Impossible Duet

by Barbra Campbell

  The combination of my fingers and mouth ushered faster and faster breaths, moans that risked being overheard, and finally drove her to climax.

  The divine waves of sound escaping her lips and the contraction of her walls around my fingers were the most welcomed and feared things possible. My body begged to get off with her, and I had to shift my thoughts to force my cock not to share in the orgasm.

  I leaned my head against her thigh when she pushed me away. I wasn’t ready to leave nirvana despite my own desires.

  The mesmerizing touch of her fingers was more profound than any melody she could have played and I wanted to stay lost in her improv.

  “Stand up.”

  I did as she asked, letting my tip graze her satisfied pussy once again. How did she drive me to such risky actions?

  “You said we weren’t doing that,” she panted.

  “And you said you’d tell me how you want it.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  “No.” It came out way harsher than I’d intended. I couldn’t put us in jeopardy, although the possibility of linking her to me forever sat heavily in my mind.

  She tugged my hand out of the way and wrapped her hand around my shaft. I wasn’t sure if she was going to force me inside. I was less sure if I could resist.

  “I want you to come on my tits.”

  My eyes rolled shut while I prayed not to have misheard.

  She let go, raised a leg between us and eased herself off the counter. Slipping her panties back on she took a seat on the couch, spread her long legs, and guided me between them.

  I didn’t see how it was going to work, but when she sat forward and wrapped her lips around my shaft it didn’t matter. I let her bob on my dick for a minute before my hands gripped her head and I cautioned her, “I’m really close.”

  She reclined and we repositioned so I was kneeling over her, one hand braced on the wall, the other gripping my erection.

  I treasured the moment and she surprised me by licking my tip. Her touch was all it took. Impending release gripped me, the urgency of my orgasm was undeniable. I hurriedly stroked myself and the explosion of climax shot through my entire body sending streams of cum through my dick. I kept pumping back and forth, keeping my aim on her perky nipples, rounded breasts, and cleavage.

  Each stream covered more of her silky flesh and dripped down. Her chest, her nipples, even some of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder. And because I couldn’t control myself around her, I let my cock up to aim for her mouth.

  A smile consumed her face when the sticky wad hit her red lips. Her tongue eased out and lapped at it. One of her hands that had been wrapped around my thigh went to her chest and swirled through the white release, taking more of it to her mouth.

  The astonishing sight, surreal experience, and unequaled pleasure whirled through me like a tornado, attacking me without warning and leaving me in shambles.

  How could I be handed this perfect woman? Vulnerability washed over me as the last of my orgasm faded and only drips of cum were left on my tip. I stood, questioned what to do, and retrieved the box of tissues.

  We cleaned ourselves without another word until she said, “Thank you.”

  Was it right to say No… thank you, or should I stick with You’re welcome?

  “Yeah, thanks.” It wasn’t enough. We weren’t a one-night-stand never intent on seeing each other again. “Um, see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, tomorrow.”

  I slipped my clothes back on and hurried out.

  Chapter 6

  Fiona

  My hotel room was nice, but after what Ollie and I had done, I was kind of surprised he hadn’t invited me over. Surprised wasn’t really the right word. What I’d perceived as a slight had crawled under my skin and festered overnight.

  I waited for Suzie outside of the café she suggested for lunch and I hoped to get insider info on Ollie. I was fully aware it would come at the price of providing enough details to satisfy her prying mind, but I wasn’t quite prepared for how she greeted me.

  She barely got a hello out of her mouth before she said, “Fiona. You tamed the beast!”

  “I what?”

  She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Are you glowing? There are going to be some broken hearts in the orchestra.”

  “They don’t have anything to worry about. Let’s order.” Saying the words out loud hurt more than a fling should have.

  “Wait. Explain.”

  We gave our orders and took a seat before I continued. “We hooked up but then he said he didn’t want it to get weird except he instantly made it weird then he insisted we go home. Well, he went to his home and I went to my hotel.”

