A Quartet of Pleasures

by Joseph, Annabel

  “I should go home,” she said, cuddling closer to him.

  “Tomorrow. Too much snow tonight.”

  “Mmm.” It was so quiet, so dark, it was almost like she could hear the snow falling outside. “I like you, Steve.”

  “I like you too, Ruby. We’re good friends, aren’t we?”

  Of course they were. After years of collaboration, they were way more than friends, but she was too tired to explain all the things she felt for him. “Your hair is so spiky,” she said in a soft voice, just before she fell asleep.

  3.

  Ruby woke in a tangle of blanket and pillows, her face mashed into a suede sofa cushion. She wasn’t home in her own bed. A glance around the room reminded her she was at Steve’s place. The snow. The hard cider.

  The cheese balls.

  She rolled onto her back, wincing at the ache in her temples. She’d never handled alcohol very well. There was a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen capsules on the coffee table across from her. She downed the two pills gratefully and drank all the water. The room was light, even with the blinds mostly drawn. It had to be late morning at least, perhaps early afternoon.

  Where was Steve? Why had she slept here? Had she gotten that drunk?

  She remembered most of last night…playing cards, watching TV, and yeah, probably drinking too much. She’d had restless dreams, dreams about sitting on Steve’s lap, playing with his hair, hugging and kissing him. He’d kissed her back, so hard that she felt a twinge of arousal even now, with her cloying headache.

  Wait, had they been dreams…or…

  Oh gosh, maybe she’d really done those things. Had Steve kissed her or was it a dream? She touched her lips, like she could find the answer that way. Did they feel rougher than usual? Softer? They felt normal. Her thoughts were a jumble of memories—laughter, snuggling, playing, cuddly socks. Kissing.

  God, had they both been so drunk that they…?

  Well, she was completely dressed, down to her fuzzy socks, so they probably hadn’t had drunken, blackout sex. It was awful, not remembering exactly what had happened. Steve was a great guy, a great friend, and this was embarrassing. She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh.

  In the silence, she heard the opening notes of a Bach fugue from the direction of Steve’s bedroom and forced herself to a sitting position, pulling the blanket around her. His bedroom door was closed, so the melodies were faint, but still familiar.

  She pulled in her legs and rested her head back on the cushions. Steve had an affinity for baroque music, with its bold motifs and sweeping scales. Now and again he made a mistake, but not very often. Confidence had always been his best musical feature. He wasn’t neurotic like Jonathan, or careful like Ethan. He swept his bow over the notes with easy intonation and phrasing, and by the end of the third movement, her headache was almost gone.

  She also had to pee.

  Eventually, she was going to have to face him, and ask what had happened the night before. Something must have happened, or she wouldn’t have had the dreams she had. They wouldn’t have been so vivid. Or real.

  She got up from the couch like a cat burglar and tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom, but it wasn’t really possible to pee quietly after the night of drinking she’d had, so she gritted her teeth and finished the pee storm as quickly as she could. She washed her hands, fluffed her bed-head hair, and brushed her teeth using some travel-sized toiletries she found in a drawer.

  When she came out, Steve was still practicing in his room, so she went to the living room window and looked out at the world around his apartment. There was so much snow…blizzard dump levels of snow.

  So much for sneaking out and heading home.

  This was super dumb. Why was she anxious? It was just Steve. So what if she’d drunkenly come onto him? She regularly slept with the other two guys in their quartet and Steve never held it against her.

  Held it against her. Steve had been against her last night. She was sure of it. At least, her body was. The memories pushing through her fading hangover were too detailed to be real. She’d straddled his lap and felt his erection against her. Last she remembered, she’d been asking him obnoxious, prying questions about his sexual fetishes.

  Okay, she’d been a rude drunk and made him uncomfortable when he wasn’t even able to take her home and get away from her. The only way to handle it was to apologize.

