She swallows.
“Well…” She looks away, mortified. “My nipples feel really tender. Like—too sensitive. And I feel…wet and…and hot. And empty. Like something’s missing and it’s driving me crazy.”
The words hit me like a spark to dry tinder.
My cock stirs instantly, but I lock my body down by sheer force of will. This is not about my arousal—this is about her well-being.
I inhale slowly, sorting sensation from scent…need from danger.
“When did this begin?” I ask.
“After the vineyards. Maybe during. I thought it was just the wine.”
Wine.
“What did you eat or drink on the tour?” I ask.
She thinks.
“The apples—blue ones, green ones, purple ones, and the blood apples.”
“None of those would cause your symptoms,” I say immediately.
She exhales, relieved. “Okay, good.”
“What else?”
“Well… cheese. Lots of it. And wine.”
I straighten slightly, remembering the scent of alcohol and the fact that she and Hanna had both been drinking.
“What kind of wine?” I demand.
“I don’t know—there were several. Reds mostly. The sommelier gave us a lot to take home with us. There should be an empty bottle in the carriage.”
My stomach tightens.
“What vintage?”
She frowns.
“I don’t know. It was dark. The sommelier said it was special.”
I don’t hesitate.
I straighten and cross to the door, summoning a servant with a sharp command.
“Bring me the empty wine bottle from the carriage at once.”
Julia watches me, nibbling her lower lip.
A few moments later, the servant returns, head bowed, presenting the bottle as though it is evidence in a trial. He withdraws immediately, shutting the door behind him.
I take the bottle…and go still.
“Passion wine?” My voice is incredulous despite myself. “You drank a whole bottle of passion wine?”
“Well, half of it—Hanna drank some too and she doesn’t seem to be affected like I am!” Julia protests.