  “Whoa.” She leaned in. “You did it in the theater? Where?”

  “You’re focusing on the entirely wrong part. And we didn’t do it. But the dressing room if you must know.”

  “Fiona, he doesn’t date anyone. If it seemed weird, it was probably just because he’s rusty.”

  “He’s definitely not rusty,” I mumbled, apparently too loudly.

  “Unbelievable. I always figured he’d be good in—”

  “Suzie, stop. I didn’t think he was your type.”

  “He’s not, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t let my mind wander. Honestly, it’s crazy. Not only are you getting to perform with him but you… did whatever you did with him.” She closed her eyes and I cringed at the idea of her trying to imagine what we’d done.

  “Please stop conjuring images.”

  She waved a hand, dismissing me. “I’m not a perv, I was just remembering when we sat in the eighth row at his concert and you almost passed out from being that close to him.”

  “Fair enough. The good news is no one passed out.”

  “What are the odds you could fill in at the last minute? If you’d been busy, none of this would have happened. You weren’t just the right tool for the job, you were perfect.”

  A tool? I’d followed his lead. I’d fed the emotion as well as the notes. Was that how he’d seen me. Shit.

  She’d said he didn’t date, but we weren’t dating and we were crawling all over each other. Maybe he didn’t need to date. My stomach sank.

  Swooning over him from the eighth row and plenty of other times, he’d always been a sort of sex object to me. No matter how much I respected his playing ability, I’d felt more for him. The sad reality hit… I didn’t get swoony over every talented musician. He’d made a dream of mine, or two, come true. He didn’t owe me anything.

  I should have realized it when he said we shouldn’t have sex. Not going home with him made total sense in retrospect. I was nothing more than a groupie who happened to have some talent. I’d be foolish not to be grateful. And somehow in my mix of confusion, I felt used. I’d perform and move on.

  As easily as I knew it was what I had to do, I couldn’t. A piece of me hurt. It was my own fault for presuming anyone could be as emotionally driven as me. I lived life on a whim, not something I could expect from others, especially someone as calculated as Oliver.

  Thankfully Suzie caught on and quit prying.

  Then she dropped a bomb. “Did he ask you to go on tour?”

  “What?” I would have choked on my food but I’d already resorted to picking at it since my stomach was upset.

  Suzie grimaced. “I assumed he would ask after you two hit it off. He’s probably waiting until after the performance.” She lowered her eyes, no way to take the comment back, then said quietly. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Of course, it was on both of our minds, and undoubtedly his. Would I make it through the performance? “It’s fair. He has every right to worry.”

  “No, he doesn’t. All I meant was some people are easy to work with until show time and then they act like divas.”

  “Right.” Life didn’t normally get me down. I could almost always find the bright side to things. Why was my experience with Ollie sucking the life out of me? I should high five myself for
performing with someone so talented. Then I should celebrate myself on making out with a guy who stirred my soul even when he irritated me.

  Being a tool? Being played, by a master no less? Despite the way it looked, that didn’t seem like what was going on between us.

  Heading to the university after lunch, I was supposed to run the piece with Ollie. He had a 30-minute slot between private lessons. The good news was we would run it a few times and be done. We’d also be in his office. No hope of revisiting the antics of the evening before.

  I sat in the lobby adjacent to the bay of offices. The faint sounds of a rather talented violinist and a mediocre cellist came from two of the offices. Short spurts of music followed by pauses for instruction, then repeated attempts, sometimes better, sometimes not, reminded me of the many hours I’d spent with private teachers.

  A mom sat in the lobby near me and played on her phone. The side of lessons I’d never been on, the waiting. My parents had crammed my schedule full and we rushed from one activity to the next with minimal downtime.

  “Is your kid the violinist or the cellist?”

  She smiled. “Violinist. Dr. Cranston is the best.”

