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  Alison follows suit. “But he should have been arrested, or-or something.”

  I appreciate her indignation on my behalf. “I think in this day and age, he would be, but he was bigger than us, and we were scared to tell.”

  “Said every victim ever,” she says with such bitterness and anger I wonder what trauma she’s experienced.

  “He did get caught, later that summer, beating up the son of one of the farmhands, and my parents sent him to reform school.”

  “Did it work?”

  I shrug. “To be honest, I don’t know. I steered clear of him whenever he was home, and plotted my revenge.”

  Understanding crosses her face. “So the fiancé…”

  I nod. “I didn’t mean to knock her up, I only wanted to screw over my brother in the worst possible way. The irony? I think she was plotting to screw us over the whole time, and I became her unwitting accomplice.”

  Alison snorts. “There’s karma for you.” She toes a rock with her pretty pink booties, and when she looks at me, it’s with such intensity my heart clutches. “So tell me, Nicholas, what other asshole moves did you make as a result of your childhood trauma?”

  I falter, because the expression on her face reaches into my soul, like she’s seeing every single shitty thing I’ve ever done, and summing me up. “I-I’m not proud of my behavior. Not anymore,” I amend. “I was an asshole. Hell, I still am, but hopefully less of one. I was a dick to pretty much everyone who walked. I didn’t discriminate.”

  Her jaw clenches as she watches me, and for a moment, I think my confession won’t be enough. “Ask me anything. I’m an open book.”

  For a long time, she just stares, eyes boring into me. “Tell me about high school,” she finally asks.

  “What I remember of it?” I wash down a cracker with some more wine. “I’m sure I was a dick, because I never missed an opportunity to mouth off. I remember parties, tons of parties. I was in the same class as Ronnie’s younger sister Lara, and we all hung out at the country club our parents belonged to. To be honest, I spent as much time as I could getting stoned, so I don’t remember a ton.”

  She makes a noise deep in her throat, then nods her head.

  I hand her another cracker and she pops the whole thing in her mouth, finishing with wine, just like I did. The longer I study her, the more I can see the tension pulling around her mouth, and the way her shoulders hunch up toward her ears. “You okay?”

  She pulls in a deep breath, then blows it out through puffed cheeks. “I was bullied in high school,” she finally admits in a quiet voice. “By a group of rich, entitled, mean kids.”

  “Assholes like me,” I supply.

  She lets out a bitter laugh and shakes her head. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

  “Point them out to me someday and I’ll pound their faces.”

  Her eyes cut to mine, and I don’t like what I see there- the hurt, the anger, the hate. What did they do to her that she still harbors that much pain? Although I’m one to talk, given my feelings about my older brother. I’d just as soon punch his face in than talk to him. “Do you think people can change?” Her eyes search mine, and I suddenly have the feeling of walking a tightrope. That if my answer isn’t up to snuff, she’ll show me the door, and I’ll never get to have those fuck-me pink booties wrapped around my neck.

  I search for the words. “If I say that I think people can change, then I have to leave room for the possibility that my brother might have changed.”

  “And you don’t want to believe that,” she finishes.

  “I don’t,” I admit. “There’s a satisfaction in holding onto my anger.”

  “But then by logical conclusion, it means you’re still an asshole, and that you’ll always be an asshole, no matter what.”

  I don’t like that. “But I’m better than he is.”

  She snorts. “Now I smell the bullshit. Either people change, or they can’t. You can’t have it both ways.”

  She has a point, but the implications make me very uncomfortable. “Okay then, I think people can change, but I think most won’t.”

  “And which are you?”

  My heart makes its way down to my toes then crams itself up in my throat. There’s an ache in my chest I can’t name. “I…” I let out a puff of air, then swallow. The lump in my throat remains. “I want to change. I-I want to be better.” I want to be worthy of her approval. I want Alison to look at me with the world in her eyes. I take another deep breath, and move from my spot on the bench, and come to kneel before her. I take her hands in mine. She’s guarded, still, but she hasn’t pushed me away either. “Alison… Ali… you make me want to be a better man. The best kind of man.”

