Page 105 of My Grape Crush
“Sorry,” Gia says, motioning for more noise, already a superstar with an innate ability to work a crowd. “I can’t hear you. Are we burning this place to the ground?”
Just when I thought Calvin had sapped all the energy from the crowd, a thundering howl erupts that would wake the dead.
Or all the senior citizens of Osoyoos who watched TV and went to bed early.
I glance up at Rhys. He’s shaking his head, primed and ready. “This is going to get crazy.”
How can it not when you have a mad scientist as a musical ringleader?
“That’s the spirit, MOFO’S,” Gia continues, grinning wide. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now, I want y’all to dig deep and give it up for our very special guest star. The man, the myth, the legend. The guy who can make the guitar orgasm…Mr. JC Trenton!!!”
For a split second, there is absolute silence. Sawyer kept the lid tight on JC's appearance, and not a soul here expected to hear his name. But he is a legend, a living one with a legion of fans who never saw him play live. And now, he’s going to burn down the house with Gia?
Not even fingers jammed into both ears deaden the surge of sound, louder than a jet plane taking off. I’d be scared shitless accosted by such torrid reverence, but JC wanders onto the stage, no sign of nerves beneath his beaming smile.
Beside us, two young actresses are having meltdowns, fumbling for their phones.
What the actual fuck? Oh. My. God. This can’t be real.
Gia introduces the rest of the band, and they settle in for last-minute tuning before blasting us in the face with Pop My Cherry’s biggest hit, the fiery sing-along, “Blackest Nights.”
And we’re off.
For most of the set, Rhys’s erection throbs against my butt. He’s had a few drinks. Handsy and kissing me sloppily, just missing my lips. Giving off wild, untamed energy. When Gia announces their final song, he makes his move.
We’re squished like sardines in the packed, blissed-out crowd, but no one notices his hand disappear between the folds of my toga. He slides a finger past my thong, teasing my barbell with sharp little flicks.
“Mmm,” he mumbles. “You drive me crazy.”
The encore kicks off with a familiar refrain. Gia launches into the lyrics about leaving a good job in the city, working for the man. Big wheels keep on turning.
“Proud Mary”? No way!
I scream my approval, and Rhys’s finger starts moving in devastating, precise circles until my clit hardens into a tight bud, blood rushing to my pussy. I melt into him, grinding twerky ass movements onto the solid wall of his desire until I feel his short, clipped breath raging hot in my ear.
“Are you ready to get lit?”
Gia stalks the stage, belting out lyrics like she’s Tina Turner reincarnated. She blasts into the first chorus, and Rhys plunges his finger deep inside me.
“Oh, fuck!” I gasp, my body faint with sensation. Stars in my head.
“That’s the intention,” he mutters, finger-fucking me slow and steady, talking dirty into my ear.
No space between us. Just raw, burning desire.
What happens next is a full-blown musical/erotic climax that will live in my memory forever.
The band is swinging, tightly flawless even as they sound warm and loose. JC hoists his guitar skyward, a roar from the drunken masses to blister them with one last solo.
Someone yells, “Burn the house down!”
Gia catches that, flashes a thumbs-up, and grins. As the band surges toward the peak, she takes a long swig from her water bottle, tosses it over her shoulder, and plants her feet wide in a commanding A-stance. At the same time, Rhys starts working my clit over until I’m gasping for breath, tension building in waves.
And then…
JC charges across the stage and drops to his knees, sliding clean between Gia’s spread legs. His back arches as he tears into the solo, the noise bruising the air, slamming into me like a physical force. Gia leans back, and a strong and mighty stream of water arcs from her mouth. Backlit by the dry ice smoke, the water sparkles and tumbles into JC’s open mouth. Perfectly timed. Impossible.
I watch it happen, but I swear my eyes are playing tricks. Because how???
