Hidden Tracks

by Zoe Lee

  The words finally came to an end, her sigh a little shaky when it blew past dry lips.

  She’d never laid it out so sharp and clear like that and she was afraid that he wouldn’t understand, but she wasn’t scared that he would use this against her or hurt her, or sell it.

  She felt lighter, too, her body languid instead of the subtle tension she’d been carrying for far too long in her neck, along her spinal column and between her shoulder blades.

  “I came here mostly to sit with you so that you wouldn’t be alone, no matter what’s running through your mind right now,” she said after a couple of minutes of silence had passed by. “Your brother and Xavier thought it would be helpful and they thought I might have better results. But if you’ve put on your headphones or fallen asleep and haven’t heard a word—” Her hands gripped the flimsy seat of the chair, plastic squeaking beneath her nails. “I’m trusting you with—this,” she stuttered, catching herself at the last second before trusting you with my heart slipped straight out of her subconscious into the air between them.

  “I heard you,” Seth replied in that aroused rasp, perhaps even raspier than before. “I’m honored to have heard some of your secrets, Astrid. I would never betray that, betray you.”

  Although she’d believed it already or she never would have spoken, hearing him affirm it made butterflies take flight in her belly up into her rib cage and tickle her heart until it skipped beats. Her breath shortened. She wanted desperately to tear the door off its hinges, toss it aside as if it were only symbolic, dig her hands into his gorgeous hair, and kiss him.

  But that would be inappropriate, even if she had the strength to tear into the room.

  Slumping forward until her forehead gently bumped into the door, right along its edge so that she exhaled into the tiny seam between it and its frame, she whispered, “Are you truly alright? You don’t have to say anything, but it’s easier to confess to a stranger than your sister or your best friend or someone who thinks they know you inside out sometimes.”

  “I’ve never really thought that I compartmentalize the parts of my life, but the other night in Wild Harts, all those parts were suddenly in one place, overlapping,” he murmured, and she felt a faint vibration beneath her forehead, as if he too were touching the door on his side, as if he too were exhaling his words in the seam. “And Pitchfork was… a lot more than I’ve ever experienced. I knew Downbeat was so much more well-known than when I was in it, but I didn’t comprehend it until I was part of it, momentarily, again.”

  “You’re overwhelmed.”

  “I’m feeling a little cornered,” he admitted.

  “So your reaction was to lock yourself in your attic?” she had to tease.

  A rueful chuckle drifted to her, but she sensed that he wasn’t ready to say more, so she offered up something else. “Before Barley, I was a little bit famous from the first season and a half of the show. But I wasn’t one of the heroes, so while die-hard fans knew me, I wasn’t going on talk shows like the leads. The most that happened was being way in the background for an Entertainment Weekly cover shoot. So when the news that I was seeing Barley hit the press, I thought I was prepared for what that would be, since I’d already gotten a taste.”

  With a snort, she summarized, “It was fucking madness, Seth. One shot of us holding hands while walking down the beach in Malibu and the entire world homed in on me. So while I was never confronted by my childhood friends, my parents, Barley and his crew, and all the media and fans at once, I absolutely understand how you were feeling at Pitchfork and last night, even if I never went onstage with Barnyard to perform with them.”

  “You used to dance onstage with them,” Seth said, amusement softening, stretching out, his drawl like the softest skein of yarn. “After I got home, I wanted to—and I’ve been watching ‘Space Star Cadet Twelve’ too. It’s surreal to see you a foot tall on my TV.”

  “There’s quite a lot to unpack there,” Astrid marveled, flattered and nervous and pleased by the idea of him seeking out not only her TV show, but concert footage.

  “So even before you came to sit on the landing outside my studio, I already had the advantage because so much of your life is available for the whole world,” he said shrewdly. “I feel like maybe I want to apologize to you for knowing so much about you that I didn’t learn from you directly. On the other hand, if you were the only one in possession of film of you dancing onstage with Barnyard, for example, you’d never have shown me.”

