Nashville SEAL: Jameson: Nashville SEALs Page 6

  “No evidence of that yet,” answered Zak. “If he only knew how much safer he’d be if we were his neighbors. Unofficially, of course.”

  “Of course,” Jameson agreed.

  A large pool lined with colorful pergolas, private dressing rooms, called them invitingly. Not a soul was in the water, Lizzie noted. Sparse use of the lounge chairs and tables by tourists with floppy hats and large sunglasses was also a surprise to her.

  Zak pulled open the heavy glass and metal doors, and it took several seconds for their eyes to adjust to the darkened foyer and tasting bar beyond.

  “You gotta see this, Lizzie.” Amy yanked her arm and dragged her down to the right, past the bar, and into a glass-enclosed case housing memorabilia from Mr. Zapparelli’s recent zombie hit movie. A complete bloody costume, with severed head balanced on the zombie’s right hip, looked like it would jump right through the glass and decimate the tourist population. Lizzie noticed mothers hiding their children’s eyes from the spectacle.

  The director had started doing Spaghetti Westerns, and props, scripts and golden statues were displayed along the side of the tasting bar. There were easily ten movies Lizzie recognized represented.

  “Oh my gosh!” Amy pointed across the room to the corner. Standing in front of a “No Smoking” sign was the director himself, just like she’d seen in movie magazines. His salt and pepper hair flew out uncontrollably in all directions, little tufts seeking higher ground at the sides so that they looked like tiny wings. His dark-rimmed glasses reflected the flame coming from a match he held to the end of a very long cigar. He puffed profusely until the tip became bright red and glowing. With his bushy eyebrows, his focus on the tiny flame, Lizzie thought he looked like the devil himself.

  Jameson whispered to Zak, but his voice carried all the way through the bar area and Lizzie cringed.

  “Thought this was a no smoking place.”

  “I guess it depends on who is smoking,” Zak whispered back.

  Lizzie stood behind Jameson for cover as the director noticed their group and came over. He was much larger in real life than the pictures had made him out to be.

  “So I’m guessing this is your first time here,” Zapparelli said to Jameson. He didn’t extend his hand nor introduce himself, and Lizzie wasn’t sure if it was a greeting or a reprimand.

  “Yessir.”

  Zapparelli narrowed his eyes to a squint. “Military?”

  “Yessir. Navy, sir.”

  The director gave him an up and down, shrugged and walked away. At the entrance to the winery store, he turned and motioned for them to follow him. “Come on over here. I want to show you something.”

  They followed the rotund gentleman. He walked nimbly up the spiral staircase, gripping the metal handrail. When they all had gathered at the upper floor landing, he unhooked a deep maroon velvet line guide rope and walked to a locked glass case next to a player piano identified as used in a saloon shootout in one of his westerns. He brought keys from his pocket and unlocked the case, taking out a silver-colored round medal attached to a red, white and green ribbon. He handed it to Jameson, laying it in his palm.

  “My great-great-grandfather fought with Garibaldi and was given this medal along with a written proclamation.” He motioned to a document sealed between two pieces of glass. He handed the slate to Zak.

  “A great general. We studied him,” answered Zak.

  Zapparelli smiled. “I used to tell my grandmother I didn’t have to attend mass, because grandfather didn’t believe in the papacy since he fought alongside Garibaldi who was vehemently opposed to the church. She found it hard to argue with history, you see, so I was spared a young life of catechism and confessing my sins.”

  When Jameson and Zak chuckled, Zapparelli beamed, blowing a big blue billow of smoke into the room. Lizzie watched as part of it swirled up into the stained glass dome at the top of the room, while the rest of it settled amongst the oblivious guests standing at the tasting bar. The man could do just about anything he wanted, she thought. And if he didn’t like fact, he could always make a movie. He stood like a general in the kingdom of his own creation.

  He could make a considerable adversary if he wanted to be one. She wondered if the little group could gain his support somehow.