  She sucks in air, lips parting in surprise. “Now you’re shitting me for reals.”

  I rise up and frame her face with my hands, taking her mouth. She opens to my tongue with the sweetest sigh, and I take my precious time exploring her, devouring her. Her foot kicks out and wraps around my waist, and with a guttural noise I deepen the kiss, my hands slipping under her jacket to caress the curve of her breasts. I tease her nipples through the thin fabric, relishing the weight of her resting in my palms. “I will be most happy to show you all the ways I’m most definitely not shitting you,” I murmur, pinching her nipples in the way I know drives her wild.

  “Show me,” she answers. “Right now.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alison

  I drop my head back with a groan, relishing the sting on my nips all the way to my clit. I’m so wet, I’m sure there’s a damp spot on my leggings, but ask me if I care? I don’t, not with Nico’s tongue sliding against mine, teasing in and out until I can barely stand it.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. Seriously, I think I’ve lost my marbles. Kimmie would tell me I’m suffering from a bad case of Stockholm syndrome and pour ice water over my head. Maybe even slap me. And she’d be right to, because who fucks their former tormentor? Am I stupid to believe him when he tells me I make him want to be better? When he promises to show me he’s absolutely not shitting me?

  Honestly, the man makes it hard to harbor a grudge, and not just because his ass is so fine and his abs are perfectly cut, and he kisses in a way that makes my pussy instantly wet. I get the feeling he’s really trying. Why would he tell me that shit about his brother if he was just playing me? And if he’s struggling to forgive his brother, shouldn’t I try to forgive him too? It’s easy when he kisses me like I’m his last breath, his only lifeline.

  What would Kimmie say?

  Kimmie would say run, and I’m doing just that. But not in the direction she’d want. Nope, for once in my life, I’m taking what I want, because I deserve to be happy, even if it’s only for a moment. And dammit, I’m so sick of living in the darkness, of apologizing for who I am and who I’ve been. And maybe this… thing… between us is an opportunity for a fresh start- for both of us. Because, my God, his touch drives me wild, makes me wet with need, obliterates my self-doubt. Who wouldn’t want that kind of goodness in their lives?

  “Nico,” I murmur between kisses.

  “Mmm,” he growls, nipping at my collarbone.

  “We should take this inside.”

  “Hell no. I’m taking you right here.”

  “Outside?” I squeak, pulling away. “Are you crazy?” It’s getting dark, but I can still see the hunger written all over his face.

  “Only for you, angel. And I want you to think of mind-blowing orgasms every time you walk by this bench.

  “But-but,” I sputter, unable to come up with a compelling reason why we shouldn’t. “Someone might see us,” I finish lamely.

  “No one is up here but us.”

  “A-and raccoons and coyotes.”

  His laugh skates across my skin, leaving delicious goosebumps. “They give no shits about us. But if you want me to stop…” His voice trails off as he pulls away, an amused smile pulling his mouth wide. He pulls my leg from his waist, and slowly remo
ves my ankle boot. “Promise me someday, you’ll wear these with a skirt? So I can bury my face in your pussy while you wrap your legs around me in nothing but these?”

  I’m pretty sure, my heat levels just reached supernova levels. I don’t even own a skirt, but I’ll order one first thing tomorrow just so we can do that.

  He removes my other boot. “Have you ever gone skinny dipping?”

  I snort. “No. I’ve never been naked outside.”

  “We’ll have to do that, too.” I’m not sure where he’s going with all this future planning shit, but part of me thrills at the idea of planning things with him. “Pants off,” he orders in a tone of voice that brooks no argument, and I’m only too happy to oblige, especially when I see his hand come to rest on his belt buckle.

  I reach out, hand covering his. “Let me do that.”

