When the sun appeared on our fourth day in Melbourne, we dragged ourselves out of our Federation Square hotel. We were going to see the sights, eat the food, and enjoy the culture, damn it.
The Montalto Vineyard and Olive Grove was nearly two hours away, but the quiet ride down the Mornington Peninsula gave us time to drink in the scenery as it morphed from city to suburb to rural.
As the highways thinned and the trees thickened, I found myself filled with frustration over everything and anything. This wasn'tme. I didn't travel halfway around the world to nap. I didn't argue with my husband about plot holes inThe Return of the King. I didn't whine about Australia's slight variations in bagel baking. I didn't celebrate pulling off the greatest surprise in Walsh family party history by grousing about puddles and rain clouds. And I didn't let something like not getting pregnant this month ruin my one and only honeymoon.
That goddamn tea. I should've known the old traditions weren't working on me.
When we arrived at Montalto, we were treated to an extensive tour of the property, starting with the vines and ending with the cellar door and production areas. Sam photographed everything and asked questions as if he was preparing for a quiz at the end. Always studious, my Sam.
"Do you want to eat?" I asked, hooking my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the winery's restaurant when the tour guide departed. "Or do you want to see the sculpture garden first?"
"Neither," he snapped. He made quick study of the cellar, and pulled me down a shadowy row of racked barrels. We stopped at the far end, and Sam crowded up against me, backing me against the rack. "You've been somewhere else all day, and you've barely said a word. I want you to tell me what the fuck is wrong."
"Nothing," I said, and it sounded hollow even to me. "Let's sample some of that wine, then lunch, then the sculpture garden."
Sam braced his hands on either side of my shoulders. "Are you happy that we're here? That we did this?" he asked. "Getting married?"
"Yes,of course," I said resolutely. "Happy isn't even the right word. I'm overjoyed, and I wanted this to be perfect.Everything, perfect. But I'm annoyed with myself because things haven't been perfect, and I've let that bother me but we'rehere, in this awesome place, and that's all that matters. And…" I looked up from the precious patch of skin at Sam's open collar to meet his eyes. "Are you having regrets?"
His hands fell to my shoulders and spun me around, and he was hiking my long, gauzy skirt up to my waist. "Fuck, no," he growled.
Sam's foot pushed at mine, widening my stance as he rocked against me. He was hot and hard through his trousers, one hand cupping me over my panties while the other roughly palmed my breast. His breath was coming in heavy puffs, like a bull growing impatient with his matador, and that impatience was multiplying by the minute.
I gasped when his hands fisted around my panties and the snarl of ripping fabric rang out, but I wasn't surprised that he tore them. I would have been more surprised if he merely edged them to the side, or took some other, less primitive approach.
"I fucking love you, Tiel," he said. The force of his unzipping had his loosened belt clanking against my bare backside, and I arched away from the cool slap of metal.
"Oh, fuck," I cried, a gasp taking hold of my words and carrying them away as he thrust inside me.
Sam's hand shifted from my breast up to my neck in warning.Be quiet or I'll keep you quiet.
"Oh, my God," I said, turning my face into his arm to muffle the noise. "Your cock feels huge."
"That's because you haven't had it all week." His palm settled over my mouth and he shifted to speak into my ear. "This is going to be fast, my love. Hold on."
His hips snapped as he drove into me again, and with the all-over pleasure came relief. This was the kind of sex that brought tears to my eyes. Not because it was profound or beautiful—although I was sure it'd be hot as fuck to stumble upon some angry sex in a winery—but because it uncapped all the tensions mounting between us and let them spill over until they ran dry. This kind of sex took everything I had and boiled it down to grunts, thrusts, moans.
Then he eased back, nearly pulling out, and lingeredright there. His hand was splayed low on my belly, his finger offering only a hint of pressure on my clit, and this state of desperate, aching need sent those tears spilling over. "Please don't," I sobbed. "Please don't leave me."
"As if I could," he said around a groan.
Panicking at the loss, I layered my hand over his and pressed back. My body bowed at the heavy drag of him inside me, and I was right there, liquefying under his touch.
"I need— I need—" I hiccupped against the hand covering my mouth.
He drove into me, the force propelling me forward until I was clinging to a wine barrel for support.
"Ah, fuck, Tiel," he said, his mouth on my neck and hips bucking, wild and erratic. He groaned into my skin as he came, and then he shifted, his hips still undulating as he wrapped his arms around my torso and jerked me as close as any two people could get while half-dressed and fully fucking in a dark wine cellar. "I know, sweetheart, I know."
The thunderous punch of my orgasm was rolling through my body, all heady aftershocks and emotional tidal waves, when he brought his head to my shoulder and stilled while his cock pulsed inside me.
"Sam," I murmured. I couldn't find any of the words I wanted right now, but more than that, I required the safety of his arms and the bonds of his embrace. He nodded—he felt it, too, and he needed it as much as I did. "I love you, too."
"We should probably buy a case of wine," he said, laughing as he glanced around. "Maybe two."
Sam rained kisses along my neck, ear, and jaw as he pulled out, and the absence left me whimpering. "Your cock really did feel huge."
Dropping to his knees, Sam brought my shredded panties between my legs and gently wiped away the evidence of his release. "My poor, pervy girl." He pressed a kiss to my core before standing, righting his royal blue trousers, and tucking my undies in his pocket.
