Sheet Music

by Tibby Armstrong

  She brought her hands up to her breasts and showed him how to tweak her nipples just so. The tiny twisting motions had her tossing her head on a drawn out moan that made his balls hitch tight to his cock. Just watching her touch herself was foreplay enough for him.

  “Take off your robe,” he whispered, his voice catching on a husky note.

  She watched him watching her as she slid the robe the rest of the way from her shoulders down to her waist. Her chest rose and fell sharply on hurried breaths. If he took her now it wouldn’t be too soon, but he wanted to wait.

  Undoing the tie, she spread the robe wide and drew it from underneath her so that she could toss it to the floor.

  “Magnificent,” he breathed and ran his knuckles along the side of her quavering breast before tweaking a nipple.

  Breath hissed between her teeth on a quick inhale and he repeated the gesture with the other breast. He trailed his hand lower, over the indentation at her waist and the gentle flare of her hip before coming ‘round to the soft fullness of her backside. With a little nudge of his palm he had her sitting forward on her knees as she straddled him. Dipping over the edge of her curves, he found the place where her thighs met her ass and he curled his fingers inward. Even before he got to her pussy he felt the heat and wetness on her thighs. She shuddered and looked at him from under half-closed lids.

  Damn, he could get lost in her so easily.

  He brought her hand between her legs. “Touch yourself for me.”

  Her eyes flew open.

  “Want me to tell you what to do?”

  Kyra nodded, her breath coming in faster pants than before.

  “Lie down,” he ordered and moved from beneath her.

  Scooting around, she complied.

  Her full breasts fell softly to the sides of her chest, nipples drawn into tight pearls that he couldn’t resist giving short, sharp flicks with his tongue.

  “What do you want me to do?” she breathed.

  He raised his head to look at her before kissing her. As he probed her mouth with his tongue, he lifted one of her legs, positioning it apart from the other. Ending their kiss in a series of quick suckles, he sat up to arrange her other leg so that she was displayed for him in a delicious tableau.

  Taking her right hand, he kissed her fingertips and brought the digits into his mouth, tasting them two at a time, feeling their soft strength against the pliant heat of his tongue. When she moved to close her legs he stopped and arranged her again, just so.

  “Do you ever touch yourself?”

  She blushed, but jutted her chin out in a gesture he was coming to know as one of quiet strength.

  “Yes.”

  “Like this?” he asked, quirking a mischievous smile as he dipped her fingers up and around her sweetly pouting labia.

  She hissed as if she’d been burned and his smile grew broader. She was fun to play with.

  “Feels different when you make me do it,” she said, her voice languid with passion.

  He maneuvered her index finger and placed it over the bud of her clit and pressed his own on top. Her hips bucked and he lost his hold on a laugh before sitting back on his heels.

  “I really would enjoy watching you touch yourself,” he prompted.

  In response she let her legs fall open again, as he had positioned them before. David lay down, leaning on one elbow to watch her as intimately as possible.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, as her fingers fluttered across the fullness of her outer lips and then closer to the glistening slit in a way that filled him with longing.

  “The feeling is mutual,” she whispered throatily, and delved two fingers between her swollen lips, stretching them apart.

  She was putting herself on display for him. Exhibiting her most intimate recesses for his pleasure. It was his turn to suck in a breath when she held herself open with one hand and fucked herself with two fingers from the other, sliding in past her knuckles with inexorable slowness and withdrawing her now-glistening digits. Repeating the motion, she delved again and again, showing him just how wet she was for him. Just how ready she was to be fucked for real.

  Her clit stood out proudly, and he swore he could see it pulsing with need, but she steadfastly ignored it as she added another finger to the mix. She was stretched so beautifully for him now, showing him how tight and hot and wet it would be when he was inside her, lifting her hips for him just as she was doing now.

  “Come for me,” he groaned and reached down to open his robe.

  Kyra increased the tempo of her strokes and brought her other hand down to circle around the red heat of her clit. With the pad of her index finger she pressed and swirled the hard nub of flesh into greater tension until her head was tossing on the pillow.

  David took himself in one hand and passed his thumb up and over the silken head of his cock to catch the bead of pre-cum waiting there. Never taking his eyes off Kyra, he watched her bring herself over the edge.

  “Again,” he panted, and increased the tempo of his palm.

  “No! Fuck me!” she cried out, and his cock jerked in his hand.

  Without hesitation, he bolted toward the bedside table and ripped open a condom. He was up and over her in a swift motion that left him breathless. Her hot tightness fit him like a bespoke suit and he had to hold himself still for a moment in an effort not to spill inside her.

  “Shit.”

  Kyra’s answer to his frustrated curse was to hitch up her knees and grab him by the ass to pull him more deeply inside.

  David groaned and clenched his teeth. She wasn’t going to make this easy on him.

  They developed their rhythm easily, the music they created the best of his memory. The scent and heat of her curled through his senses bringing his body to a frenzied crescendo.

