Chapter 1: Vineyard Dawn

The vineyard had been a gift from Emi’s father, a sun-drenched empire of gnarled vines and swollen grapes in the Colchagua Valley. The night before their autumn wedding, he had pressed into her palm a brass key and delivered a stern warning.

“Don’t ruin it, Mija. He took you from me already, don’t let him take the rest.”

Don Eduardo had descended from Santiago like a storm. He walked his middle daughter down the aisle in a cloud of cigar smoke and a stench of pisco. He kissed Emi’s cheek, slow and deliberate, then pulled Poli—the eldest—into a fierce, proud embrace that lifted her off her feet. He clasped Mati’s hand like a warning, clapped Sofi—the youngest—on the back with a grin that said behave and was gone before the dust settled. Some things, in their family, were left to ripen in the dark.

Now, hours after the last guest had gone, the vineyard’s lights had dimmed to embers. Only the fairy strings glowed, draped like golden veins across the old barn where the reception had thundered. Emi stood barefoot on the cool hardwood of the bridal suite—her fair olive skin glowing under lamplight, long wavy dark hair tumbling to her mid-back in loose curls, a round face with soft cheeks and warm green eyes, her curvy build accentuated by the lace of her wedding gown whispering against her thighs. The bouquet lay forgotten on the dresser, petals browning at the edges, bruised from too many hands.

Sean shut the door with a soft click. His tie was gone, shirt unbuttoned to the sternum, blond hair mussed from Emi’s fingers during their first dance as husband and wife. The scar on his jaw—thin, silver, from the night he’d fought for her—caught the lamplight. He’d married her that afternoon under a sky the color of ripe merlot, and now, finally alone, he reached for her, voice low and rough with want.

“Mi esposa ... I’ve been hard since the vows, cariño. I need to taste you.”

Emi smiled, slow and wicked, and kissed him deep—cake frosting, nerves and pisco on her tongue, her scent of jasmine and heat filling his lungs. She tasted like home. She tasted like forever. His hands moved to the zipper of her gown, tugging it down inch by inch, lace parting like a secret, cool air kissing her warm skin.

Then she stepped back, eyes gleaming.

“Emi—?”

“Shh, mi amor ... close your eyes. I have a surprise.”

He obeyed, heart hammering against his ribs. He heard the soft pad of her feet, the creak of the door—then two sets of footsteps entering, bare soles on wood, the faint rustle of silk.

He opened his eyes.

Poli—the eldest—stood on Emi’s left. Petite and olive-skinned, her long straight dark hair fell to her mid-back, framing a soft round face and warm brown eyes. Her cone-shaped nipples strained visibly against the thin emerald silk.

To her right stood Sofi, the youngest. Lighter olive skin, chestnut waves cascading down her back, and a lush, curvier body that glowed under the lamplight. Her round, full-cheeked face held the same warm green eyes as her sister Emi, her generous hips swaying with the quiet promise of life.

Both barefoot. Both smiling like cats who had gotten into the cream.

“What the—?”

Emi opened the door wider, revealing them fully, the scent of their perfume—jasmine, vanilla, heat—filling the room.

“Mis Hermana’s ... they’re joining us, mi amor. To please you ... to make you beg.”

Poli laughed, low and warm, stepping forward, silk clinging to her petite frame.

“Shh, cuñado ... let us taste you. Let us share you.”

Sofi followed, eyes bright, fingers trailing his jaw, nails grazing skin.

“Sí, cariño ... we’ve been wet for you all night, aching to feel you.”

“Wait—Poli? Sofi?, what about Mati, Andrés—”

Poli’s lips brushed his ear as Sofi kissed his throat, her small hands sliding under his shirt.

“Mati got a call—a merger crisis in Santiago. He kissed me goodbye at the barn door and said, ‘Don’t wait up, mi reina.’ But I’m soaked for you ... I need you.” Her voice cracked on the last word, a flicker of guilt in her eyes.

Sofi’s tongue traced his collarbone, breath warm.

“Andrés drank three bottles of carmenère. He passed out in the east guest room. I tucked him in, left water, and told the staff he had a migraine. Now I want to ride you ... I need to feel you fill me.” She pressed closer, her curves soft against him, but her hand trembled on his chest.

“You ... planned this?”

Emi, still in her gown, stepped between her sisters and Sean. She reached for Poli’s zipper first—slow, deliberate. The emerald silk sighed down Poli’s shoulders, catching at her hips, revealing her caramel skin shimmering under lamplight, her puffy nipples stiffening in the cool air.