The Wine Merchant

Copyright Andyhm 2016

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.

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The premise of this story was triggered by a medical article I read last year. Although there are strong hints of LW in this story. I feel the circumstances means it deserves to be in the romance category. Yes, there is a wife who is ultimately unfaithful. But in the end, it's a love story, and that makes it Romance to me. And ultimately, it's my choice as the author. There is some sex but not as much as many of my other stories.

I can't thank Romantic1 enough for the time he spent reviewing and editing this and the previous chapters. Any remaining mistakes are all mine probably because I can't resist playing with stories after my editor has worked his magic.

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The Wine Merchant:

Prelude

It was late afternoon on a dismal November in 2013. I was hurrying to get back to my wife Loren before she closed our shop. I turned the corner into the street and realised I was late as I saw her locking the door in the distance on the far side of the road. She looked around and seeing me called out a greeting.

Calling back, I stepped off the sidewalk.

I felt like I was flying towards her in slow motion, and the smile of greeting on her face slowly changed to one of horror.

The world went black.

~~~~<*****>~~~~

Two years later:

Something didn't feel right. My leg itched and I couldn't reach it. In the background, some rhythmic sounds that meant nothing to me.

There was pressure in my chest, and I tried to open my eyes and decided it wasn't worth the effort. Sensation and sound faded away.

...

Those irritating sounds were back again, this time there were some faint voices. I tried to listen, but I could only make out the odd word.

" ... sure ... move ... finger ... "

A second more authoritative voice, "don't ... ridiculous ... just not ..."

Who were they talking about?

Something touched my hand, and I instinctively clutched at it.

There was a little shriek, and the first voice said much more distinctly. "He tried to hold my finger. I told you he was moving it."

The second voice said excitedly, "His heart rate just spiked. Touch his hand again."

I felt a fingertip caress the palm of my hand. This time I could grasp it and hold on tight.

My eyelid was pulled back, and an intense white light hurt. I tried to flinch, but all I felt was the barest of tremors. I tried to speak, but nothing happened.

"Call Rachael."

Who the hell is Rachael, and where is Loren I wondered?

I drifted back to my happy place.

********

"Mr Nolan, Tom I want you to squeeze my finger if you can hear me," an authoritative female voice told me.

I did as I was told and I listened to a reassuring, "Yes."

Then, "Tom, you just relax, we will look after you. Don't try to talk, you have a tube down your throat. If you understand me, I want you to squeeze my finger. Once for yes and twice for no."

There was a pause, and she said, "That was a question by the way."

Belatedly I squeezed her finger once and heard a soft laugh. "So, we have a joker do we?"

One squeeze and she laughed again.

"I'm Dr James, Rachael James and you are in the high care extended stay unit at St Stephens Hospital."

One squeeze.

"You were involved in an accident, and you have been in a coma."

I squeezed her hand several times rapidly.

"What? Oh, how long?"

One squeeze.

"Almost two years."

I let go of her hand in shock, my happy place beaconed and I surrendered to the darkness

*******

The world resurfaced. A soothing damp cloth was moving across my skin. I swallowed and realised the tube that had been down my throat had gone. Two nurses were washing me. Opening my eyes slightly I could see two dark shapes. They were talking quietly as they worked on me.

For a few moments, I just lay there thinking.

I'd been in an accident, the last thing I remember was calling out to Loren. And where the hell was she? Surely they'd told her I was coming around. Jesus Christ two years!

Then I started to listen to what the nurses were saying.

"I hear they never expected him to wake up."

"Yah it's a bit of a miracle, especially for him. Only a few days ago Dr Michaels wanted his wife to give her permission to switch off the life support. "

Shit, did she say yes? My question was soon answered.

"Did she agree?"

"Dr James convinced her to wait, she told her to go away for a few weeks and give them her decision on her return. She'd only been gone a day when ..."

"So does she know he's waking up?"

"They've not been able to get in touch. Her mother said she went away with a friend and she doesn't know where."

I wonder who she'd gone away with if her mother didn't know where she was.

Thinking hard, I'd guessed it would be Jane, her best friend. We'd gone on holiday with her and whoever was her latest man a couple of times. Each time it had been a bit of a magical mystery tour. A name on a map or a pamphlet would catch her attention and we'd have to change our plans.

"He looks amazingly fit for being in a coma for two years."

"It's that new therapy that Dr James has been researching. They have been using this bodysuit every day. It uses a mix of electrically stimulating fabric and pressure tubing."

"Oh, so that's what that is."

"Yah, they hook it up to that stimulator, and it stimulates the muscles. It's like a large Tens machine."

"Well whatever, it's worked, he's in the best state of any coma patient I've seen."

"Isn't he. They've reduced his sedation. I guess he'll wake up properly tomorrow."

I started to drift, and their voices faded.