  She went to his room and cracked open the door, not wanting to knock and disturb his playing. He looked up, acknowledging her and welcoming her in one friendly glance, which was so Steve-like it made her heart ache. Of course he wouldn’t be pissed at her, no matter how obnoxious she’d been. He’d never held a grudge, not that she could remember, even when Jonathan bossed him around like a total asshole.

  “Don’t stop,” she mouthed, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was still in pajamas too, which made her feel less slovenly. She knew the piece he was playing, and her fingers moved on the bed as if on an invisible fretboard, playing her second violin part. After a few more minutes, the challenging piece ended and Steve lowered his bow.

  “Good job,” she said.

  “Thank you.” Was his smile a bit strained? “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Okay. A little embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed? Why?”

  She felt a flush rising in her cheeks. “I don’t remember everything, but I’m thinking I didn’t behave with much dignity last night.”

  He laughed as he loosened his bow strings and set the bow on his music stand. “I blame myself. If I’d only had beer, you wouldn’t have drunk so much. Anyway, no harm done. Would you like some breakfast?” He glanced at his watch. “Or lunch?”

  She gratefully accepted some freezer waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, and some coffee from his fancy espresso machine. Steve reached for the cheese balls and ate them along with his waffles, making her cringe.

  “What?” he said, turning on the bar stool to face her. “I like them.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  He grinned at her. “You enjoyed them well enough last night.”

  About last night, she wanted to say. Did you kiss me? I think you kissed me. I think you bit my lip. She touched her lip without thinking, right where she’d dreamed he’d bitten her, and she felt a little twinge of soreness. Steve sobered, looking down at his plate.

  “Nothing happened, in case you don’t remember,” he said after a moment. “I mean, nothing serious.”

  “You kissed me.” She wished she didn’t sound so accusatory. “I didn’t mind. I mean, I don’t mind. I just… I remember it.”

  His gaze held hers. “I remember it too.”

  “I thought maybe it was a dream.”

  He stared at her, then leaned forward and paused, his lips half an inch from hers. “It wasn’t a dream.”

  “Oh, wow. So we kissed then…” She tilted her head, an invitation. Kiss me again, now, when I can remember it. Please kiss me.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “I don’t want to do this with you. It’s probably better if I don’t.”

  Even as he said it, he moved closer. She couldn’t be patient anymore, and made the last tentative movement, pressing her mouth to his and sighing against his lips.

  The response was immediate—and forceful. It was the same kiss from her dream, firm, warm, powerful, possessive. She reached for his shoulders as she lost her balance and almost fell off his counter-height stool. He shoved his knee between hers to steady her as his lips forced her mouth wider. His fingers twisted in her hair, traced down her jawline to her neck, and then—

  He pushed away, shaking his head. “No, I can’t. You don’t want me this way, do you? We’re friends. I’m the one who looks out for you.”

  I do want you this way, she thought. God help me, you’re so big and beautiful. “If you’re not comfortable with it,” she said, “I guess we should just leave each other alone.”

  They were so close. His eyes bored into h
ers. “It’s not that I want to leave you alone. Jesus.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He sighed. “Remember last night, when you kept asking about my fetishes?” He came back at her, placing his hand around her neck, not hard, but enough for her to feel it. “I like rough sex, Ruby, and you’re a little slip of a thing, and I don’t want to hurt you by accident, even if you threw yourself at me last night and almost sent me over the edge.”

  She swallowed against his palm and he drew away again, like she’d burned him.

  “What do you mean, rough sex?” she asked. “What does that mean?”

  “What do you mean, what does it mean? It’s self-explanatory.”

  “But it’s the fun kind of rough, right? You don’t hurt women. Do you?” She couldn’t picture that, couldn’t imagine teddy bear Steve getting cruel in bed. She stared at his hands, and his thighs beside hers.

  “No, I don’t hurt them.” He blew out a breath, flustered. “I’m just…rough. This probably sounds twisted, but I like to hold women down, to choke them, maybe even slap them. Just pretend,” he added quickly. “I don’t do any of it for real.”

