Page 28 of My Grape Crush
My god. The right thing, the only thing to do, is ease up. Let me and the volatile situation become flaccid. Save our dignities. And, yes, I could shrivel myself farther away, but the pleasure is immense. Her body, her hair, and her allure rivet into my soul.
“Pretend you’re enjoying it.”
“Are you pretending?” she whispers back.
Yeah, right. I'm glowing with heat and embarrassment and something else, something new and pulsating and unfamiliar. My eyes trace the whisper of a white cloud high in the brilliant sky.
The sun feels hotter. I feel drunker.
And Dani? She stares down at me, and I can’t explain it, but something shifts in that moment. Instead of rocking her hips away from the hot wall of my dick, she starts to grind back and forth, slow and steady, like a rolling pin trying to flatten a pie crust. I can feel the pearls, the hard steel barbell raking over my flesh. Blistering white panic explodes in my chest.
“What are you doing?” I choke out the question.
Something hovers in the depths of her eyes.
Something off-limits and dark.
Blacker than this depravity.
“Nothing,” she replies, an eerie confidence in her voice. Her movements.
What happened to the doubt? The hesitation? What the hell is happening?
“Bravo!” Luca calls out. “Excellent, excellent. Arch into him one more time, Dani! Bigger! Tease the grapes. Tease, tease, tease!”
She does more than tease. Dani hypnotizes me, swirling the fruit just out of reach as I strain to bite. My heart beats fast and hard. Now we’re moving in unison, a slow, terrifying rhythm like I’m inside her. Her dirty grinding gets me there so fast, it becomes a hot blur. I can feel my balls tighten, the urgent need clawing into my throat. My fingers clamp onto the edge of the chair, gripping so hard they turn white.
“Is this the throes of ecstasy?” she grits out, her voice tight, on the verge.
I should have expected it. A pencil skirt or not, no woman can rock a pierced clit, bow down to Joey Ramone and drink roadside coffee while claiming to be a prude.
“The grapes,” I plead, my voice a pathetic rasp. “Don't hang me out to dry.”
The taut grape flesh finally skims my lips. With a vicious bite, I rupture the skin, juice squirting over my face as stars burst behind my eyes and liquid warmth erupts under my toga. A guttural cry buried deep in my chest aches for release, but I'm a shell of a man whimpering through the hot, agonized pulses.
And dammit, how is Dani still holding on?
Not fair.
Not when she fucking ruins me.
Chapter Nine
DANI
Alcohol and bad decisions.A marriage made in hell. And I'm deep in purgatory, locked in the poolside bathroom. Face red and hot from shame and sun. A sloshed Roman tramp perched on a toilet seat, unable to herd my thoughts into anything coherent.
Dear god.
Looking back, none of it feels real. But now I have to brave a table full of actual people waiting for me to join them for lunch. I stagger to the sink and stare in the mirror at my messy, mediocre self. Since when has Dani Rialto acted like an outlaw?
I dry-humped Rhys like a common tart.
Even worse, I liked it.
The control.
His lack of it.