~~~~<*****>~~~~

The first time I'd met the woman who was destined to become my wife, she'd just walked into my shop. She was looking for a bottle of champagne for her parent's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I own a wine merchant, and no it's not an off license, I don't sell beer of any type. I've built my reputation on selling only best wines and spirits to a discerning clientele, people who don't wince at spending five hundred pounds on a single bottle of wine. In one of my locked glass-fronted cabinet, I have bottles of rare single malts with price tags of over a thousand pounds.

It had been my father's shop before me, and I'd grown up in the flat upstairs. I was an only child, and I grew up probably knowing too much about fine wines than I should have as a child. After university, I'd apprenticed at one of the oldest wine merchants in France.

When I was twenty-six my father suddenly died from a heart attack and I came home to look after the business. My mother lost the will to live, and six months later she suffered a fatal stroke. So, in the space of half a year, I'd lost both parents and inherited a struggling business.

It had taken me a couple of years to turn it around. Using the contacts, I'd made I was able to expand the business into the specialist market. I'd added rare spirits and an online store.

It had been a quiet afternoon in the shop, and I was contemplating my impending thirtieth birthday and the depressing lack of a current love interest. My attractive but happily married and pregnant assistant was in the back dealing with the online orders.

The bell on the door rang, and a young woman shyly entered the store. She looked around at the racks of wines and looked a bit like a deer in the headlights. She wore black shape hugging jeans and a cream camisole style silk top. And she had the body that deserved them. Long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail fell half way down her back. As I walked over to her I was drawn to her eyes, the bluest I'd ever seen. She smiled at me, and I was lost. I quickly checked out her hand and happily saw no rings.

"Hi," I said, "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a couple of bottles of a good champagne. It's for my parents twenty-fifth."

I led her over to the racks of champagne and heard her gulp as she saw prices. "Christ, I didn't think they would be that expensive."

I took a chance, I really wanted to get to know this woman and as they say fortune favours the bold. I was presently between girlfriends, the last leaving rather acrimoniously several months ago. She couldn't understand why I was upset because she wanted to go away with her old boyfriend for a weekend. And I desperately needed a date for my cousin's wedding the following weekend. She'd been trying to set me up with one of her friends for the past couple of months. The horse she rode was more attractive.

"I might be able to help you," I said. "I have some very fine champagne in the back. It's from a tiny vineyard, and the owner only sends it to friends for their personal use. I can give you a couple of bottles from my own stock. But then I need a favour in return."

She gave me a suspicious look and stepped back. "What sort of favour?"

"Nothing immoral or unpleasant," I hurried to say. "I need a date for my cousin's wedding next weekend. Otherwise, she's going to set me up with one of her awful horsy set friends. So I was wondering if you'd be willing to come with me?"

She considered for what a very long time, studying my face then glancing around the shop. "So what do I call my date then?"

"Tom, Tom Nolan," and I held out my hand, "and you are?"

She gave me a smile, "Loren." Then she took my hand, and we both looked down to what felt like a spark of electricity shot between us.

"Ohh," and then she stepped closer and lightly kissed my lips. "It's a good job for you that I just dumped my last boyfriend isn't it. Where is the wedding?"

"It's at in a village in Hampshire, and the reception is being held in a country house hotel close by."

Her look of suspicion returned, and I hurried to say.

