The countess left the arm of Monte Cristo, and gathered a bunch of Muscatel grapes. "See, count," she said, with a smile so sad in its expression that...one could almost detect the tears on her eyelids--"see, our French grapes are not to be compared, I know, with yours of Sicily and Cyprus, but you will make allowance for our northern sun." The count bowed, but stepped back. "Do you refuse?" said Mercedes, in a tremulous voice. "Pray excuse me, madame," replied Monte Cristo, "but I never eat. I was more focused on the road than her taking for granted that she was reaching to the back seat for another bottle of water. Before I could react, she had my pants open and my slightly erect cock out. Her hands were warm and soft. Oh what her thumb did to my loins sending chills deep into my soul as she pushed the tip of her thumb over the head of my cock teasing me. Oh my gawd her teasing and my watching the road with the thoughts of someone seeing me getting pleasured turned me on even. More

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