Open.

This story is a modified excerpt of my current erotic romance novel in progress, and part of an erotica series I’ve titled X-Art. Explicit material below.

Thirst trap image by the amazing Ava Sol on Unsplash

I smiled down at the red liquid in my glass.

We were sitting under an ancient oak tree on a soft blanket, finishing a charcuterie board and a bottle of wine, the spirit allowing me to linger in the past without weeping for the present.

Long rows of grapevines glowed under the sun like emerald painted fingers dragging themselves along the land before they disappeared over a wheat colored hillside. The boutique winery was empty except for minimal staff and the two of us, Andre having called ahead to arrange a closed tasting. 

His eyes were on me but I couldn’t look at him.

I finished my story, eager to be done with the answer to his question about how long I thought our open relationship would last.

“Until my husband Martin gets a woman named Angela out of his system,” I said.

But as I listened to my own voice, my words came out hollow, their black outlines holding onto invisible ink.

I blew out a long breath and sipped my wine while Andre popped an olive into his mouth, still watching my every move. I tried to forget about the tragedy that had become my marriage, and instead absorbed the landscape and company. I sighed and realized this was the best date I’d ever been on. 

I looked over the Spanish style buildings housing bottles of fine wine and expensive foreign fare, their white stucco frames topped with adobe colored tile, their black paned windows peaking out on a horizon filled with blue sky. I heard Billie Holiday floating through the air from the empty restaurant’s sound system. 

I thought hard but couldn’t remember a time my husband had gone out of his way to create such an extravagant experience just for me.

It wasn’t that we didn’t have the money, because eventually we did. I’d made sure of that. But Martin had never really been thoughtful about birthdays, holidays or anniversaries, always buying something at the last minute on the way home that I didn’t really need or want.

Once he’d picked up a cigar lighter and a pen from the corner market along with a half-dead dozen roses after I’d reminded him to bring home rice for our fifteenth anniversary dinner. When I’d started giving him lists of places we could go for romantic getaways, or things he could buy that I wouldn’t have to return, Martin had complained I wasn’t appreciative of his efforts. 

I hadn’t really minded until now, thinking it was a cute quirk versus a character flaw. Meanwhile, I would write down every whim and want my husband had over the years, buying things months in advance and hiding them in closet spaces no one knew about but me, always more excited to see him open my gifts than he seemed to be receiving them. 

As I sat overlooking the exquisite countryside, I flashed on our anniversary night in the Maui hotel room, Martin drunk and moaning Angela’s name in my ear while thrusting his cock inside of me, wishing I was her.

Tears suddenly threatened to drown my tipsiness. 

“Walk with me,” Andre said, hopping up and holding his hand out.

I blinked away the pools forming in my eyes, and I smiled at his sensitivity. His attentiveness filled me with something I hadn’t felt from Martin since we’d been two high school kids fumbling our way through virginity. Andre made me feel appreciated. 

We walked hand and hand through the grapevines, their fruit stacked red and purple against soft green leaves, bursting with beauty and the promise of something magnificent. Andre and I were quiet, enjoying the touch of sun on our skin and the taste of wine on our lips. 

We reached a barn decorated with wine casks piled neatly in rows from floor to ceiling. Edison bulbs hung down like golden stars, filling the chocolate colored space with the essence of candlelight. Antique benches topped with long white pillows were lined up neatly on each side, and as we walked down the aisle between the pews, I realized we were in the winery’s wedding chapel. Warmth spread through my center as I thought about how many couples had walked our path, filled with hope and love. 

We reached a pulpit hand carved from oak, and I looked down to find a Rumi poem inscribed on its surface. I smiled and read it aloud. 

“Oh Beloved, take me.
Liberate my soul.
Fill me with your love and
release me from the two worlds. 
If I set my heart on anything but you
let fire burn me from inside.”

Andre moved behind me and gently slid my hair to one shoulder, dragging his lips and tongue along my neck. I shivered and thanked him. 

I’d wanted him since this morning when I’d awoken and felt him feverish and ready against my hip, but denied myself the gift, eager to get home to a man I wasn’t sure was mine anymore. 

I reached up and wrapped my arm around Andre’s neck, moaning how I needed him inside me. He slipped his hands over my breasts, gently squeezing and twisting my flesh through the fabric. His fingers moved down the sides of my thighs as he bit at my earlobe, and he began to cinch my long dress up inch by inch until he touched skin. 

“I want you to fuck me softly until I make myself come. Then I need you to fuck me so hard I can’t remember anyone but you,” I whispered. 

He moved his lips back to my neck, nipping and sucking before disagreeing with me.

“It’s my job to make you come. And I’ll fuck you the way I think you need to be fucked.” 

He slipped both hands between my legs and massaged me while I pushed my dress down over my breasts and pulled at my nipples, letting my head fall back onto his shoulder. I gripped the pulpit as I pressed my ass into his groin and felt how stiff he was. 

Andre shoved his hand under my thong and swirled his middle finger around my clit then told me to tell him when he hit the sweet spot. I did what he wanted and trembled against him as he worked faster and faster. When I told him I was close, he would force his fingers inside me, making me wait for it. Returning the tease, I reached behind and unzipped his slacks, kneading his cock until he began to gasp in my ear, blowing hard, wet breaths like a stallion ridden too hard. 

“Stop,” he gasped. “I need to come inside you.”

I held onto the pulpit while he rubbed my clit until my mind went empty of everything but his touch, the heavy oak fixture groaning out of place as my sighs echoed off barrels filled with red and white paradise. 

He pulled two pillows from one of the pews and told me to get on my knees. He flipped my dress up and pulled my panties down around my thighs, and I moaned his name when he pushed his cock inside me. He pulled my hair and fucked me, my bare breasts swaying with his unceasing rhythm. When he thrust hard and deep and asked me if Martin ever fucked like him, I cried out and told him no. 

He made me wrap my legs around his so he could pull me up onto his lap. I groaned savage sounds and bounced on his cock as he fingered my cunt and bit at the flesh on my back, then he slapped my clit until my eyes rolled back. I screamed his name and bounced harder as I came. 

He flipped me over onto the pillows, pulling my panties off and penetrating me with a cock so swollen and hard, I could see the pain of his erection on his face. He sucked on my bottom lip as our eyes met, our faces slack with sweat and seduction. He pushed harder and harder, grinding me into the floor of the barn, gripping my hips to keep me still. I whimpered his name and told him I needed him to fill me so deeply I could taste him in my mouth. I watched him tremble like a beast as he gnashed his teeth and exploded inside me. 

He collapsed and gasped in my ear, unloading his need and telling me how much he loved my tight little pussy. I moaned his name, coming a third time when he reached down and worked my clit with his thumb as his cock lay soft inside me.

We caught our breath listening to birds chirp and sing in the surrounding oak trees, their songs flowing into the barn on the earthy summer breeze. We kissed as we moved the pulpit and bench pillows back into place, Andre handing me my panties, but telling me to leave them off. 

The sommelier wouldn’t look either of us in the eye as he prepared a special selection for our weekend together, and we knew the barn had echoed our ecstasy across the winery. 

As we drove away, I pressed my lips together and Andre seesawed his jaw, the two of us trying not to beam from ear to ear, my thoughts of Martin and Angela left on the dusty floor of the wedding chapel.