"Don't worry, you'll have your own room, so it will be all above board. I'm supposed to go down Friday evening. But if that's difficult for you, we could go on the Saturday morning. The wedding is at three, and I guess the reception will go on until the wee hours."

"I think Friday's fine," then she looked hopeful. "Would you like to come to my parents' anniversary party with me? It's tomorrow evening."

A chance to spend an evening with this beauty, there was no way I was going to refuse. "I'd love to," I told her. "Come through to the back, and I'll get your champagne, and you can give me your address."

Julia, my assistant, looked up from the computer's screen as I ushered Loren into the office. She gave me an inquisitive look, and I pointed at the shop front.

"I'll keep an eye on the store shall I," she said.

She stood up, and I had to smile. She was six months pregnant, and as she walked past me, she took my hand and touched it to her bump.

She said, "Poppy, your godfather is a slave driver, come on; let's go look after his shop."

Loren laughed and while she wrote down her address on a pad on my desk I fetched the two bottles of champagne I'd promised her.

"Can you pick me up at six-thirty?" she asked.

I'd need to close the shop early, I thought, but why not? I agreed, and with another brief kiss, Loren was gone.

The next evening I rang the bell to the top flat at the address she'd given me. A tinny voice said she'll be right down. I hadn't realised she had a flatmate. A few moments late the door opened, and Loren in a classic LBD that ended mid-thigh stepped out. She wore black stockings on her shapely legs and four-inch heels. She was carrying an overnight bag that clinked slightly as she put it down. Another woman stood in the doorway. Loren came over, and we casually kissed, her heels making her only a couple of inches shorter than my six foot.

She gestured to the other woman. "Hi Tom, this is Jane, my flatmate."

I smiled at her, and she gave me a brief one back.

Loren said to her, "Don't worry if I not back this evening, I'll probably stay at mums to help her tidy up."

Jane nodded, and I picked up the bag and led Loren over to the cab I'd arrived in. We sat side by side on the back seat of the black cab. She gave the address to the driver and gave a sigh of relief as we pulled away. She eased up against me and rested near head on my shoulder.

"That's better," she said, "Christ, Jane can be a fusspot. I'm grateful she's got a date tonight so she can't come."

She saw a second bag on the floor at my feet, an insulated bag that clinked when she touched it with her stiletto clad foot.

""It's a couple more bottles of the champagne," I explained.

She gave me a hug and a kiss, "Thank you, that's very generous of you."

Her parents lived in one of those large pre-war semi-detached houses on a tree-lined street, south of Clapham Common. I guess there were about twenty guests there when we arrived. Loren was greeted, and I was quickly made welcome. Her parents were an attractive happy, contented couple in their late forties. If Loren looked like her mother in in twenty-five years, I'd be a euphoric man.

George, Loren's father, took possession of the bottles and looked at the labels inquisitively. "I've never heard of this brand," as he looked at the simple, part printed, part hand written labels.

"You won't have, it's made by a farmer who has a small vineyard. Pierre only grows enough grapes to make about a hundred cases a year. He makes this as a hobby, and he was an old friend of my father. Pierre always sends me a couple of cases every year. It's one of the best I've ever tasted."

"So what do you do then?"

I smiled, "I'm a wine merchant, I own a shop in Kensington."

"So you do know your wines then." He handed me a glass of red and gave me a questioning look.

It only took me a few moments to recognise it; I sold it in the shop.

"It's a Malbec from Argentina. Specifically, it's a 2012 Altos Las Hormigas; it's an excellent wine."

He turned away from me to fetch the bottle, and I smiled as I saw the familiar label. Loren who was holding my hand squeezed it gently.

"Good try dad, you should see his shop."

"Which reminds me," I said and passed over one last bottle in a wooden box. Her father held it reverently as he should. It was a bottle of a twenty-five-year-old McAllen single malt.

"I understand it's your silver wedding anniversary, this is a twenty-five-year-old McAllen for the toasts."

"God I'm not wasting this on these heathens. You and I will sip this with the reverence it deserves later tonight."

