"I don't want to be patient." The words come out petulant,needy. I barely recognize my own voice.
His laugh is low and satisfied. "I know you don't. But you're going to be anyway, because I say so."
He reaches past me, and I hear him selecting something from the table. When his hand comes back into view, he's holding a single grape—deep purple, glistening in the candlelight.
"Open," he says again.
I obey without hesitation, and he traces the grape across my lower lip, slow and steady. The skin is cool and smooth, a contrast to the heat building between us. He circles my mouth with it, teasing, making me wait.
"Please," I breathe, letting my head fall back just slighty.
He presses the grape between my lips, and I bite down. Juice bursts across my tongue, sweet and bright, running down my chin before I can catch it.
He catches it instead.
His tongue traces up from my chin to the corner of my mouth, licking away every drop of escaped juice. The sensation is so unexpectedly intimate that I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders for balance.
"Fucking delicious," he murmurs against my skin. "But I think the grape tastes better from you than it would from the vine."
He feeds me another. And another. Each time, he lets the juice escape just so he can chase it with his tongue—down my chin, along my jaw, into the hollow of my throat. He's mapping my skin with grape juice and saliva, claiming territory with every lick.
I'm trembling by the fifth grape, my thighs clenched tight around his hips. The combination of wine and sugar is making my head swim, but it's his mouth that's truly intoxicating. The way he tastes me like I'm worth savoring.
"You're so responsive." He selects another grape, rolling it between his fingers. "Every little touch makes you shake. Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful that is?"
I don't have words. I just open my mouth when he brings the grape to my lips, accepting whatever he wants to give me.
This time, after I bite down, he kisses me, and his tongue sweeps through my mouth, stealing the sweetness, leaving me breathless and needing so much more.
"I need more," I gasp when he pulls back. "Please, I need?—"
"I know what you need." His hands slide up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the thin silk. "But you're going to wait until I'm ready to give it to you."
I whimper, actually whimper, and his smile sharpens.
"That's it. Let me hear you."
He alternates between wine and grapes, feeding me with his mouth and his hands until I lose track of time. The candles flicker around us, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The ambient music plays softly in the background, low and sensual in a way that matches the rhythm of my heartbeat.
I'm floating. Suspended in this moment, in this cellar, in this man's lap. Nothing exists outside these walls—no vineyard, no chase, no questions about who he is or why he's doing this. There's only his hands on my skin and his mouth on mine and the relentless, aching need building between my thighs.
"Please." I've lost count of how many times I've said it. "Please, I can't—I need you to touch me."
"I am touching you." His fingers trail down my arms, raising goosebumps in their wake.
"You know what I mean." I grab his hand and try to drag it between my legs, but he resists easily, his strength making my efforts look pathetic.
"So desperate." He clicks his tongue. "What happened to the woman who ran from me? Who fought so hard to escape?"
"You caught her," I say, and my voice breaks on the words. "You caught her and now she needs—god, please, I need?—"
He silences me with another kiss, another pour of wine from a glass I didn't see him refill. I drink desperately, messily, letting it spill down my chin because I know he'll lick it away.
He does. His tongue traces a path from my chin to my collarbone, and I arch into the sensation, offering him more skin, more access, more of everything.
"This dress," he says against my throat, "is driving me insane."
His fingers find the thin straps at my shoulders, toying with them. The silk is so light I'd almost forgotten I was wearing anything at all.
