Juice drips down your forearm and collects on your elbow, falling onto the white, slightly wrinkled sheet that smells like your bodies. Grape after grape disappears into his mouth, making the bunches of sun in your hand grow thinner, and the sweet flavor spreads across his tongue and seems to gather in his stomach, which twists with pleasure.

Mydei clenches the berry with his teeth, letting the juice run down his plump lips, chin, and neck; looking into your eyes with defiance, licking your fingers deliberately, the tip of his tongue touching the joint of your wrist to keep the juice from dripping off and leaving a sticky trail that will stain the sheets. If you reach for the sweet fruit, the man intercepts the grape from your lips with his own, creating the semblance of a kiss - nothing more than a playful taunt. The prince is greedy, but not for grapes.

"Don't eat, it's my turn," he says in a tone of contrived seriousness, and he doesn't even smile at your nod, only a look of praise for your obedience. Without taking his eyes off you, he opens his mouth for another grape, the taste of which will complete the already pleasant evening in an intimate setting. Eating grapes with such passion is almost like drinking wine to light a fire in your heart.

From an entire bunch of grapes, only thin, soft twigs remain, as soft as the touch of Mydeimos' rough palms against your skin. He squeezes your waist lightly, demanding that you set aside the empty plate and pay attention to him.