  She gasped out his name and he came on a roaring wave of light and sound he had only ever heard before from a crowd. He savored the pulsing ache, held on to it for as long as he could. Shudders reverberated through him and he felt her come too, increasing his pleasure and protracting it to the last possible moment.

  Collapsing against her, he squeezed his eyes closed. He hadn’t felt like this in so very long. Sated, warm and…vulnerable. As he floated back down to earth a name came to him unbidden.

  Jessica.

  Everything came crashing down at the thought of her and what she’d come to represent.

  He was so stupid! The woman in his arms was out to destroy him, to get everything she could from him. He wouldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t. There was no way he’d survive it if he did.

  Thinking to distance himself from Kyra, he rolled to his back and tossed the condom into the trash. To his consternation, she followed, curling against his side with her head on his naked chest.

  The impulse to emotionally push her away overrode him, and he chose a topic he guessed would discomfit her.

  “Why do you write instead of playing music?”

  He felt her stiffen and knew he had regained the upper hand.

  “What makes you think I know how to play at a professional level?”

  “It takes a lifetime to develop calluses like yours.”

  He should know. He’d been playing steel string guitars for so long that the tips of his fingers were permanently hardened. Besides, anyone who carted a guitar across the pond was serious about music. Why she would want to lie about it he couldn’t fathom, but it served to remind him that she wasn’t to be trusted.

  She was silent for so long that he thought perhaps she was going to ignore his question. He was getting ready to ask her to leave, tell her he had a studio session early tomorrow morning, when she spoke.

  “My father is Jerry Martin.”

  He tilted his chin to look down on the top of her head.

  “The studio musician?”

  She nodded, the softness of her cheek teasing his skin, and he had to brush away a flicker of arousal at the sensation.

  In-demand studio musicians like Jerry wer
e well-compensated. David had worked with him on a couple of occasions, when his manager had been lucky enough to be able to book the man.

  “Why are you struggling to scrape together a living as a writer when you had a shoo-in with the industry?”

  “What makes you think I don’t make good money as a writer?”

  His answering laugh was short and sharp.

  “You’re a music journalist without a regular gig who wears paste pearls.”

  She flinched.

  “I’m staying here. At the Ritz.”

  What? Did she think he was stupid?

  He didn’t bother to hide the derision from his tone when he answered, “And we both know your publisher ponied up the cash.”

  Kyra sat up. Her hair corkscrewed around her flushed cheeks in a way that made him want to make love to her all over again, and he almost forgot he’d just won a small victory.

  Her chin jutted.

  “My brother is the musician in the family. I’m the writer.”

  Her avoidant answer told him more than she probably knew. Rolling to his side, he propped himself up on one elbow.

  “So, your father helped your brother, but wouldn’t give you the time of day?”

  She bounded off the bed and grabbed her robe. It took her three tries to punch her left arm through the sleeve. David suppressed a self-congratulatory smile.

  “Thanks for the fun evening. I have a deadline to meet.” Her voice was airy.

  Was she crying?

  Shit.

  Victory didn’t seem so sweet now.

  “Hey.” He stood and tugged at her arm as she turned to leave. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  Kyra shook her head. Her back was ramrod straight, but she didn’t resist when he gently turned her to face him. The sheen in her eyes told him he’d definitely gone too far.

  “Stay?” he asked even though his mind screamed he was crazy.

  She nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, her back to him. Her shoulders slumped when she spoke. “I’m sorry…it’s a long story, and I’m tired. Can we just sleep?”

  She was apologizing to him?

  “Sure. Sure.”

  Twenty minutes later, ensconced in the circle of his arms, she murmured, “You could give Barbara Walters a run for her money.”

  David winced. Had he really been that doggedly intrusive?

  “Sorry,” he whispered and gave her a squeeze.

  Surprisingly, she chuckled. It was a wry, self conscious sound.

  “Turned the tables on you?” he guessed.

  “Yes.”

  It seemed he wasn’t the only one navigating unfamiliar territory. Relief washed over him at the realization.

  Their game was still tied, but he’d have to move more carefully from here on out. One wrong move and his opponent could end up capturing something he didn’t know if he could live without again—his heart.

  Chapter Five

  Kyra rolled over and hid her eyes from the sunlight streaming onto her face. Her body was sore in places it didn’t normally hurt after a workout. She wondered how hard she had pushed herself yesterday and then remembered she hadn’t gone to the gym. She’d gone to bed. With David Tallis.

  She sat upright clutching the six-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheet to her chest and looked around.

  “Oh, fuck!”

  She was alone in that man’s bed. She’d slept with him. Twice. Letting her head fall forward, she covered her eyes with the heels of her hands. What in God’s name was she going to do?

  Well, first things first. She was going to get the hell out of his suite and back to her own. Then she was going to assess the damage. Ethically, where did she stand? Would she still be able to think objectively about this story? Did she even have a story?

  She groaned and pushed back the covers hoping she could make it out of there without running into David. Why in God’s name hadn’t she considered the potential ramifications of her actions last night? You’d think she was a brainless teenager with her first lover the way she had reacted to his touch.