  He opens his hands and lets me have free reign. I fiddle with the buckle, then the top button, then the rest of the buttons, because damn if he’s not wearing vintage 501’s. I’m impatient and greedy to see his cock, to wrap my fingers around its girth and feel the slick heat of him in my palm. He helps me push down his jeans and boxer briefs, and I gasp like a kid opening a birthday present when his cock springs free, jutting between us thick and long. I run a fingertip along the sensitive underside, stroking up to the flared edge of his crown. This is better than any vibrator. His cock jerks at my touch and he hisses out a breath. I glance up. His face is taut, eyes feverish and focused on my hand, it’s sexy as fuck, and I’m so wet, my thighs are slick with it.

  I stroke back down and take his balls in my palm, using my fingernails to scratch the sensitive spot at the back. He makes an animal sound that ricochets through me like wildfire. I have to squeeze my thighs together because I need friction from somewhere, and touching him is making me so aroused, it’s going to take nothing for me to come. “Lie back on the bench,” he growls. “Drop your legs to either side.”

  My heart pounds at his order. He’ll be able to see the bruises he left the night before. He’ll also see that I shaved my pussy this morning. I’ve only done it once before, when I was in a self-experimental phase- the maintenance is kind of a pain, but I kept fantasizing about his cock sliding through me with no friction.

  “You shaved,” he says, voice dry as grass in September.

  I grin and shrug. “Looks like it.”

  “I like how dirty your mind is, Alison.”

  I love how he says my name. It’s sexy and sensual and it hints of orgasms. “I prefer to call my mind beautifully imaginative.” It should be from the thousands of dollars I’ve spent reading romance novels since I found them one Saturday in the library when I was thirteen.

  His laugh fills the air. “I love it,” he says. “And I suppose your beautiful imagination wants me to eat you up?”

  “Oh yes, please,” I breathe, spreading my legs wider. A light breeze dances through, and my skin erupts in goosebumps. My already sensitized clit, throbs, a bundle of nerves eager for the soft heat of his tongue.

  He bends, staring up at me, and I can’t help but watch as he lowers his face to my cunt. I cry out as he slowly licks up my slick seam, tongue coming to rest on my clit. I can’t look away, I’m mesmerized by the look on his face. It’s reverent, hungry, and aroused, all at once. I commit this moment to memory, tucking it away for future examination, and cry out again when he repeats his movements. His eyes never leave my face. My hips rock into him, and he licks harder, somehow understanding my need for more friction, for a harder touch. His hands come to the outside of my thighs, squeezing hard, pulling me closer, the ache builds and builds, and I only break eye-contact when my orgasm explodes like a starburst, and my vision spots. I let go with a shout, maybe the loudest sound I’ve ever made, because we’re outside and who’s gonna hear us, and God, it just feels so damn liberating to yell. I’m shaking all over, and this time, my shout dissolves into a fit of delighted giggles.

  He’s grinning when he raises his head and pulls me forward, lining my opening up with his cock. “You okay?” He asks, his cock nudging at my entrance. I want him inside me, filling me up. I want that feeling of feeling so full, I think I can’t take it. I want the ache that only a cock can give.

  I grin back. “Never better.”

  He thrusts into me hard. Hard enough, my butt slides along the smooth bench, and thank god it’s smooth, because I checked before I set my bottom on it. The last thing I want is an ass full of splinters.

  He pulls me back, thrusting again, and I swear he touches the core of me. I wrap my legs around his waist, and hang on for dear life as his thrusts become more forceful. I brace up on an elbow and pull him down for a kiss, but not before I catch a glimpse of his cock slick with my arousal sliding through my bare pussy. It’s erotic as fuck, and it feels so damn good, I’m tempted to put in the effort to maintain this level of smoothness. I taste myself on his tongue, and I swear it makes me even wetter. I feel like a goddess who’s been worshipped fully, and I’m overcome with the desire to be fully naked in the moonlight, like some sort of pagan ritual. “Wait,” I say, as I wriggle out of my jacket and lie back on the bench to shimmy out of my top.

  His low chuckle only encourages me, and I hear the soft whisper of his clothes sliding against his skin, and then flying to the ground to join mine. I pop the front clasp on my bra and free my breasts. “Much better,” he acknowledges, bringing first his hands, then his mouth to my nipples. He slides his hands under my ass, and pulls me up onto his thighs, and resumes his thrusts.

