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she said her name.
    Grace.
    In their quiet space, Grace’s brave fingers swooped near Harper’s breast. An accident? Harper breathed deeply, bracing herself, as Grace moved closer with each pass. Harper couldn’t run any longer.
    Through the years—as they’d taken each step up the ladder—not a single word had been spoken, only the songs, only the words, the looks, arrows through the smoky bars.
    Grace was ready.
    She grazed Harper’s breast.
    Suddenly, Harper was standing at the top, her toes hanging over the edge of the high dive.
    Crack boom. Lightning filled the room with a dangerous current as Grace came back for more, moving in a small circle around Harper’s nipple. Grace’s fingertips filled her body with a violent fever, causing sweat to seep from her skin.
    Completely exposed, Harper turned her head—crack boom—and saw Grace’s face.
    The weakness in her eyes made Harper want her even more.
    On the precipice, Harper bent her knees.
    And then jumped.
    Without committing to a kiss, their lips brushed in the darkness.
    The moment was suspended as they each cautiously waited for body cues to bring them together again. Grace’s lips, like the truffles, melted in Harper’s mouth when they finally kissed. And when their tongues met, they fell into each other completely. It was everything Harper never knew she wanted, a softness, a sweetness she’d never known before.
    As they pushed, their breathing escalated—an unknown animal was waking from hibernation, renewed and alive. Hungry.
    Crack boom.
    Thunder shuddered the old building, and Harper pulled away to see her. All she saw were shadows, but it was enough. It was real. It was happening. It was Grace.
    Crack boom. Their eyes locked in the white light.
    Harper hardly got the words out. “What are we doing?” In her veiled subconscious, she’d rehearsed them.
    With an unfamiliar lilt, Grace whispered, “Don’t think about it.” She drew their bodies even closer together.
    They giggled as Harper, slow and bashful, slid her hand under Grace’s shirt. In her cupped palm, Grace’s breasts were warm, erect, succulent.
    Her whole life, she’d been starving for Grace. Her whole life, Harper had been underfed, emaciated without even realizing. Ravenous now, Harper wanted to put Grace’s breasts in her mouth one by one, like the melons she ate in Mykonos, Grace’s juice spilling down her face, her neck.
    Crack boom.

Excerpt from Jukebox by Gina Noelle Daggett (published by Bella Books).   

Gina Noelle Daggett is an award-winning writer, director, producer, and a columnist in CURVE Magazine. Her debut novel, Jukebox, is a finalist for the Golden Crown Literary Awards, and a recipient of the Alice B Lavender certificate.