Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise #2)(43)
Eden, she’d called it: a slice of paradise in the middle of this hot haven. Surrounded by trees on one side, a stream of ice cold water flowed along a shallow sand area. We’d been here before, for a picnic lunch, and it appeared we were stopping again for dinner. Sofie spread a sheet under one of the trees and carried an over-sized basket to our shelter. Unloading the items, she displayed cold ham, some type of pasta salad, an abundance of fruit, a bottle of water and another bottle of wine.
“I really need a shower,” I said, catching the scent of myself in the cooling breeze. I was soaked through my t-shirt and didn’t feel appropriately dressed, compared to her fresh appearance, for this intimate dinner.
“Let’s take a swim,” she suggested. I groaned, as this was going to be a baptism of sin if I saw her barely clothed.
Admitting he was my husband had been nerve-wracking and liberating at the same time. Relief washed out of me, as his presence in my room was justified, after the shaming my great-grandfather was giving me. I didn’t expect Cain to be the one to admit our situation. He’d promised this morning to set me free, and I’d struggled with that reality all day. I hadn’t even known I was married a few weeks ago, and yet I was not prepared to divorce him either. I meant what I said. I believed there was some good in Cain, untapped and unshared, but good he wanted to give.
My suggestion to swim wasn’t what I had planned. Our picnic was a last supper of sorts. I just wanted to talk with him. I wanted to hear about his day. Learn more about him as a person before I let him go. Our kiss this morning had left me reeling throughout the day, as well, and I had moments of smiling without purpose. The feel of his lips lingered on mine. Seeing him mostly naked would be my undoing, but it was warm. He was sweaty, and dirty, and looked strangely delicious. He was the wine I wanted to get drunk on. And I was thirsty.
I peeled off my lightweight blouse with shaky hands. His eyes watched each calculated movement. He didn’t reach for me; simply watched the performance. I let the material slip down my arms and fall from my fingers. Unsnapping my shorts, I shimmied them down my thighs. When they fell to my ankles, I stepped out of them, kicking them gently to the side. I wasn’t going to bare myself to him. We’d dry in the heat and keeping my private areas covered was the best defense I could have against him.
He pulled his shirt over his head in one tug from the back of his neck. It was damp with moisture from hard work on a vineyard that at its core was a glorified farm. Trellises of grapevines covered our land. Crates of small fruit added up to heavy pounds in wooden boxes. Filled bottles of wine were ounces of weight someone his size would find child’s play, but working in such a manner, when one didn’t do it daily, was tiring. He stood and removed his shorts, covered in a mixture of dirt and small slivers of wood. He reached out a large hand, and then guided me to the stream.
The water was cold. There was no other descriptor for it. It shocked the system, despite the heat. As the river reached his mid-section, the expression on his face proved he didn’t remember the sensation.
“That might kill the erection,” he muttered.
My eyes traveled down his cut waist to a portion of his body I could no longer see under the water. He had released my hand to dip deeper, exhaling at the shock of the temperature. He sunk completely under, bringing up his hands to brush over his head before breaking the surface.
“God damn is it cold, but it feels refreshing,” he declared, as he stood to his full height in my space. My eyes were so focused on the deep cuts to his abs, I hardly noticed when he wrapped a cold arm around my waist and tugged me against him. The surprise of his frigid skin against me, made my nipples instantly peak to hard nubs that pressed into his chest. My hands came to rest on his pecs, before slipping up over his shoulders, then down to curl around his biceps. I was holding onto him when he bent his knees and we slipped into the water.
“Ah,” I cried out, as the coolness crept over my stomach. He leaned back and my feet left the ground. Straddling him, he paddled backward while I braced over him. He was my life raft, and I clung to him as he guided us silently through the stream. It was peaceful as he stroked backward and I rested against him. He dunked again eventually, and I scrubbed at some of the dirty streaks on his arms and neck as he rose up from the water. Washing him, I felt like I was cleansing him of his sins, and his eyes closed at each touch that stroked away the dirt and grime.
He didn’t ask for a repeat of that morning, and unfortunately, I longed to kiss him. We eventually exited the stream when I shivered and my skin goose bumped to the point of rough sand paper. He rubbed his giant hands up and down my arms, as we silently left the cool water and trudged to the sheet where our meal awaited. We were quiet for some reason. Neither of us seemed to want to talk, and I was comforted in the silence. The world was talkative around us. Birds chirped, the river chortled, and the leaves rustled with the breeze. It was a perfect summer evening. It was Eden.
At first, I served the food to him, but he held out a nibble for me. He fed me like a queen as he handed me cubes of cut ham or a ripe grape. Each bite was an experience and he watched me eat, like it was the most fascinating and sensual thing he’d seen. Exposed in both the process and my appearance, as the wet material of underwear and bra left little to the imagination, I swallowed each bite and observed his eyes darken. We were sitting relatively close, although he was balanced on his side, while I sat with my knees bent to the side. Resting on one hand, I leaned toward him for another bite.