  I gasp at the intensity that the newer angle provides. “Holy shit, Nico,” I say tightly, clutching his forearms.

  “You’re so good, Alison, so tight, so wet.”

  My orgasm starts to build from someplace deep inside me, springing to life with each punishing thrust, each slide out against my clit. “It’s too much, I can’t take it,” I say, even though I’d kill him if he stopped now. But I am just the tiniest bit afraid I’m never going to be the same again after this.

  “You can, Alison. I promise. It’s gonna be so good.”

  And I believe him. I can hear the reverence in his voice, the promise. And most importantly, the intensity that tells me he’s as close as I am, and that when we explode, we might just trigger a goddamned earthquake. I cry out with each thrust, a tingling, pressure-filled sensation that builds and builds, and erupts when he brushes his thumb against my clit. I convulse around him, pussy rippling in waves that consume my whole body. And he’s right there with me. He thrusts so hard, so deep, I feel the vibrations in my sternum. His shouts mingle with mine, piercing the darkness, yet being swallowed by the vastness of the acreage. And I wonder, as I float back to earth, if the old adage about a tree falling in the woods, holds the same for shouting orgasms.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nico

  I’m not exactly sure how, but somehow, we manage to make our way back to the trailer with all our clothes and the picnic. It’s hours before we actually make it back to the bedroom though. Because first, I take her on the couch, then on the kitchen counter, and on the tile wall in the shower, with her foot braced against the built in bench. The old-fashioned clock glows half-past-two when we collapse onto the bed, wrapped in our towels.

  “Work crew arrives at six tomorrow,” she murmurs, snuggling into the crook of my arm.

  “No chance we could blow them off?” It’s more of the same, and they’re experienced. They can get started without Alison. “We’re probably two days away from thinning the rest of the vines.”

  “Nope.” She drapes an arm across my midsection.

  I think that means she’s not kicking me out to the couch tonight. At least I hope so. I like the feel of her warm body snuggled against mine. Ronnie wasn’t a cuddler. She said it gave her face wrinkles. “So, maybe I should hit the couch,” I suggest.

  Her eyes stay shut, but her mouth lifts at the corners. “You can, if you like. It’s up to you.”

  The old Rush song with the Osc
ar Wilde quote pops into my mind. I can resist anything but temptation. I should go. I’ve bared too much of my soul tonight. And while I can’t deny the lightness of spirit that comes with allowing deep, dark secrets to come to light, it doesn’t wipe out years of being a first-rate dick, and if Alison looks too closely, she may discover she doesn’t like what she sees, after all. Chemistry be damned. I push up to an elbow, with every intention of rolling off the bed and marching myself down the hall, but she’s started to snore lightly, already fast asleep. And it’s so. Damned. Cute. And her body is so soft and warm next to mine, I can’t bring myself to get up just yet. I drop back to the mattress and run a hand across the swell of her hip. So soft, so inviting. So tempting. I’ll just shut my eyes for a few minutes before I go back to the couch…

  “No offense, but Dark and Twisty is a terrible name for a premium wine.”

  Ali scowls and makes a cute little growly noise of frustration, and turns back to her laptop. “No one asked you, pretty boy.”

  I step behind her and sweep her hair off her neck, planting a slow kiss at the base. “Just sharing my CEO expertise… bossy mouth.”

  She growls again. “When I want your expertise, I’ll ask for it.”

  I kiss her neck again, and peer over her shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

  “Barrels.”

  “Why not use the barrels in the cellar?”

  “You mean the ones with wine in them?” she asks with a bite of sarcasm.

  “You’ll be bottling that soon.”

  She swivels to stare at me through narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to CEO me again?”

  I smirk and bend, caging her in, and taking her mouth for a brief kiss. “I may be trying to seduce you.”

  She gives me a playful shove and swivels back. “Because going all Alpha is the key to winning any woman’s heart.”