Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Gianna
“This is why this thing between us works,” I say, studying the side of Drake’s face. “You know how to compromise. That’s such an elite ability that most people can’t manage, and it’s such a turn-on.”
The corner of his lips flickers with a grin.
With one hand on the steering wheel and the other in his lap, he navigates us through the streets of Nashville.
Drake steps on the gas, pulling smoothly into the left lane.
The engine roars as the vehicle lurches forward quickly.
Powerfully. We overtake the van in the right lane easily before he deftly moves us in front of it.
That’s so hot.
“Do you live far from here?” I ask, imagining his jaw clenched together while he’s coming.
“Not too far.”
“Good.” I sigh in relief that the pent-up sexual frustration that I’ve been carrying for the last week will finally meet its end.
“There’s only so much a girl can do with a vibrator, you know?
And, if I’m being honest, I’ve gotten off to the idea of your face between my legs just about every night this week. ”
Just the thought of it now is enough to make my insides clench.
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “You started doing that? I mean, if we’re being honest, I jack myself off to you in the shower every motherfucking day.”
Oh fuck. My lips part, each breath shaking and coming quick. The vision he just planted in my brain—body wet, muscles flexed, his Adam’s apple bobbing while his hand grips his cock and he moans my name, wrecks my libido.
“What do you think about when you’re coming?” I ask. “My ass? My tits? Shooting it down my throat? Because that’s going to happen as soon as this vehicle stops.”
Drake cups his cock, groaning as he tries to rearrange it.
“I’ve fucked you every way you can imagine over the last …
how long have we worked together?” He takes his eyes off the road long enough to let them sear into mine.
“I met you on a Tuesday. You had on a black skirt and a white top with a giant ketchup stain on the front of it.” He chuckles.
“I came so hard that night.” He glances at me again, this time with a smirk.
“My cock was buried inside you when I got off.”
“Stop it,” I groan, shifting in my seat. “I’m so wet right now that there’s probably a spot on your seat.”
He flips on his turn signal and slows. I look around, but we aren’t anywhere near a residential area. It’s full of storefronts and gas stations. Maybe he’s taking me to a hotel. Or a parking lot.
That’s never comfortable, but God knows that I’ve done worse.
“Good call,” I say, my heart starting to pound. He makes a left into a strip mall. “I need your cock in my mouth right fucking …” I gasp a breath. “You motherfucker.”
Hanging proudly, lit up in blue, are the words Blow Me with a variety of blown glass objects around it.
I shove his shoulder, making him laugh. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” He parks the car and cuts the engine. “This is going to be fun. I think you get to hold a rod, blow into a shaft—should be everything you asked for.”
Sighing, I sink back in my seat and sulk—but just for a moment. Because when I think about it, it is pretty clever, and he executed it perfectly. When’s the last time a man planned something fun like this for me?
Never.
He leans over the console, his eyes sparkling under the streetlamps. “You aren’t really mad, are you?”
“No,” I say, breathily so the heat of my mouth touches his, but our lips don’t quite touch. Then I grin and lean back. “Are we really blowing glass?”
“I thought it would be fun. Have you done it before?”
“No, but I’ve always wanted to give it a try. I mean, what’s not to love about putting glass in fire?”
He cringes. “I didn’t know about your pyromaniac tendencies when I booked this.”
I laugh, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead before I realize what I’m doing.
He looks up at me through his thick, ridiculous lashes, and all I want is for him to kiss me.
Right now, in this moment with no one around and my anticipation so high that I think I might crack, I want his touch.
Just a single brush of his lips against mine.
Anything. But the stubborn bastard isn’t going to give in.
I climb out of the car, ignoring his objections and warnings about opening my own door, and meet him at the hood.
He takes my hand, lacing our fingers tightly together, and guides me toward the building. “I open your doors. We can joke around all you want, but I open the doors.”
“Okay.”
I can’t tell if he’s upset with me about it or whether he’s just irritated because he’s on the verge of coming in his pants, too. It is a little satisfying to know that I’m not the only one spiraling.
Chimes ring, announcing our arrival. An old man with a bald spot on the top of his head greets us with a smile. “You must be Drake and Gianna.”
Holy fuck, it’s hot in here. Fans buzz in the periphery, but they do nothing to cool the air. My hair clings to my neck, and I can feel sweat gathering under my boobs.
“That’s us,” Drake says, stroking my hand with his thumb. The smooth, rhythmic motion has a direct line to my nervous system. My shoulders drop, and the buzz from the car settles almost instantly. How wild.
“I’m Paul, and it’s nice to meet you. Have either of you done this before?”
“No. This is our first time,” Drake says.
“It could’ve been,” I mutter.
Drake’s chest shakes as he suppresses a chuckle.
“It’s good to see you both wore the right clothes,” Paul says, motioning for us to follow him deeper into the building.
He points at a wall with aprons hanging on colorful pegs.
“You’re not required to wear a smock, but we have them over there if you’d like one.
Today’s class will be fun and easy. I don’t foresee any accidents happening, but that’s why they’re called accidents, right? ”
“Right,” I say, nodding along. I remove my hand from Drake’s and grab an elastic from my pocket. It takes two seconds to get my hair pulled up and on top of my head. “It’s so hot in here. How do you stand this?”
Paul chuckles. “Well, it takes a lot of heat to melt glass, and this is my passion, so I guess that makes it easier. Are you ready to get started?”
Drake moves to stand behind me as we peer over buckets of colored glass bits.
As Paul explains that we’ll need to choose the colors we’d like to make our flowers, and fades into a story about the first thing he ever made—a paperweight—Drake slides his hands under the edge of my shirt stealthily.
I hiccup a breath, trying to focus on what Paul is saying since he’s clearly talking to me, and not where Drake’s fingertips are biting into the skin of my hips.
“This is the furnace,” Paul says, opening a door to a raging inferno. “It’s about 2000 degrees in there. There’s a pot of melted glass inside—but I’ll be the one handling that.” He closes it and opens another smaller door. It’s a smaller portal to hell. “We call this the glory hole.”
I try not to moan as Drake presses his rock-hard cock into my back. There’s a joke to be made, but I can’t make it. I can barely formulate a thought.
Sweat, cocks, and glory holes—and I’m abstinent. What has my life become?
“What color would you like, Drake?” Paul asks.
“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?
“Fair enough. Crimp the edges with the pliers,” he says, grabbing another pair. “See how I pull gently. Do what I’m doing.”
I mimic his method, and the flower begins to take shape. “I see it. I see where we’re going with this.” I laugh. “I’m going to need a glory hole at my house so I can do this all the time.”
Paul shakes his head and looks at Drake. “What are you going to do with her?”
Drake looks at me, his eyes soft. I can’t understand what he’s feeling or guess what he’s thinking. But something tells me it’s not about the glory hole.
Finally, he grins. “Paul, I have yet to figure that out.”
That makes two of us.