  Ruby sobered, watching her friend’s face. He avoided her gaze.

  “You feel guilty about it?” she asked. “Guilty that you like that?”

  He paused, which meant yes. Then he said, “It’s not what most women are looking for. I mean, I can have gentle, sweet sex. I just don’t like that as much.”

  “What appeals to you about being rough, rather than gentle?” she asked, wanting to understand what it all meant. “It’s the intensity of it?”

  He looked back at her, surprised. “Yes. That’s exactly what it is. How did you know that?”

  “That’s what would make me excited in a situation like that. But I’d probably find it kind of scary, too. You know, not knowing how intense things might get…”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  As soon as he said it, he backtracked.

  “I mean, I wouldn’t hurt a woman. Or you, if it was you. But it definitely shouldn’t be you because you might not like it, and we’ve been friends all this time. You probably wouldn’t like having sex with me, and then there’d be this awkward memory between us, where you wish you’d never known that side of me.” He let out a breath. “Holy hell, why did I tell you all this?”

  “Because we’re friends. Because we’ve been friends all this time.” She leaned over and hugged him. “You have blown my mind,” she said. “I’m just…my mind is racing.”

  “Don’t let it. I’m not sleeping with you. But at least now you know why I can’t. Why I won’t. You were pretty persistent last night, but I didn’t give in because a) you were drunk, and b) you wouldn’t have known what you were getting into.”

  He got up and started clearing their breakfast dishes from the counter. While he moved around the kitchen, she thought about his secret fetish, and the fact that he felt so guilty about it. She didn’t like that at all. Lots of people were into rough sex, role-playing, even consensual non-consent.

  “Does it turn you on when women cry?” she asked. “Because Jonathan and Ethan get turned on by that too.”

  He stopped, leaning over the dishwasher. “Ruby, please.”

  “Are you a sadist? Or you just like the excitement of a struggling woman?”

  “I’m not a sadist like Jonathan, if that’s what you mean.”

  Her mind was still turning. “I’m just thinking about sex with them, and levels of control. I mean, when I’m with Jonathan, everything is calm and ordered, and planned in advance. It’s all about submission and obedience and following these steps he wants. With Ethan, it’s controlled also, to an extent, because he’s so into rope and getting me tied up. But when I hear you’re into ‘rough sex,’ I think about things being wild and impulsive, and out of control.”

  “Well, there’s control. There are lines I won’t cross.”

  “But your desire for that wildness… Neither of the other guys is like that.”

  He shrugged. “Are we similar in many other ways? Really, Rube, you should stop trying to compare us sexually, because we’ve all agreed to be respectful to you and not tell a bunch of stories about what goes on between you in the bedroom.”

  “That’s fair. I won’t talk about Jon and Ethan anymore, but I’m still fascinated by you. Can you tell me how it feels when you get rough? Can you describe it for me? Is it the power—”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  He closed the dishwasher a little harder than necessary. “I’d rather not talk about it anymore, because you’ll just get me worked up, and that’s probably not a good idea since you’re stuck here until they dig us out of this blizzard.”

  She poked one of her fuzzy toes into the floor. “I’m just curious. Sorry.”

  He took a step or two forward and leaned against the counter. “You know what it is? The lack of inhibition. We’re so civilized in day-to-day life. We’re so locked into roles and outward appearances. I mean, look at our performances as the Gold Quartet. We sit up straight, we dress in formal clothes, we interact with clients politely. We hit every note perfectly right, balance every tone, hold every fermata… Doesn’t it make you want to let loose?”

  “Yes,” she said, facing him. Wanting him. “It does.”

  He held her gaze a moment, looked away, then looked back. She knew him so well. With all of them, she could read their glances, their eyebrows’ movements, the subtle tension in their lips. He wanted her. He wanted to be rough with her, but he was afraid he’d be too rough. He was desperate not to hurt her, not to hurt their close, comfortable friendship.

