He swallows, his features set and distant. Then he leans back in his seat, one arm working the steering wheel, the other moving to rest on my thigh.
‘If my money and time can help make those children laugh and feel like someone cares, even a little bit, that makes me feel – it gives me a reason. A purpose. Like I said, my going there to visit isn’t a selfless act.’
It seems completely selfless to me but his face is forlorn as he focuses on the road ahead. I stroke his hand then entwine my fingers in his, receiving a squeeze in return. On some level, I understand. When my mother left me, I asked myself why I was even born. That my dad needs me gives me purpose. And there’s still an element of me, despite my acceptance of my mother having left now, that works so hard because helping others achieve their goals gives me worth too. Gregory’s past runs deeper than that, darker than that, I’m certain of it. But I think I can empathise on some level. I grip his hand tightly. I’m starting to think I have a new, gorgeous, accomplished and utterly spellbinding reason to be alive.
‘I look like I just stepped off the front page of a magazine, huh?’ he teases.
Looking to the heavens, I ignore his question. ‘Where’re we going?’
He shrugs – touché. There’s the ghost of a smile around his lips. I feel the warm embrace of contented silence.
Buildings fade into trees, clutching to retain their last leaves. The sound of congestion and the burn of red traffic lights are displaced by the soft whisper of tyres on open country roads. The scenery whizzes past my window so fast that it reflects the dream I feel like I’m starring in, the kind of dream that you know, even in your subconscious, is too fantastic to be real.
Gregory brings the car to a stop, encouraging my eyes to open. Oh I didn’t!
‘You look cute when you sleep,’ he teases. The very words I did not want to hear.
I fumble to check my clothes are in place, quickly doing a drool swipe of my mouth and chin just in case. ‘I’m so sorry; it’s the motion.’
‘You must have needed it.’ He’s smirking as he leans his head back onto his headrest.
‘No need to be so cocky.’
Searching our surroundings, I look for anything to help me legitimately change the subject. I have no idea where we are. The sky is clear; the day looks fresh. It takes time for the unfamiliar sight of fruitless vines in perfectly parallel rows to sink into my mind. A smile takes over my opened mouth as I turn in my seat to an ivy-covered archway and hanging from it, a sign engraved with the words, Chapel Down.
‘Chapel Down?’
Gregory is now wearing an even more self-satisfied grin than before, a grin that makes him enigmatic, beautiful and irritating to me all at once.
‘You’ve brought me to an English vineyard in one of the few months you are guaranteed to find vines with no grapes.’
I’m deadpan as I watch Gregory’s mouth open and close like a fish, silently gulping water. No one pushes back with him.
‘I’m joking! This is wonderful, thank you. I’ve wanted to visit for ages; I’ve just never found the time to do it.’
Gregory’s staggered look turns to a soft smile.
‘My dad would love this,’ I find myself saying. ‘Are we going in?’
‘Yes. I thought we might stay the night and have dinner, if you’d like to?’
Anticipation and longing instantly course through me. Leaning towards him, my nails dig into his denim-covered thigh. My lips part so close to his mouth, I can feel his breath, smell his sweetly spiced, natural scent. His eyes squeeze tightly shut and his hand clasps mine, holding me still as he takes a deep, controlled breath.
He whispers dryly, ‘Not here.’ Then presses his lips to my temple in an act that feels more intimate than being in bed with him last night.
But I’m fuelled by lust.
I move my hand higher, brazenly cupping his growing crotch. His eyes are still nipped shut. I press my fingers harder against him and moan appreciatively at his clear arousal.
‘Fuck it!’ He pulls my face to his, his tongue breaking into my mouth. Taking his signal, I unfasten his trousers and move my hand down his hard shaft, absorbing his groans. I work his length, turning my thumb around his tip but I want more; I want to taste him.
I pull back, questioning him with a lick of my lips, wondering whether I can really be so forward, but I have a primal need to take him. He gives me the pass I need with a single look and I lean forwards, circling his tip with my tongue, swallowing the bead that’s already formed.
He takes a sharp inhale of breath as I wrap my mouth around him and slide down until he’s touching the back of my throat. My eyes fire open and I gag, I hope subtly.
‘Take a second,’ he breathes, his words husky.
I do as he says, mentally preparing myself for the next movement, then I draw down his length again, opening my throat.