  The thought of his fingers on her bare flesh had her quivering all over again, and she threw the sheet to the floor and stalked around to the other side of the bed to retrieve her robe. Looking down at the cloth in her hand she groaned aloud. She was going to have to walk to her room in her bathrobe. Past the floor attendant. Past the chambermaids. Everyone would know she was a stupid star fucker. Some gossipmonger was bound to run to the papers. Her career would be ruined.

  No use borrowing trouble, sweetheart, she told herself. Straightening her shoulders, she slipped on the robe and padded into the bathroom to search for a hairbrush. The least she could do was emerge somewhat presentable.

  The bathroom was as opulent as the rest of the suite, all marble with a jetted tub and a shower that looked as if it could fit a bevy of giggling blondes along with their host. Kyra tried to ignore the mental image of David above her, fucking her last night. At one point the look in his eyes had been overflowing with passion and tenderness. It was a look that couldn’t have been meant for her. It was so intimate she’d felt like an intruder and had to close her eyes.

  Speaking of intrusions, she was going to have to go through the vanity. There was no brush in sight. She consoled herself with the thought that she owed him one after last night’s interrogation.

  She probably wouldn’t have slept in so late if she hadn’t been up half the night trying to puzzle out how his insightful, hyper-vigilant edge didn’t jibe with either a spoiled prep school background or rock star persona. The contents of his bathroom only further served to confuse her.

  Pulling open first one drawer and then the next she found nothing like she’d expected. No expensive lotions and metrosexual accoutrements. Just plain shaving cream, hair gel, a decent razor and aftershave. A toothbrush and some whitening toothpaste.

  She turned around and blew out a frustrated breath. Aha! The hairbrush was on the back of the toilet. Snatching it up she pulled it through her hair, not caring that she was ripping at the sex snarls at the back of her head. She pulled her hair into a temporary braid and tossed the brush on the counter, determined to leave as quickly and quietly as possible.

  She walked down the stairs on the balls of her feet, hoping nobody was in the living room. A quick glance around told her no one was in the suite. His coffee cup and paper were still on an end table. She probably should have been offended that he’d left without waking her, but instead she was grateful for the chance to escape without seeing him. God only knew what she would say if she ever saw him again.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You won’t see him again,” she admonished aloud. “Well. That’s that.”

  One last look around and she walked out of the suite and out of David Tallis’ life. Neat and tidy. Just like he’d want it.

  * * * * *

  Geoff Billings leaned forward to open his mic to the isolation booth and David shook his head. He knew the verse he’d just laid down was a mess.

  “Let’s do it again,” he said.

  Geoff sat back, obviously relieved at not having to find a diplomatic way to say “that sucked”.

  When things went like this he would usually just close his eyes and run through a few notes to limber his voice. The problem was, today whenever he’d attempted the exercise he saw her splayed for his pleasure and his throat tightened as if it had a direct connection to his cock.

  He nodded and the engineer fed the music to his headset. He began the verse and stopped mid-note.

  “Shit.”

  This time Geoff did open the mic.

  “What’s up David?”

  “Give me five, ok?” he asked and stalked from the tiny soundproofed space toward the relative comfort of the private lounge.

  The thing was, he felt like a complete bastard. He’d left a woman alone in his bed. He’d fucked her against a wall, seduced her a second time and then walked out on her like she was
a tissue he’d cleaned himself up with. Even if he ignored the fact that he’d made her cry, it just didn’t sit right, no matter who she was. It was too much like his father might have behaved. David had never done anything so cold to a woman in his life.

  “Hell,” he cursed under his breath.

  The idea that he’d dredged up her painful past against her will struck him, in the light of day, as beyond vicious. Maybe he’d give her a studio session to write about? Just to show her he wasn’t as big of a wanker as she probably took him for?

  On impulse he flipped open his cell and thumbed through the phone list until he found the Ritz. The attendant transferred him to Kyra’s room, and her breathless “Hello?” gave a jolt to his stomach that had him clamping down on the impulse to hang up.

  “Kyra? It’s David.”

  Silence.

  “You there?”

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  “I’m sending…” Don’t be an asshole. “I’m, that is, I’d like to send a car around for you. So you can come observe at the studio today. Vocals. We’re finishing up some vocals for a couple songs.”

  Damn. He sounded like a complete idiot!

  “Um. Sure. That would be great, but…”

  His heart sunk. Was she actually going to turn him down?

  “What is it?”

  “Do you want me to write about it?”

  Panic raced up his spine at the natural question and David leaned his forehead into the cool wall in front of him. Could he really do this?

  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

  A sharp knock sounded at the door and David turned to see his manager and friend, Brent Weber, saunter in. He held up a finger to let him know he would only be another minute.

  “Sorry. What was that?”

  “When should I expect the car?”

  “I’ll have my manager call Concierge. I’m at Cathedral Studios. Near Hampstead Heath. Should take you less than twenty minutes to get here.”

  He flipped the phone closed without waiting to hear her response. He honestly didn’t know how her watching him try to croak out a tune was going to help.