  If the footage of her had been filmed without her knowledge, or available on the internet without her consent, it would be a different story. But she’d definitely known the TV show would be available in perpetuity, and she’d been aware Barnyard’s concerts were filmed when she danced around Barley at Glastonbury festival or at The Greek Theatre in L.A. or wherever else. The part of Astrid which had pursued performing arts in high school, which had never craved fame so much as being seen, shivered in approval. She felt a visceral, animalistic pleasure at the idea that he’d taken advantage of her public history to see her.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” she reassured him, her voice pitching lower from the pleasure. “There’s nothing I’m ashamed of, but you’re right, I might not have shown you.” Then, licking her lips, she admitted, “And it would be hypocritical of me to judge you for it when I… well, my daughter and I… looked you up after I saw you at Pitchfork.”

  “Did you?” he asked roughly.

  Something metallic rattled, but it didn’t catch her attention for more than a millisecond before she was overwhelmed by Seth’s voice. It invited and urged her to respond immediately, dangerously honestly, “I was curious about you, Seth. I told myself it was just research for my article, but I was curious about you. If that makes any sense at all to you.”

  “It makes me happy.”

  The unadorned words sent shudders wracking Astrid’s heart and body.

  Instinctively, her fingers latched onto the doorknob and wrenched it clockwise then counterclockwise, as if it had been open this whole time and all she had to do was turn it.

  It was a distinct noise, someone trying to open an unlocked door.

  “Astrid, what are you doing?” Seth asked in warning although he must know, his voice dropping lower with each letter sound until it was a bass throb she felt between her legs.

  “I’m sorry, I—” she began breathlessly, but then stopped. “No, I’m not sorry. Seth—”

  “Shit,” he hissed.

  Then there was a scraping noise, then a thud of a deadbolt thrown, and Astrid had just enough time to pull her head back before the door was yanked in towards Seth.

  She was there, perched on the very edge of the flimsy chair, the nails of one hand digging into the wooden doorframe, the other digging into the meat of her thigh, her toes digging into the wooden floor. Her neck was arched up, her face upturned, her eyes meeting Seth’s abruptly and completely, their gazes tangling. He looked rough, bruised circles beneath his eyes, his hair tied back messily, bangs fluttering around his temples. He wore ancient flannel pants and a thin white tee shirt, his nipples sharp against the fabric.

  They stared at each other interminably, all the barriers removed. So much potential flashed back and forth between them, sharp as needles tattooing her with it indelibly. His breath seesawed in and out raggedly, and she was distantly aware hers did the same, the mad rhythm synchronized between them, his hands fisted at his thighs, so close to her.

  All she had to do was tip forwards several inches and her nose, her mouth, her chin, would be pressed against the firmness of his stomach, and she shook with desire to do it.

  “You opened the door,” she gasped unintelligently.

  “You wanted me to,” he replied.

  “Yes,” she agreed, the word almost a hiss.

  “My head’s so fucked up right now, I don’t—” he almost protested, almost begged.

  That sent her rocketing to her feet, her knees knocking his and her hand scra
bbling against the doorframe to keep her from careening into his body full-length.

  His hands grabbed her waist.

  A moan vibrated deep in her throat, making the thin skin shake visibly.

  “I have never wanted anyone like this—”

  “I’m still a mess, baby,” he groaned, leaning in to stroke the tip of his nose over that shaking thin skin from just behind her earlobe down to the hollow of her throat where her heartbeat thundered. “I haven’t slept well and I haven’t showered for a few days.”

  “Then let’s get you cleaned up,” she murmured, and when his lips sipped at her skin, her head dropped back bonelessly, only to be caught by one of his magic hands.

  His tongue swirled feather-light across her bare shoulder before his head lifted, pulling back just enough to meet her heavy-lidded eyes. Her hips arched into his, their nearly identical height making the contact direct and delicious, the soft fabrics so much more enticing than rough denim would have been. She loosed the quietest whimper, but it shook something in him and his mouth came down on hers, tongue flicking against her bottom lip.