  He moved in the direction of the living room. “Want to play some cards?”

  “Not really. I mean, I guess you could make me play cards. You could make me do anything, because, like you said, I’m kind of trapped here…”

  He caught her drift right away, and shook his head. “No. Do not.”

  “Do not what? It’s the truth. I’m not strong enough to fight you, if you wanted to make me do something, force me to do something wanton and lurid…”

  “Ruby, stop it. I swear to God.”

  “But I want to see what it’s like, this lack of civilization.” She let out a frustrated sound. “I know you want me, and I find you really sexy, Steve. I’m not drunk now, I’m sober, and I’d still like to fuck you. But whatever. I know for sure I don’t want to play cards.” She turned her back on him and went into his bedroom, and flopped on his bed. “Come play the cello some more. Play something really low and deep that’s going to vibrate my lady parts.”

  She hadn’t even heard him follow her. She wasn’t ready when he flipped her over and pinned her beneath him, his gaze searing into hers.

  “I’ll vibrate your lady parts, you little tease. But listen…if you end up hating it, too bad.” He grabbed her chin. “You’ve pushed and you’ve pushed me, and now you’re going to get what you asked for whether you like it or not. And if you don’t like it, I might not fucking care. Understand?”

  Her stomach flipped like a pancake even as the pressure of his body’s weight got her pussy humming. Sweet, fun Steve, about to rough-fuck her. Yes. That was a yes, please.

  She nodded, staring up at him. “I understand.”

  4.

  Holy shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. She could hardly breathe from his weight on top of her, but it was a good feeling, because it was just pretend. Pretend force, pretend power that felt wonderfully real. She pretended to struggle, even as she thrilled to the sensation of his hard cock outlined against her front.

  “Get off me,” she said, but she really meant “Let’s play. Please play with me.”

  She didn’t know what she was getting into, but she trusted Steve like her own brother, and holy hell, now that he’d confessed this hot, inhibition-free bend to his sexuality, she wanted to try it with him.

  “Get off me,” she repeated. “Let me go.”

 
He laughed, still Steve, then growled a little, turning into someone darker. “I told you to stop tempting me, didn’t I?”

  “Oh my God.”

  “You’re trapped here, like you said, and you’re going to do whatever the fuck I want until I’m done with you.”

  Oh, she liked this kink. “I didn’t mean to be a tease,” she whimpered, struggling.

  He kissed her, and although they’d kissed a few times by now, this felt completely different. As his lips attacked hers, he reached for one of her hands and pushed it over her head. Her instantaneous reaction was to arch against him. Jesus, his cock felt hard and thick as hell, and it wasn’t even out of his pants yet.

  He gripped her hand, hard, and spread her legs with his knees. She gasped as he ground against her, and that gasp wasn’t acting. This was definitely rougher than anything she’d ever experienced in bed, and they were both still fully dressed. Well, in pajamas, anyway. He kissed her, his free hand roving over her body, tracing her hips, cupping her jaw, grabbing a bunch of her hair and yanking it.

  She met his force with a force of her own, struggling and sensual at the same time. Over his shoulder, in the corner of his bedroom, his cello stood in its stand, the epitome of elegance and civilization. She loved that he had all these sides to him. The brotherly friend, the pajama party organizer, the talented musician, and now this…

  He let her go long enough to take his shirt off, and then he pulled off hers, so she only wore a skimpy bralette. At least it was pretty and lacy. She thought back to Ethan, and her damn llama panties.

  No, she couldn’t think about Ethan right now, because Steve demanded her attention with each frenetic touch. Her arousal was so ramped up, so pulsing and rabid already, that she wasn’t sure she’d survive a full fucking. He was barely taking off her clothes and she was about to lose it. He made her simmer and squirm, squeezing her breasts through her thin lace cups and tracing his teeth up her neck. His teeth were soon replaced by fingers, stroking, then tightening. She almost made a sound, a small panic sound, but she didn’t want him to stop what he was doing.