  Chapter 8

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  Lizzie and Jameson said their goodbyes after a long, lingering early supper at the winery. She’d had a little too much Merlot and felt her lips and tongue thick while her brain was in a satisfying buzz. It had started as a perfect day. She knew it would end that way too.

  The road back to the Kenwood took nearly an hour since they mixed with local commuter traffic. Her pulse had quickened when they actually got on the freeway, when Jameson took advantage of a stoppage in traffic to palm her thigh and let his fingers dive between her legs. He hadn’t forgotten her promise, or his.

  She saw the gleam of lust in his blue eyes.

  “You have a memory like an elephant, Jameson.” Though she tried to look straight ahead, his probing fingers signaled his focus and attention. She kept her legs together, teasing him. Her nipples were sore, hardened and in desperate need of biting. She needed to feel the glory of being beneath his powerful body.

  “I have needs that strong too. I intend to show you, sweetheart. Go ahead, play hard to get. It won’t get you anywhere.” He removed his fingers and returned his hand to the steering wheel.

  It was a perfect match to her mood. She needed to spar with him, in that sexy, loving way they did so well. She felt her panties flood with juices signaling what she felt deep inside her bones. Jameson was the kind of good medicine she needed, would always need in her life.

  As they got closer to the Inn, her ragged breathing was not something she could cover up. Her upper lip was moist, her underarms were dripping. The back of her neck ached. Every hair on her body stood out and demanded attention. Electric jolts of muscular spasms were triggering in her belly. She wanted to touch herself, rub her nipples until they became soft and pliable again. Let him see her building arousal.

  As he turned into the granite drive, his elbow grazed her left breast and she involuntarily moaned at the touch. He turned, eyes wide. “Oh my, Mrs. Daniels. What in the world are we going to do with you?”

  She traced down his cheek with her forefinger and then leaned over to whisper, “Fuck me, Jameson. You’re gonna fuck me.” She arched, resisting the urge to touch herself, but rubbing her palms down her thighs, undulating her hips. “I can’t get comfortable,” she said dreamily to the window.

  Jameson finished parking the truck. “Stay right there. Don’t move a muscle.” She smiled. “You moved. You’ll pay for that.”

  “But Jameson, I can’t help it.”

  “And you talked, too. Even worse. Things are going to go very bad for you.” He kissed her, licking her lips with his tongue. “I can taste your juices already, Lizzie. It will be even better if you don’t resist me.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Another strike. Oh boy, are we going to have some fun. Mrs. Daniels, you have a willful attitude, not to mention big dangerous mouth. I expect your full and complete surrender.”

  Her pulse surged even higher. Surrender?

  “Stay.”

  She did so, watching him walking around the front of the truck, and then open the door. She began to step out of the truck, but he stopped her.

  “No ma’am. I didn’t tell you to do that.”

  She remained seated until his right arm snaked under her knees, while his left came around her back and hooked under her armpit. Without effort, he slung her over his left shoulder, as she squealed.

  She could feel him chucking as he carried her through the reception area, to the wide eyes of several guests and the bow-tied gentleman at the front desk, through the courtyard and up the flight of stairs to their room. She thought perhaps he’d put her down, but he merely pulled the key from his front pocket, opened the door and dumped her on the bed. He held
his finger to his lips as he made sure the door behind was locked. He pointed to an opened bottle of champagne icing in a silver bucket and raised his eyebrows.

  She was completely disheveled, her shirt riding high on her midriff, her pants twisted, the inseam pressing achingly against her sex. He was pacing in front of her, back and forth. She was thirsty for the champagne, thirsty for him, thirsty for a night of sex.

  “We have some decisions to make, Lizzie.”

  For just a moment, she wondered if he was angry with her. I’m going to ask you questions and you’ll answer me. Quick. Got it?”

  “Why quick?”

  “Because—that wasn’t my question.” He frowned.

