AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Wow, it’s beautiful,” I say, taking in the breathtaking view of the coastline in the background. The clear, blue water sweeps across the sandy shore, disappearing again in the vast Atlantic Ocean.
“Yes it is,” Ryan confirms before opening his door. “Come on. The only thing standing between you and me getting naked is the elderly couple who will check us in.” With that, he jumps out of the truck, comes around to help me out, and grabs our luggage.
The inside of the Bed and Breakfast is even better than the outside. The entire place has a Victorian feel to it, with floral prints and dark woodwork that looks original. The furniture looks antique, but comfortable at the same time. It doesn’t have a ‘look but don’t touch’ feel to it at all.
Off to the left is a large sitting room with wingback chairs and a deep burgundy settee. To the right, a dining room big enough to seat twenty comfortably. A buffet stands along the back wall with what appears to be fresh fruit, homemade muffins, and lemonade. There’s also no mistaking the aroma coming from the kitchen. My stomach growls happily as the scent of Italian food fills the entire house.
“Ahh, you must be guests for this weekend,” I hear.
Standing before us is a plump older gentleman with a friendly smile and a mischievous hint in his blue eyes.
“Yes, sir. I’m Ryan Elson. Your grandson, Danny, helped secure our reservation,” Ryan says, stepping forward to shake the older man’s hand.
“Of course, of course. You’re Danny’s boss. We’re so happy to have you with us this weekend. I’m Martin, and my wife, Phyllis, is in the kitchen preparing dinner. I hope you both brought your appetites. My Phyllis knows how to cook homemade lasagna like no other. Her mother was Italian, and it’s a specialty of hers. You’re in for a real treat tonight,” Martin says as he steps towards a small counter situated towards the back of the foyer.
“It smells wonderful. I can’t wait,” I add to the conversation.
“All of your reservation information was prepared over the phone, so we’re all set on our end. Here’s a pamphlet with tourist information around the area. You’re free to come and go as you wish, and don’t feel obligated to dine here every day,” he says while handing Ryan a packet of information.
“Thank you,” Ryan replies.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”
We follow behind as Martin leads us towards a wide staircase. He’s slow to ascend, but it gives me a moment to observe the artwork on the walls and the decorum filling every nook and cranny of the magnificent house.
At the top of the stairs, we’re greeted with a large, bright hallway with four doors. “We have four guest rooms upstairs. Each is equipped with their own bathroom for privacy. Your room also locks, and we encourage you to lock your door whether you’re in there or not. Though we’ve never had any problems of any sort here, you can never be too careful, you know?”
Ryan and I both nod our heads in agreement.
Martin opens one of the doors on the right, which happens to be at the back of the house, and steps aside. The view is breathtaking. The large, four-poster bed in dark, walnut wood is centered in the room. The duvet is white and plush, and is a strong contrast to the rich colors around it.
A small sitting area is situated in front of three large windows, all open to allow the ocean breeze inside. The dresser matches the woodwork of the bed, and has a massive brass mirror above it. Martin shows us two doors, one a nice-sized closet, and the other a bathroom. Inside, my attention is instantly pulled to the large, claw foot tub. While I’ve seen a few tubs like this before, this one seems larger than most.
Large enough for two people.
“Do you have any questions at this time?” Martin asks when we step back into the bedroom.
“I don’t believe so,” Ryan responds.
“Meal times are listed on the sheet with the pamphlet, as well as some amenities we offer. Dinner will be served in about forty-five minutes. We hope to see you there,” Martin says as he walks towards the door.
“Thank you very much,” I add, my eyes locking on Ryan’s brown ones.
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your stay.”
I don’t hear the door close, or the shuffle of Martin’s feet as he walks away. I only hear my heart beating erratically in my chest and the heaviness of my breath. Oxygen is sucked from the room as I’m pulled into Ryan’s ravenous gaze. He stalks towards me, hungrily, like I’m his prey, a small animal about to be devoured by the king of the jungle in one gulp.
“We don’t have much time,” I remind him as he reaches out and wraps his hand around my waist, pulling me into his broad chest.
“We have just enough time,” he counters moments before he claims my lips with his.
The kiss isn’t soft; it’s fierce. Uncontainable. Driven. Like he has one job to do and that is to evoke the most pleasure as he can from this one act; a kiss to set the standard for any and all future kisses.
Well, Mr. Ryan Elson… Job. Well. Done.
***
When dinner is finished, I’m so stuffed I can barely move. We’re talking slip on your yoga pants and pass out on the couch after Thanksgiving dinner kinda stuffed. And Ryan didn’t fare much better. He appeared to be groaning a little bit out of discomfort with that final helping of Phyllis’ famous lasagna. Throw in a massive side salad–which we both skipped–and enough freshly baked Italian garlic bread to feed half of Virginia, and you have the makings of a hearty food coma.
