Page 55 of Sweet Escape

Vivian turns to me, a disgusted look on her face. “Two? As in ... a.m.?”

I nod. “We harvest during cooler hours. Two to six. There’s other work that happens during daylight hours, but the actual cutting of the vines and wheeling bins of grapes through the vineyards ... That’s done in the dark.”

“God, you couldn’t pay me enough to work those hours. I go to bed at two,” she offers, laughing.

“Yeah, I’m not a morning person, either. Thankfully, I’ve been able to avoid being part of the early-morning crew.”

She raises an eyebrow. “So ... you don’t need to go to bed? To get a good night of sleep?”

“I don’t,” I tell her, glancing at my watch. “I have a few hours at least before I should call it for the night.”

And several things that I need to get done in those few hours. But I don’t say that. Because the part of me that wants to meet Vivian at the tasting room and finally ... finally ... hear the sound of her voice echoing off the stone walls is too tempting to resist.

“I’m gonna say bye to Murphy,” she tells me, stepping closer and dropping her voice, “and I’ll meet you in about thirty minutes.”

I lick my lips, something electric racing through me.

For the first time in who knows how long, I’m putting my own needs and wants first.

And it feels fucking great.

Chapter Twelve

Vivian

If I thought being underneath Memphis was a thrill, I can safely say that riding him is even better.

My hands are twisted in his, and he braces me above him where he lies back on the couch, his cock deep inside me as I bounce up and down.

“Fuck, you’re so deep,” I tell him, struggling to continue, my body shaking every time he hits that spot when I take him all the way in.

I release his hands and then place mine on his chest, gyrating my hips in a way that gives my clit some extra attention. But Memphis regains control, gripping my hips and raising me up before yanking me back down again.

I cry out, the sound of my voice echoing loudly around us.

“Shit,” he groans, slamming me down again and again and again.

My voice grows hoarse. I’m nearly to tears, the pleasure overwhelming in the best of ways.

And then that familiar white heat races down my spine before it explodes outward, my mouth dropping open and my eyes slamming shut as I fall apart.

“Look at me,” Memphis says.

I force my eyes open again. He thrusts two more times, his eyes locked on mine, before he groans with his own release.

My muscles shake from the exertion. Collapsing on top of him, I try to catch my breath.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, his hands against my back. “You’re going to kill me.”

I giggle. “What a way to go, though, huh?”

We lie there for a few minutes, and I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of him. Sweat and sex and a hint of that cologne he wears, though I can’t tell what it is. Something toasty and delicious.

My body is light in a way it hasn’t been in weeks. Months, even. A kind of bliss that, sure, can be attributed to the orgasm I just had. But it’s more than that.

There’s been a restlessness in my bones for a long time. This feeling that the very core of who I am—this ballbuster, playful, silly Vivian—is wrong. Wrong for existing, wrong for playing, wrong for being exactly who she is.

Toward the end, Theo made me feel that way. Like my very existence was a nuisance. Like I needed to be less of me in order to deserve his love.

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