  With a gasp, animation surged through her limbs, and her hands came up to gather his tee shirt and tug him even closer, her hips circling. She nipped his mouth playfully, then laughed triumphantly when he took her mouth fully, groaning helplessly into it. It was so good, his tongue dexterous and light, his lips warm and wet, his cock fitted into the crease of her hip a beautiful tease. She moaned and rushed her hands up under his wrinkled shirt, mouth yanking free to gasp as she felt the feverish skin over lean, tight muscles lightly dusted with hair. They jumped and tensed as her hands raced across them, up to his chest.

  “Shower,” she moaned, unable to form another word.

  For a second, he studied her, calm and patient despite the way their hips were still circling in a slow, pressure-filled grind that had Astrid momentarily weak and delirious.

  And then he agreed, “Shower.”

  Before she could convince herself to let him go for any length of time, he’d picked her up, one sure hand under her ass, the other encouraging one of her thighs up around his trim waist. Both her legs wrapped around it, squeezing as she rubbed against the band of his flannel pants, catching his mouth again and again in fierce little presses of pleasure.

  He carried her downstairs, which was no easy feat and surely required that he knew every step, every distance, so perfectly that he didn’t need to look down to know what he was doing. Once they’d reached the second floor, he turned and went to the end of the hall, stepping into a messy bedroom that smelt of incense and then into its en suite bathroom.

  “Oh,” she sighed as she saw the large glass-walled standing shower and the very large Jacuzzi bathtub beside it, partially used candles sitting on the pale beige tiles bordering it.

  “My secret upgrade to the place,” he murmured, not releasing her, just bending her with him as he turned on the taps for the tub and poured in some bath oil.

  Steam and lavender rose up into the air as he set Astrid down on her feet.

  Those deep, unknowable eyes studied her again.

  She’d been frightened and wasteful when she pushed him out of her hotel room not too long before dawn, when she thought it would be the last time she’d ever see him. She’d been foolish and self-deceptive to think that she was here for purely professional reasons. Even though it wasn’t the ideal time for this kind of intimacy, which she’d been hoping to find again, she wasn’t going to let it slip past her, wasn’t going to take it for granted.

  His mouth crooked gently, and certainty and pride lit her up and reinforced her choice. She was wanted, she was beautiful, and she wanted Seth too, with more than just her body.

  Her heart fluttered as his eyes darkened steadily, a rising tide of passion and patience. She took it as her cue to strip her dress off over her head in one fluid movement, which left her in the dark pink lycra bra and panties she’d thoughtlessly put on earlier.

  He grunted as if the impact of her near-nakedness had physically landed.

  “God you’re gorgeous,” he rasped.

  He lifted those fingers she’d been obsessing over, dreaming of, and smoothed them along the line of her bra where it skimmed and stretched over her breasts, dipping into the space between them. She felt it in her core as if he’d dipped his fingers gently into her pussy instead, and her whole body convulsed from the force of it. “Oh, oh,” she moaned helplessly.

  While he tugged her panties down, she wrestled the bra off over her head. He pressed his hands into the flare of her hips as her panties dropped to her ankles, the whorls of his fingerprints seeming to sear into the deep, delicate tracery of her stretch marks.

  She raised her hands to run around his neck, to flow along his shoulders and down his tight, slender arms, to rub up his stomach and chest, delighting in how his musculature changed subtly as he took off his shirt. Unlike every other musician, it seemed, Seth’s skin was bare, a pale yellow honey with olive undertones, no tattoos or piercings. His flannel pants rode low, and when she stepped alongside him to turn off the tub before it overflowed, she saw the top swell of his ass. She stroked across it appreciatively, knowing it was strong enough to pump his cock into her over and over for as long as she cared for it to do so.

  “Come on, darling,” she murmured, climbing carefully into the bath, folding her knees up against her painfully hard nipples to leave him space to sit behind her if he would.

