A minute later, he was pushing inside me, my legs wrapped around him, his hands gripping my hips to hold me steady. I grabbed on to his thick, muscular shoulders, digging my fingers into his skin. He lifted me off the desk and put my back against the door, driving his cock deep inside me with quick, powerful thrusts. I winced as my head banged against the wood.

But it felt so good to be the object of this raging lust inside him—to inspire this aching need to ravish me so completely. He buried himself even deeper and stayed there, grinding against me, bringing me right back to the edge of another orgasm.

Breathing hard, he tipped his forehead to mine. “You feel too fucking good. I have to slow down.”

“No, don’t stop,” I begged, circling my hips. “I want you to come.”

A growl erupted from the back of his throat as he resumed his quick, hard rhythm, my back pounding against the door. All the muscles in my lower body clenched up tight as I reached the peak and stayed there for a moment, suspended, heart racing, eyes closed, breath stopped—until I felt his cock surge and throb inside me, pushing me past the breaking point. His lips hovered close to mine and we shared a breath as our bodies surrendered to one powerful, all-consuming pulse.

This, I thought to myself, as chills swept across my skin. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. This is what I’ve been missing. This is what I want.

Was there any possible way I could have it for keeps?

* * *

After we got dressed, Henry did spend some time showing me around the winery, telling me what all the equipment was for, describing what wines were in each group of barrels or tanks, showing off the recently purchased bottling line. “But the most important thing coming up for me is the pruning,” he said as we stood by the huge windows in the tasting room that overlooked the vineyard. “The quality of any vintage can be dictated by how well we prune, and we do it all by hand.”

I hid a smile. “I’ve heard it’s an art form.”

He threw an arm around me, getting me in an affectionate headlock. “Are you making fun of the teacher?”

“I would never,” I said, laughing as he squeezed me tight. “Not after such an enjoyable class, although I’m not sure I learned all my lessons. I might need a review session.”

“That can definitely be arranged—maybe even tonight.” He loosened his hold on me just enough for me to turn and face him.

“I wish I could,” I said, running my hands up his chest, “but I have to head back. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I should come tonight. I almost canceled.”

“Why?”

I shook my head. “Just some stuff with Whitney.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”