She shifts her weight, looking away from me and then back. "You do know what I mean, right? I mean, you said you were flirting with me, so if you didn't mean what you said, if this was all just some weird mind game or whatever, then I need to know now before I completely humiliate myself by?—"
"Of course I meant what I said," I say, closing the last of the distance between us with one stride, unable to stay away from her for another second. I reach for her and pull her in and kiss her.
She makes a small surprised sound against my mouth, her papers crinkling between us, and then her hands are in my hair and she's kissing me back, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling hard enough that it stings, and fuck if that doesn't make everything better.
Her papers fall to the ground, scattering across the dirt path, and neither of us cares.
I back her up until she’s pressed against one of the wooden posts that marks the edge of the vineyard, and she gasps against my mouth. Her hands move from my hair to my shoulders, gripping tight, nails digging in through my shirt. When I pull back slightly to look at her she's flushed and breathless.
"I meant every word," I say. "Ilikeyou. I've liked you since you yelled at me about fish delivery on day one."
"That's a terrible metric for attraction," she says, her hands still gripping my shoulders.
"Maybe," I say, leaning in closer, my mouth inches from hers. "But it's the truth. And yeah, your father might pull my funding. And we live on opposite sides of the country. But I'm standing here anyway because I'd rather risk all of that than not do this."
She's quiet for a moment, her eyes searching my face. "You're serious."
"Completely serious."
"You're insane then," she says.
"Probably," I agree, and I slide my hand up to cup the back of her neck, my fingers threading through her hair. "But you like me anyway."
"I really do," she sighs. "That's the whole problem."
"That's not a problem," I say. "That's actually great news from where I'm standing."
She laughs, short and breathless. "You make everything sound so simple."
"It is simple," I say, leaning in until my forehead rests against hers. "You want this. I want this. Everything else we can figure out as we go."
"That's not how I operate," she says, but her hands are sliding up from my shoulders to the back of my neck now, fingers threading through my hair. "I plan things. I don't just?—"
I kiss her again, cutting off whatever she was about to say, and she melts into it with a sound that goes straight to my dick, a breathy little moan that makes my entire body respond. Her mouth opens under mine and I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, tasting her properly for the first time in days and it's not enough, will never be enough.
When I pull back she's smiling, just a little, her lips curved. "You keep doing that."
"Doing what?" I ask, though I know exactly what she means.
"Kissing me when I'm trying to make a point."
"Is it working?" I ask.
"Unfortunately yes," she says, and then she's pulling me back down and kissing me with an urgency that makes my head spin, makes every thought in my brain scatter except for her, her mouth, her hands on me, the way she tastes.
I kiss her deeper, my hands running up and down her body,touching her everywhere I've been wanting to touch since we slept together. I can't get enough of her soft skin, the curve of her waist, the way she feels pressed against me. I slide a hand under her shirt and up her back, feeling the warmth of her skin and the bumps of her spine, and she arches into my touch with a gasp.
Her hands are everywhere, restless and demanding. She tugs at my shirt, pulling it free from my jeans, and when her fingers find bare skin at my lower back her touch is electric.
I get my mouth on her neck, finding that spot just below her ear that made her gasp last time, and she does it again, the sound breathy and desperate. She leans back against the wooden post, gripping my shoulders for balance, her head falling to the side to give me better access.
"Alex," she breathes, and there's something in the way she says my name that makes my chest tight and my cock harder.
Her hand slides down between us, bold and confident, palming my cock through my jeans. I groan, thrusting into her hand involuntarily, unable to stop myself. She grips me firmly through the denim, stroking slowly, and I can feel myself getting harder, straining against the fabric.
"My cottage or yours?" I manage to get out, pulling back for only a second even though it feels like it'll kill me to stop kissing her, to put any space between us.
"Mine is closer," she says. "Take me there. Now."