My phone lit up with a text indicating Auburn was here. I hit reply.
Meet me at the water.
I’d lined the narrow path through the rows of cherry trees with candles that flickered and danced in the moonlight. I held my breath and waited for her form to come walking through the trees to the edge of the gently lapping water. When the soft filtered light of the moon lit her outline, I smiled. My girl was here.
I stood and walked to her. “Hi.” I placed gentle hands at her waist. My fingertips lifted the soft cotton of her tee and made contact with her skin.
“Hi,” she murmured, almost shy.
I broke into a cocky grin. “Do I make you nervous?” I nestled into her ear and breathed. She only nodded in response. “Good.” I steered her to the table.
“Reed,” she exhaled as her eyes took in the one lone candle that lit the table in a golden wash of color. “This is beautiful,” she said as she sat in the chair I'd pulled out for her. “What is this place?”
“My parents’ farm.” She looked at me, waiting for further explanation. “My family has owned cherry orchards in the area for years. My grandfather planted the original trees in the fifties and the business has grown ever since.”
“You grew up here?” Her eyes darted from the lapping waters of the bay and then over to the rows upon rows of trees, heavy with ruby-red fruit.
“Yeah,” I answered, my mind jogging back to my childhood helping my dad plant new trees and the happy chaos that always surrounded harvest season. I couldn't move away from here, it had too many good memories. It was home.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It was a pretty great place to grow up.” I smiled. “Wine?”
“Sure. Thanks.” She watched as I poured the wine into her glass, then mine, and placed it back in the picnic basket, re-corking it.
“It’s good,” she hummed after taking a sip. “What else you got in that little basket of yours?”
“I cooked and everything.”
“Oh yeah?” She raised her eyebrows, impressed.
“Slaved for hours.” I set the first container on the table.
“Hmm...” Her sudden laugh floated between us when I lifted the lid on the second container. “Sloppy joes?!”
“Homemade sloppy joes. Secret family recipe, goes way back.” I tossed a bag of chips on the table.
“Wine and sloppy joes, huh?” She shook her head and sipped with a smile. “You sure know how to woo a girl. So what's the special occasion?” She cocked her head as her sexy gaze nailed mine.
“We're celebrating. I'd committed to something this spring that had me running up to Traverse three times a week,” I paused, the memory triggering a powerful wave of anxiety, “but it's finished now.” I reached across the table and dusted my fingertips across her hand. “And that means I'll have a lot more free time...” My eyes fell lidded when a humid breeze swirled in the space between us and delivered her sweet scent to my nostrils. I inhaled, so thankful I could celebrate this night with her, even if she didn't know what we were celebrating.
“Mmm...I like the sound of that,” she hummed and twisted her fingers with mine. A low groan escaped my throat -- she never ceased to have all the blood marching straight to my dick. “Something wrong?” She purred, her eyes large and innocent, her grin playful and sexy.
“I'm trying not to throw you over this table and fuck you until you can't see straight.”
“What's stopping you?” Auburn shrugged out of her long-sleeved shirt and my dick pounded in my pants.
“Because I want to woo you first, and the longer I wait the sweeter it will be when I finally,” I traced fingertips at the underside of her elbow. “Get.” I brushed past her breast and traced circles around the faint outline of her nipple. “Inside you.”
Auburn's eyes darkened in the warm candlelight. “Well, I've got a secret.” Her voice lowered one sexy octave.
“I like secrets.” I ran a fingertip down the curve of her neckline, whispering across the soft dip of her cleavage.
“I'm a sure bet,” she said. My breath caught when in the next moment her foot brushed against my inner thigh.
“I'm not usually a gambling man,” I murmured as I ran the pad of my thumb across the bow of her top lip. “But I'll take that bet.” Her eyes fell closed and she sighed without answering. “...after dinner.” I flashed her a cocky grin. “So, tell me your thoughts on ‘Lolita.’” I leaned back, satisfied that I’d both turned her on and surprised her with my change of topic.
“I think Humbert is a perv,” she replied, her voice low, eyes still lidded.