The evening passed most pleasantly. I was introduced to Loren's elder brother and his partner, a man in his mid-thirties. The rest of the guests were the usual mix of distant relatives and old family friends. Sarah, her mother, went around introducing me as Loren's boyfriend, and I was pleased that Loren didn't correct her. In fact, each mention of the word boyfriend made her look at me happily.

At the end of the evening after most of the guests had left, only Loren, Peter her brother, and his partner and me were left. George brought out the bottle of McAllen and poured us all a glass.

He sipped his glass with a satisfied grin. "A lovely whisky."

We all raised our glasses to the happy couple. I was sat on the sofa, and Loren was curled up beside me, and she whispered, "Take me home please."

I whispered back, "I thought you told Jane you were staying here tonight?"

"Not my home silly, your place!"

I ordered a taxi, and when it arrived, we said our goodbyes and the thirty-minute drive passed in a flash. I don't think her lips left mine for the whole journey. The cabbie had to raise his voice when we had arrived to get our attention. I thrust a handful of notes into his hand, and we stumbled over to the side door that led to the flat.

She dragged me up the flight of stairs in her eagerness. As I opened the door, she moaned and said, "Where's the bathroom? I'm bursting. "

"It's the blue door."

She kissed me and moved quickly in its direction. I slung my jacket over the back of a chair in the lounge and placed her overnight bag beside it. I dimmed the lights, so only the sofa was bathed in a pool of soft light. I grabbed a bottle of a light white wine from the fridge and sat down. I poured a couple of glasses and was sipping mine. The toilet flushed, and a few moments later a shadowy figure stood in the doorway.

She'd taken her dress off and stood with her arms casually crossed in front of her pert breasts. Her panties were a mere wisp of black fabric, and her long slender legs were encased in black lace topped stockings. She looked at me shyly, her confidence from earlier had seemed to have evaporated. I held out my arm to her, and she slowly walked across the room towards me finally settling gracefully onto my lap.

She moved her beautiful butt around and giggled. "Someone's happy to see me," as she felt the bulge in my trousers.

Then she leant her head against my shoulder, and I stroked her long soft blonde hair.

"I don't know what it is about you, but I'm never this easy on a first date," she murmured.

"I shall take that as a great compliment."

She draped an arm around my neck and lifted her face up for me to kiss. I caressed her breasts feeling her nipples grow hard with desire. She gave a quiet moan. She wriggled in my lap, and I groaned as the pressure on my hard cock increased.

She pushed me back against the cushions of the sofa, undoing the buttons of my shirt and bestowing feather-light kisses across my chest before sucking my nipples causing me to moan in pleasure.

"You are all mine," she whispered, "and I'm all yours, and I'm going to prove it until you beg me to stop."

She fumbled at the belt of my trousers, undoing them. She pulled them down over my hips and groaned happily to herself as she saw the bulge in my boxers. Sliding the waistband down freed my eager cock from his confines. Her mouth swooped and swallowed the head, sucking hard and running her hands along the shaft. I leant back against the cushions, moaning as her head bobbed faster as she took more of me each time.

"Shit, Loren, I'm going to cum."

She grinned up at me and sucked harder. I came with a shudder, filling her mouth and she swallowed, licking me clean. I pulled her up, and she kissed me savagely, sharing my taste with me.

"My turn to pleasure you," I whispered.

I quickly stripped her panties from her and picking her up, I carried her through to the bedroom. She lay back on the bed, letting her thighs fall open. I kissed my way slowly up the inside of her thighs until my lips hovered above the centre of her sex. Glistening beads on her puffy labia attested to her arousal. The little sighs of pleasure became a loud moan as my tongue slid along the length of her slit.

"Please just there," she whimpered as the tip of my tongue circled her clit.

She rolled her hips pushing up against me as my mouth and fingers moved tirelessly teasing, first one then a second screaming orgasm from her soul.

"Fuck...me...now..." she gasped out.

"Condom?"

"No need, I'm safe, and I trust you."

Her fingers trapped in my hair pull, urging me to cover her. I pushed in deep and hard. Her legs wrapped around the back of my thighs. Her fingers clenched and unclenched the skin on my back, as I thrust hard and fast into her soft silky cunt.