and sensual thing he’d seen. Exposed in both the process and my appearance, as the wet material of underwear and bra left little to the imagination, I swallowed each bite and observed his eyes darken. We were sitting relatively close, although he was balanced on his side, while I sat with my knees bent to the side. Resting on one hand, I leaned toward him for another bite.

He shocked me when he took a cool grape and slid it down my chest. He used it to outline my red bra, taking his time to sketch over the cups and dip between the exposed cleavage. Then, he pulled back and popped the grape into his mouth. I couldn’t move, stunned by the motion, and the sensation. It prompted him to repeat the action. Taking another grape, he outlined the lace then slipped it down to circle the ripe bud of nipple standing erect in excitement. Drawing around it, he then flitted over it, dragging a lazy finger behind, before pulling the grape to an open mouth and sucking the purple fruit in whole.

My breath was ragged; it was the only motion I made. My sex pulsed and I inhaled with anticipation that he’d repeat the experience. He did. Several times. I was so turned on; I could hardly breathe. My arm collapsed and I found myself on my back, as fruit continued to paint my body. Eventually, his tender lips and the tip of his tongue followed the trail.

“Sweet temptation,” he muttered at one point, as he left no inch of skin on my stomach unfeasted.

The fruit sketching continued along the waistline of my underwear and my stomach quivered at the sensation. The grapes were gone. It was slices of apples and peaches that became a new paintbrush on my skin. He’d dipped below the waistband, not looking at me, but following the stroke of his fingers holding fruit. He nudged thin material down to expose a dark plot of hair then bit the apple slice hard, purposefully. He took another piece of fruit and hooked it to the edge of lace.

“Sofie,” he said both as question and plea. I couldn’t respond. I was a dish of exquisite fruit, and I was willing to let him savor each bite of me. Uncertainty filled me as my underwear was removed and a strip of peach came toward my center, but after dragging it through sensitive folds, then devouring it, I decided he could live off me if he wished.

He’d spread my legs enough to watch his work and enjoy the magic of fruit design. I was producing my own tender juices, and I longed for him to sample me. He didn’t disappoint as he rolled between my thighs, and without asking further permission, lapped his tongue along the length of me. I bucked in response and my hands fell to his head. His mouth pulled back, but my hips followed as if on a string. I could not break the connection with him. He purposely paused to reach for another piece of solid fruit. A cool strip of apple spread me then crunched in his mouth as he exaggerated the experience of chewing. My hands had fallen to my sides and clenched the sheet below me. I needed that mouth on me, no longer interested in the abundance of fruit in this garden.

Warm tongue hit my center again. I was the nectar he desired. His tongue swirled and separated. Dragging it slowly, he savored each lick then nipped me gently. As my hips jolted upward, his mouth opened and sucked me in, then returned to the languid lapping. My thighs shook. My fingers scraped his skull. My eyes rolled back after a brief notice of only one star shining in the darkening sky. I sighed in exaltation when a rush so powerful flowed through me and a river of release washed me clean. My knees clamped to hold his head and my hips rose as he continued to eat me whole.

When I finally came down from a high so unreal, I was gasping for air, he dragged up my body. The hard core of him was level with mine, separated only by the cotton fabric of his boxer briefs.

“Sofie, you are the sweetest fruit, but I desire more of you.”

Taking his meaning, I would not deny him. Tempted by his sexual knowledge, I wanted to know more. More of what he could do to me. I longed to be enlightened, and he was going to show me the way.

My answer to his request was to draw down the waistband of his briefs. Understanding me, he slid the remainder down himself. His face grew serious as he brushed back my hair, damp from the heat of the evening and the exhilaration of foreplay.

“You’re the only one I want,” he repeated from the night before.

Nodding was the only response I could make. His admission was so genuine. His words so smooth, they coiled around a vital part that opened willingly for him and allowed him in. The sensation of the hard heat of him entering me was indescribable. We moaned in unison, a prayer to the heavens that were dark and covering us. The stars blinked in the slow rhythm Cain repeated to fill me, over and over, taking his time for me to feel each ridge of solid skin that spread me wider.

“So tight. So full,” he muttered into my damp shoulder. One arm braced his weight over me. The other hand was in my hair at the nape of my neck.

My hips demanded an increase in pace and I rocked upward. The rhythmic hammering beat into me, matching the rising tempo of my heart. Eventually we raced, as skin slapped gently in the night silence, and breaths groaned in passionate excitement. The climb to the finish was near for me. I clenched the length of him, holding firm to each drag and pull, calling out his name as my hands covered the map of his back. Finally, my hands found those rounded globes of his ass and forced him forward, demanding he fill me deeper. I screamed out in ecstasy, and he followed directly with a tug to my hair, and a groan so loud the cloudless evening sky echoed it back to us.

Panting heavily, he eventually relaxed half over me, still positioned inside me. My arms had fallen to the sheet. My tired legs fell to the sides. He kissed barely-there pecks on my shoulder and neck before whispering in my ear.

“Stay married to me.”

With breath held, I waited; worried she would say no when she nodded her head infinitesimally.

“Say yes,” I demanded softly.

“But why?” she questioned, her voice cracking.

“I …” I brushed back damp hair from her forehead. It was too much to look into those inquisitive blue eyes. “Because I believe that you’re good for me. Too good for me, but I want you all the same. I feel a strange calmness with you. A peace, I’ve never known. I want to feel it all the time, and you’ll be my salvation.”

We were silent for a moment, while I continued to comb back her hair. It was only when I finally found the courage to meet her eyes that she spoke.

“Yes,” she whispered and I claimed her mouth. We couldn’t repeat what we’d just done as a way to seal this commitment. We were both spent, but in another twenty minutes, we were going to go again. I was going to remind her repeatedly why she should be my wife.

“I promise to be true to you,” I said, needing her to feel my words, as I returned to kissing her after I spoke them. My hands delved into her hair and held her head steady, while my body folded over hers again. I wanted her to accept my apology. I needed her to know that it would only be her from this day forward.

Within minutes, I was hard, but I took my time to kiss her, reinforcing my words. I wanted more words, three important words, but I would take her yes and savor it, like I savored her. Our mouths meshed and melded to one another, like they had earlier in the day. I assumed that kiss would be my last with her, and yet here we were, promising to make more kisses, make more love to one another. As much as I wanted to fuck her hard, I enjoyed loving her soft. She responded to me like no other, and our connection was unlike anything I’d ever felt with another.

We eventually broke off with slowing pecks and I told her I wanted to take her home. We dressed quietly, then gathered the picnic items. She drove the golf cart through the darkened paths of the vineyard and pulled up silently next to the private entrance. I didn’t worry about sneaking into her room; her great-grandfather knew our secret. It was one of many hurdles to cross, the greatest of which would be my father.

As we entered the back door that led to the family kitchen, we were bombarded by bright lights and two older people sipping coffee at a table. Her grandmother looked like Sofie might in fifty years. Dull, dark hair, but eyes still bright, though brown, compared to Sofie’s blue. It was the grandfather at the table whose eyes sparkled like hers. Both pairs of eyes looked concerned.

“Bella, tell me it not true,” the grandfather spoke in broken English.

“Sweetheart, are you married?” her grandmother added.

Sofie stood perfectly still, and I decided I needed to make a statement on her behalf. Reaching for her hand, she entwined her fingers with mine. I stepped further forward, and then extended a hand to introduce myself.