  Her admission warmed my heart. I wanted desperately to believe Ollie was all of the wonderful things I’d ever imagined. People’s perception could be damning and I loved when the favorable aspects won. “Good. Sometimes the best performers aren’t the best teachers.”

  “He’s quite the package deal, I’m pretty sure my daughter has a crush on him but I figure it’s innocent. No harm in letting that be a motivator to practice. Is that terrible?”

  “No.” I couldn’t imagine being Ollie’s student when I was a teen. I would have daydreamed non-stop.

  The mom continued, “And his reduced rates. I’d never be able to afford lessons from him if we had to pay the full price.” She glanced at my cello. “Are you taking lessons?”

  “No, I’m performing with Oll-, Dr. Cranston.”

  “Oh, you’re the replacement.” Her smile widened.

  “Yeah.” I tried not to let my head actually hang low, and I’m sure she didn’t mean to insult me, but I had an oddly fragile sensation of being easily interchangeable. Any port in the storm. I shuddered.

  The door to his office opened none too soon and a teen girl came bouncing out clutching her violin case to her chest. There was a time I would have acted exactly the same with the exception of not being able to hug my huge instrument like that. And yes, as the mom had indicated, idolizing a musician was a great motivator.

  “You sounded great,” I said to the girl.

  Her smile beamed even brighter. “Thank you.”

  “Keep up the good work.”

  Ollie’s gaze weighed on me so I said quick good-byes before joining him in his office.

  Chapter 7

  Oliver

  “Thanks for coming to the university to meet. My schedule’s pretty busy.” I hadn’t been sure how to address her after what we’d shared, so I’d done some research to find more common ground than a love of dressing rooms. The internet provided me with the good, the bad, and the ugly. She was more than her bright happy persona. Her debut had been marred and if I hadn’t dug deep, I wouldn’t have found her rebuttal to the terrible reviews. While she’d been blamed for irresponsible partying and being hungover, her side of the story was food poisoning. My desire to defend her from the world only deepened my commitment.

  “Why didn’t you cancel lessons on a concert day?” She spit her gum into the trash can as she entered.

  Admittedly a nice gesture, but it bothered me to think she was trying to change for me. A crazy thought since I despised gum-chewing. I grinned that she was wearing her flip-flops, still herself. I situated a chair for her. “I don’t like to let my students down. I talk to them about commitments and managing busy schedules, so I practice what I preach.”

  “Fair enough.” Her noticeable lack of eye contact as she unpacked made me regret not being able to control myself around her. Did she regret what we’d done?

  Why had I hoped refraining from sex would keep everything normal? Burying my face between her legs then covering her chest with cum didn’t exactly build professional rapport, even if she’d asked for it. Could music bridge the awkward chasm between us? “I can mark bowings in the music for the next concert if you need a minute to warm up.”

  “I’ll only need a second.” She checked the tuning of her strings and smiled with far less enthusiasm than I’d already come to expect. No sassy reply either. Quietly running through a scale then rushing through a phrase of the duet, she said, “I’m ready.”

  Basically, in a day, I’d fallen for her and successfully attained prick status. Quite the pairing. I tucked my violin under my chin, checked my strings, then regrouped and shoved my violin under my arm. “About the… what we… you… I don’t want you to think I’m always like that.” That was painful.

  The emotions on her face were hard to read: questioning, considering, and maybe even trusting.

  “Like you said. We have a performance, not the time to get weird. Plus, your next student will be here soon so we better run the piece at least a couple of times.” She played her first note of the duet, drew it out, and glanced at my violin.

  Point taken. I replaced my violin and she caught my tempo as I joined her. I loved her ability to read me. While the notes flowed from my fingers, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d blown any chance of having a relationship with her.

  For a moment, the intensity of the masterpiece we were creating heightened to the point of becoming its own entity. When harmony and melody truly meshed, the whole was so much greater than either part.

  She sensed it too, her eyes closed and her head leaned as the sounds rolled through the room, bouncing off the walls, engulfing us in impossible perfection.