  Without another word, without checking again to see if she was sure, he hooked his thumbs under the band of the flannel pants right along where the fly on jeans would be.

  The position seared itself into Astrid’s mind for all eternity, it was so erotic, the intentionality of it, the promise of what was to come, the anticipation of his nudity.

  He let her look her fill, it seemed to her, and then with one push the pants collapsed down his thighs and onto the bathroom rug. He lifted each foot an inch to step free of them, his hard cock swaying as he did so, and Astrid twisted to suck the head into her mouth.

  “Jesus God, Astrid!” Seth shouted.

  “Mm,” she agreed. Her hands, wet and slick with water and bath oil, came up to brace on his thighs, then slid around to grasp the backs. She used the grip to tug him closer, his cock sliding all the way down her throat, her lips sealed around its base. Somehow she hadn’t done this yet, too pliant beneath his worshipful attention the other times. But he was thick, stretching the corners of her mouth, yet not too long to take this way, and tasted so male, which she knew was a ridiculous description, but there wasn’t a better one. She rubbed her tongue along its underside and bobbed, wanting to keep him as far inside her as possible, gratified when he started grunting every time he nudged the back of her throat.

  But just when she thought he would explode onto her tongue, he pulled out, hands clutching her no doubt bedraggled, half-loose hair, hunching over her, breath heaving.

  Sucking in a big steadying breath, he straightened, hands briefly leaving her hair as he got into the tub behind her, returning to dig in and angle her mouth around to kiss her. She grabbed his wrists tightly, holding him there, and whimpered because of the way they shared his taste back and forth until it melted into the blended flavor of their mouths.

  She was twisted awkwardly, so as he stretched his legs carefully around her body, she maneuvered just as carefully to face him, shins pressed into the soft rubber cushion suction cupped to the bottom of the tub. They both leaned in and kissed again, his hands cradling her breasts, thumbs stroking up the peak of her nipples and then flicking them gently.

  Desperate for him against her, she shimmied into his lap, his legs coming together beneath her to make space for her knees outside of his, and their torsos touched.

  “Yes,” she cried out, then slammed their mouths together again, her hips circling and rolling her pussy over the head of his cock. “Oh God, you feel so good,” she praised him.

  “Careful, I’m bare,” he whispered as he
grabbed her hips, stilling her.

  All but sobbing, she struggled against his hold, frantic for the connection, frantic to be as close to him as possible. “But don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel how it’s going to be?”

  “Okay,” he said, “okay, baby.” He directed her until her back was to his chest, his cock nestled between her ass cheeks, and he reached over and then the jets turned on. “There you go,” he urged hoarsely, sliding their bodies closer to one of the jets, gently helping her grip the outer edge of the tub, his hands laying on top of hers.

  She twitched and whimpered and he pumped leisurely against her ass until suddenly the jet pulsed right over her. She stiffened and cried out, arching her back sharply.

  “I want you to scream out how much you want me, I want to hear you come,” he rasped into her ear, “it’s music to me. Then I’m going to take you to bed and make love to you.”

  The restrained way his cock stroked along her nerve endings, pinned between it and the pulsing jet, rocketed her into the heights of ecstasy. But it was his deadly serious, artless words that had her shattering, crying out notes of joy as she rode out her orgasm.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Seth

  Astrid Sinclair was a symphony, five movements swelling and pulling back, louder and then soft, staccato and then slurring, each measure imbued with beauty and grace.

  It had begun with how she’d shown him her heart. Not fearlessly, which was easy, but bravely, which took strength and determination.

  Second had come the rupturing of her patience as she’d tried to open the door and the way she’d looked at him when he did it instead, stark and yearning.

  Third had been how she’d felt in his arms, real and smelling like autumn with this hint of the woodsy, greasy, hoppy scent of Wild Harts, the center of his family.

  Fourth had been how she undressed, not shy or demanding, just matter of fact as if her body were a mechanical tool and not a fucking masterpiece of life and subtle sensuality.