  “Yes it was,” she said defiantly. “You asked if I got it. I didn’t get that part. Explain it to me, Jameson.” She followed it up with a smile, and she observed he was having trouble keeping from returning it back to her.

  “Because I want to fuck you senseless right now.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Sometimes, sweetheart, you have to stick to the plan. I have another plan, but rest assured it will end in me fucking you senseless.”

  “Promise?”

  “You’re not allowed to ask the questions unless I tell you to do so.” He grinned again, scratching his chin as he perused her body on the bed. “But make no mistake, I promise.”

  She worked to show him how much she wanted him inside her without using her voice or her hands. It was a look that she tried to make burn all the way through him. He inhaled deeply.

  “Choices, before I come right here and spoil everything.”

  “Okay. I’m ready, Jameson.”

  “Bath or shower?”

  She angled her head, considering her choice. “Shower.”

  “Works for me,” he said as he ran to the bed, picked her up and carried her over the threshold of the bathroom doorway. She slid down his body slowly, letting every round part of her body press against his hard parts, ending with her fingers holding onto his ears and then running one hand over his lips. She was daring him to kiss her.

  He raised her arms over her head, and without needing instruction, she left them there while he removed her tee shirt up over her head. He rubbed the satin bra with the back of his hand, and then with the other one, released her clasp. As the bra fell to the ground she felt her breasts fall free, giving her nipples release at last. She was going to rub them, but he stopped her.

  “No. Leave your arms up here.” He placed them back up over her head. He lightly touched her nipples, and then licked his lips. Her panties were soaking wet. “I love these.” He leaned forward, watching her face as his lips covered her, his tongue rubbing back and forth and then sucked.

  She began to bring her arms down again to bury her fingers in his head as he devoured her chest, but he stopped her again. “Those hands are giving you a lot of trouble today, Mrs. Daniels.”

  It was a true statement. She was having difficulty keeping from touching him. She knew the punishment would be so worth it, there really wasn’t anything stopping her, but yet she did what he’d asked. She surrendered her own will.

  He unbuttoned her pants, sliding them down over her hips and thighs. She stepped out of them. Her lace panties were left in place.

  “Turn.”

  With her arms still up in the air, she took small shuffling steps to turn in a full circle until she faced him again.

  “Undress me,” he said.

  She was grateful to be able to pull her arms down at last. With shaking fingers she removed his shirt, feeling the heat of his chest and the excitement of his heavy breathing as she kneeled and pulled down his pants, allowing him to step out of them. Normally, she’d hold onto his enormous erection, her mouth watering for the desired taste of his precum. But she resisted, stood, her right breast sneaking a quick touch against the crown of his cock, which bobbed in response.

  “Take down your panties.”

  She did so, not taking her eyes off his. When she stood erect and completely naked, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his groin. He didn’t object as she squeezed herself against him, as she raised her thigh, rubbing her sex against his hip and upper leg, as she moaned into his ear. He bit her neck, kissed his way under her chin and bit the other side. She melted into him. If his arms were not holding her up she would have collapsed into the floor.

  They parted, Jameson turning on the shower. He gently ushered her in, but stopped outside to dig something from his pants. It was a red satin ribbon and he didn’t try to hide it. He grabbed one of her hair clips from the vanity and brought it also to the shower. He secured her hair up with the large clip, placing a kiss at the top of her neck.

  “Now, give me those wrists,” he commanded.

  She turned back to face him and held her forearms together. He wrapped the red ribbon in figure eights around both wrists, ending in a bow on top, securing them both.

  “That should take care of that.”

  “Where did you get—”

  “Did I ask you to speak, Mrs. Daniels?”

  He moved her into the water stream, careful not to get too much of her hair wet. The shower gel was in his hands as he massaged her neck, down her shoulders, her arms, and then around her front to her breasts. She rolled her head back, resting on his shoulder as he rubbed.

  His fingers found her sex, washing and massaging her nude lips, smoothing over her butt checks, one at a time, and then following up with fingers applying soap bubbles down the crack to her behind. He didn’t penetrate, though she would have gladly accepted him, soap and all.

