Page 103 of Rush of Jealousy

His eyes darken to a richer shade of blue. He pulls me closer at the waist. “Girlfriend. It does have a nice ring to it.”

I give him a squeeze. “It does, doesn’t it?”

He pulls back and grips my face in his hands. His thumbs rub over my skin, and it instantly calms me. “I know your first instinct is to push me away when times get rough. Maybe it stems from some deeply rooted trauma, but I’m holding out for the day that you run to me when things get tough. Just know that I will be here, with arms wide open, waiting to catch you when you take that leap. I won’t let you fall, sweetheart. Let my words be a promise to you.”

I give him a weak smile. I am afraid to admit to him how much I already lean on him. Building my own strength while using other people as my rocks is dangerous architecturally, because as soon as those essential people disappear, I am left with a crumbling foundation of just ashes.

We table the discussion, knowing that it is far from being over, and walk out into the fresh air. The tour guide makes zero eye contact with us as we get situated in the back of the golf cart once again. She drives us back through the vineyard and points out the different types of vines and which types of grapes would grow from each. November starts the dormant period and signals the end of the harvest, so the only grapes on the vines are dead. I listen as well as I can with Graham’s hand running up my thigh and spreading his leaking cum all over my folds from under the confines of the blanket. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as I get hungrier and hungrier for more friction. He is turning me into a crazy person who has one thing on her mind—him.

The tour ends with a drop-off at the store. Graham casually orders a mixed variety case of wine and tells the worker to send it to his Portland residence. We shuffle into the back of the car again, and Collins passes me a coat that he must have had delivered or had waiting for me from the front seat. I am thankful for the added layer, if just to help conceal my nipples from poking through my layer of clothes and cutting someone. Graham helps me into the black leather jacket that has a light fur lining. It pulls the chill out of my body. I sit back into my seat while Collins drives us to our next destination, Paradise Vineyards. Graham and I engage in small talk. We find ourselves laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

Every bump we hit causes my thighs to clench. I try my best to keep my resolve as Graham shoots me knowing smirks from his side of the backseat.

He leans over the center and whispers, “Am I dripping out of you, sweetheart? Or are you clenching your inner walls and trying to keep me inside longer?”

I bite my lower lip. It is such an odd feeling to be this sticky and completely okay with it.

“It’s turning you on, isn’t it?” he asks.

All I can do is silently agree. I can’t get enough of his dirty mouth. It’s like he lacks a filter.

“Show me.”

My eyes dart to his. “What?”

“You heard me.”

It’s true, I did. I glance to the rearview mirror and can see that Collins is paying absolutely no attention to us. And if he is, he is doing a damn good job acting unaffected. I spread my legs but keep myself covered with the fabric of my skirt. With my right hand, I snake it underneath and pull over my panties, just enough so my index finger gathers up the moisture that is part me and part Graham. I carefully remove my hand and hold up the finger of proof for Graham to witness.

He grabs my wrist and guides my finger up to my cherry-red lips. He then pushes my glistening fingertip inside my mouth. “Suck it,” he demands.

A thrill runs up my spine as I do as I am told. It’s as if he has me in a sexual trance. I suck on my own finger and taste the combination that is uniquelyus. I never tire of him making me do these acts.

As soon as my finger gets pulled from my mouth, Graham’s lips are on mine. Tasting and licking and seducing. It is the feel of the car stopping that makes us finally cease the foreplay. We detach, straighten our clothes, and smile a knowing smile at each other. He gets out of the car first and moves to the side so I can exit. The feel of his fingers pinching my ass cheek jolts me upward, and I shoo his hand away with my own.

“Stop,” I scold.

He wiggles his eyebrows boyishly. “Why?”

“People will know.”

He leans down in line with my ear. “Know what, sweetheart?”

“That you are a”—I pause to think of the correct word—“horndog?”

His cheesy, satisfied smile makes me laugh. “Oh, that’s cute.”

Once inside the main building, I enjoy a variety of different wines in the tasting room. Like the other winery, the place is empty and the workers are attentive and amenable to whatever we want. As we sample some of the award winners, plates of cheese, crackers, nuts, and fresh sliced fruit get brought out for our enjoyment. For certain samples, dark chocolate wafers are given to us to enhance the flavors of the wine. There are so many that I like due to the sweeter qualities in the flavors. My favorites are Simply Red, Birth Berry, and Petite Paradise Riesling Ice Wine. Graham takes note of my likings, hands over his card, and instructs a worker to form my wish list into a case and have it delivered to his penthouse.

“You’re going to need a wine cellar to store all of the bottles you are buying,” I joke, making him laugh.

“I got extra to take back so Claire can enjoy some as well,” he states. “Do you think she would like a gift basket of goodies too?”

I smile and nod my gratitude at his generosity. I think about offering to pay a portion, but instantly hold my tongue in fear of unleashing Angry Graham. I much prefer Horndog Graham and do not want to lose sight of him.

Our last stop on the wine tour takes us to Chateau De Vin—a beautiful winery with a wooden banquet room where we are able to have dinner. It is evening and all of the lights are on, casting a beautiful reflection onto the water of the lake. Unlike the other places, this winery is full of customers enjoying the elegance of formal dining, with the rustic, country-like scenery. Graham is greeted at the door with a warm welcome. He seems to be known amongst the workers, and his request for a table is met with efficiency. Soon we are seated, drinking more wine and eating a sesame and feta spinach salad with a champagne vinaigrette dressing. Fresh rolls are brought out, and I savor the aroma of buttery delight.

“Did you have fun today?” The question is meant to be light, a deep contrast to the questions that were asked hours before.

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