“Blue.”
“What about you, Gianna?” Paul asks, quirking a brow at the quickness of Drake’s choice.
I snort-laugh. “I’d like pink, please, Paul.”
He takes a rod and explains his process of retrieving a ball of molten glass from a bin in the furnace. Apparently, he’s the only person allowed anywhere near the fire dungeon, and he’s all too happy to go into a detailed account of how he earned his credentials.
Once his back is to us, Drake rocks his cock against me again. “Are you wet?”
“Soaked.”
“Good.” He growls against my ear. “This is for the panty stunt.”
I grin. “You should quit while you’re ahead.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll play dirty.”
Paul looks at us over his shoulder. “Gianna, you’re up first. You said pink?”
“Yup.”
He fishes a ball of molten glass from the furnace with a long rod. The blob on the end is the brightest orange I’ve ever seen, and he carries it carefully to the buckets of crushed glass bits. He explains his process of rolling the glass in the bits, then taking it back to the hole to get it all soft and gooey. He repeats this twice, giving me time to get my wits together and relax.
Serenity sweeps over me as I lean the back of my head into Drake’s chest. My heart races as my brain yells at me, setting off all the red warning bells and trying to trigger panic. But when he slowly wraps his arms around my waist, the beat of his heart overshadows my body’s alarm system.And I sigh.
This is new—to me as an individual and to us as a …couple. That word tosses around in my mind, all wobbly and awkward. But like the molten glass on the rod, somehow it molds into something so sturdy that I wonder if it could become a part of who I am. Because Drake is my fake real boyfriend, who’s starting not to feel so fake anymore.
And that doesn’t terrify the shit out of me like it should.
“Gianna, head to that bench over there,” Paul says. “You’re going to take that flat metal piece and, when I bring this over, you’re going to press it against the bottom. We just want to make a little disc. Okay?”
“Sure thing, Paul.” I take my seat on the bench and grab the instrument. Paul approaches with a giant ball of molten glass. “Press that gently against the bottom. It goes without saying that this is very, very hot. We don’t want to touch, bump, or otherwise contact the rod or the glass. Got it?”
“Got it. Don’t contact the rod. It’s kind of the theme of the night,” I mutter. I touch the metal plate to the glass until it forms the desired small disc. The process is fascinating and oh, so satisfying. The transformation is so fun. “Ooh, that’s so cool. It’s like slime or Play-Doh. It’s not at all what I expected.”
“Neat, huh?” Paul asks.
“Very neat.”Who knew people still used that word?“I can’t fathom how this is going to become a flower, though.”
I look up and catch Drake watching me intently with a soft smile.
“We only have about a minute to work this glass, and then it goes in the glory hole to soften back up,” Paul reminds me, motioning for me to stop. “That’s good. Drop that tool into the bucket of water behind you, or the glass will stick to it. Then grab the pliers.”
“How hot is the glory hole, Paul?” I ask.
Drake comes up beside me. “You just wanted to say glory hole.”
“So?”
“It’s about fourteen hundred degrees,” Paul says, oblivious to our whisperings behind him. “Be ready with the pliers. We must work quickly, remember?”
I hold up the giant metal tongs. “I’m waiting on you, Paully.”
“You sound like my wife,” he says, chuckling as he lays the rod across the bench. “Have you ever made a pie?”
I stare at him.Do I look like I’ve made a pie?