  He finished washing her legs, kneeling before her. She rested her encumbered arms at the back of his neck as he bent over her feet. When water rinsed over her body, his tongue found her clit. She braced herself gently on his shoulders so she could rise up on tiptoes, move one knee to the side to give him full access, which he took eagerly. Leaning over further, she pressed her breasts against his ears, which spurred him to go deeper with his tongue.

  He abruptly came up, turned her around and bent her over, placing her palms and bound forearms against the wall. He knelt behind her and found her opening again, exploring and biting her lips. She could feel the let down of juices, and felt the reaction in him as they fueled his desire further.

  The backs of her thighs felt his powerful muscles just before she felt his huge cock enter her from behind. She hissed as he plunged deep, rooting, pressing against her cervix. Then his slow in and out movements, the changing angles of his hips as he undulated his sexual dance with her, as she responded in kind, meeting his depth with pressure, her muscles tightening not willing to let him go as he retreated.

  Her body was on fire. She widened her stance, giving him as much as she could of herself. He thrust in and pulled her up by the waist, balancing her on his cock. She squirmed against his back, twisting her butt checks, angling her neck and head tight against his. She craved the grunt and low howl emanating from his chest, the hot breath on the back of her neck.

  All of a sudden her orgasm hit in an explosion of lights behind her eyes. She moaned his name over and over again. Her bones turned to rubber. She needed his help to hold her up. She needed the strength of his love, the abundance of his character that would never give up, bringing vitality and life to her world. His love, the way he made love, was what she craved more than life itself.

  “Yes, baby, right here with you, baby,” he said just before he came.

  And he was right there with her, next to her, in her, everywhere. He braced her, helped her hold on as her body shook, as she struggled to breathe, as she released herself to him completely.

  She lay back against him as they recovered. She couldn’t bring herself to bear weight on her legs when at last she tried. Her arms hung limply down in front of her, but he still held her up. He adjusted her body, his heart beating hard, making her own chest rumble with the vibration. She moved her hips from side to side on his cock, and then leaned against
the cool granite tiles, pressing her forehead against the cool wall. Sounds of the shower came back to her as her ears stopped buzzing, as her breathing returned to normal. But he was still there, deep inside her.

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  “I’ve never felt like this before. Jameson, I don’t think I can move.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She regretfully slid off his shaft, her toes hitting the shower floor, then turned, bracing her back against the wall. He started to untie the ribbons.

  “No.” She curled her arms to the side, protecting her binding. “I don’t want to let go of these. I am yours, Jameson. Forever. I belong to you. I will do anything for you, go anywhere, endure anything, any danger, risk anything but your life or Charlotte’s.” She held her arms out to him. “This reminds me there is only one way. Your way.”

  He slipped her arms over his head, resting her wrists on his shoulders and kissed her. “Sweetheart. Thank you. I didn’t mean to—”

  “You didn’t hurt me. I have never felt so loved, Jameson. Never.” She inhaled his tongue, hiking her knees over his hips. He carried her that way all the way to the bed.

  Laying her down, he ran to the bathroom and got their towels. He watched as she writhed on the bed, smiling up at him. He was drying himself off with the towel, following from his back and shoulders, down his thighs. He rubbed the towel in his hair, and then lowered it to dry his cock, still stiff from their lovemaking.

  Wet and slippery, still bound, her arms pushing her breasts together, she found her opening and placed two fingers inside. Telling him she was desperate for more.

  Chapter 9

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  Jameson, Lizzie and Charlotte said their goodbyes to Nick and Devon at the Sonoma County Schulz Airport. The two ladies acted like they’d known each other their whole lives. The truth was she hadn’t met Devon until this weekend.

  “Everything was perfect. And I think you have a new fan or perhaps little sister,” Lizzie said, kneeling down to be at eye level with Charlotte. Devon followed suit.