  As we drew out the last notes, I held on. Something about preserving the moment allowed me to believe I didn’t have to let her go.

  A flicker of recognition crossed her face when it must have dawned on her I was dragging them out purposefully. She smirked.

  Not the smile I’d envisioned, a little on the testy side. I cut the note off and she matched me to the microsecond. “Sorry, I wasn’t ready for it to end.”

  All business, she said, “Any parts you want to rehearse?”

  “Fiona, it was perfect, I couldn’t ask for a better partner. Will you go on tour with me?”

  Her head jerked back a tiny bit, but enough for me to realize the question had come out of nowhere. She bit her lower lip.

  I added more details. “It’s only two weeks. I have several pieces my cellist was going to play on but since he can’t… it’s standard repertoire.” Cutting myself off was the only way to prevent my growing desperation from surfacing. My fists were already clenched.

  “It’s not really my thing.”

  “I could show you the set list? We can change some pieces if you have suggestions.”

  “It’s not a good idea. Do you want to run this one more time?” She checked my wall clock.

  “I need you.” Damn. Desperation won. “Please go on tour with me.” I reached for her hand but she pulled away.

  A long hesitation crushed my spirit, my hopes, my dreams, because everything had centered around her since she walked into my life. Out of habit, I grabbed the 8-Ball off my desk and rolled it in my hand: REPLY HAZY, TRY AGAIN

  A single huff escaped her lips and I set the ball down, embarrassed.

  She stared at it as she spoke. “I’m not a good luck charm. I’m a street performer, clubs… those are my thing. Big auditoriums, well-lit stages, they’re great, and playing with you has been incredible, but it also helped me see how much I love the novelty of sitting down in the courtyard at Baybrook Mall and playing whatever hits me. I love creating loops, building the layers spontaneously… that’s what makes me tick.”

  I loved the structure and rehearsed perfection a symphony provided. Fiona and I loved the exact oppos
ite aspects of performing.

  It had been obvious to me at some level the moment she walked in. I’d seen our differences and they weren’t skin deep. But she’d drawn out the best in me, and I was beyond captivated by her. “You could toss in some solo stuff if you wanted? It would mean a lot to me.” Understatements tended to sound corny and I hadn’t managed to be an exception.

  “I’m going to pass. I have students and performance commitments too, even if they won’t land me a fancy job. If we’re done, I’m going to set up on Main Street to do some improv and enjoy the afternoon before the big show.” She started to get up and I grabbed her arm.

  Her soft skin created a frenzy of excitement. I flexed my fingers to avoid yanking her into me. She wasn’t my girlfriend and she’d reiterated my request not to make things weird.

  She was also a musical genius. What would I have to do to keep her in my life?

  Why hadn’t she moved? Did she want me to touch her again? I refrained, fearing I needed to give her space. Small talk would have helped but the damned evil reviews were all that came to mind and I wasn’t going to address them.

  Chapter 8

  Oliver

  I let Fiona have the dressing room. I couldn’t go in it without remembering what we’d done, and how she hadn’t acted the same afterward.

  The regular bathroom sufficed for getting dressed, and the green room worked for warming up.

  The rest of the symphony members were prepping there too, giving me a chance to try to socialize and focus before the show.

  When Fiona walked onstage in the same dress from the photo shoot, she took my breath away.

  The concert was amazing, Fiona was perfect, and I had a delusion that she would come to me after the show and agree to go on tour. Instead, she participated in the Meet and Greet then holed up in the dressing room long enough to change, and snuck out the backdoor without saying goodbye.

  Suzie said Fiona wasn’t heading to the restaurant for drinks with the other musicians and it occurred to me she could be on her way home. My chest hurt, my heart faltered. Our performance had ended, but I couldn’t accept that as the end of our personal duet. I couldn’t explain why, but I couldn’t let her go. The high I usually rode after a show faded before I left the theater and I headed straight home.