In Harmony

by Helena Newbury

  “What’s his type?” I asked quickly, before I could stop myself.

  She blinked at me. “Less…studious. More…worldly.”

  More you, I thought viciously.

  Ruth tilted her head to one side. “Oh, luv. I haven’t upset you, have I?” She stood up to leave, and then leaned down again and kissed the top of my head in a way that made me squirm. As she turned to go, the point of her shoe knocked over my bags. Lacy lingerie and four boxes of condoms spilled out across the floor.

  “Oh,” she said as I scrambled to pick everything up. “Tonight’s the night, is it?”

  I went beetroot red, unable to speak. I was just about to grab the padded, push-up bra I’d bought when her toe pinned it to the floor. “Wise move,” she said, as if offering friendly advice. “Try not to worry about it though, luv. Some blokes go for small ones.”

  There was some tittering from the tables around us. I kept my eyes firmly on the floor.

  “This has been fun,” said Ruth. “Facebook me.” And she was gone.

  Chapter 22

  I should have been in the practice room, waiting for Connor and warming up with something easy, but instead I was standing outside and staring at the wall.

  I’d chosen a poster to stare at, just so that I didn’t look weird, but I wasn’t even aware of what it said. My mind was back in Harper’s, going over and over what Ruth had said. There had to be some truth in it. He was used to more experienced women—had to be, given that pretty much anyone qualified as more experienced next to me. What if I was lousy in bed? What if I made a total fool of myself?

  Warm lips kissed me just behind my ear and I leaped a clear foot into the air. I landed and found Connor standing behind me, grinning. I punched him on the shoulder.

  Part of me was nervous—aside from the things Ruth had said, it was the first time I’d seen him since he’d said he loved me. I had some crazy, instinctive worry that maybe it had all been a dream, or a horrible mistake.

  But he took my hand and drew me in close, and then he was leaning down to kiss me, warm and slow, my lips flowering open under his as his hands slid through my hair. For a second, I was worried that someone would see us kissing…then I switched to hoping they would. Screw Ruth, I decided.

  Connor turned me back around to face the wall, grabbing me around the waist and nuzzling my neck.

  “What are we reading?” he asked, looking at the poster over my shoulder.

  For the first time, I focused on it. Most of the posters around Fenbrook were lurid colors, to try to catch your attention. This one was white, the sign of officialdom. I read it and sighed. “The Fenbrook Improvisation Challenge. A Timed Composition for Extra Credit. Even I’m not hardcore enough to enter that.”

  “Hardcore?” he asked.

  “Shut up. You know what I mean. You have to be seriously good.”

  “What’s so hard about improvising? I can improvise.”

  I craned over my shoulder and looked pityingly at him. “No, you fail to write stuff down and have to wing it from memory. That’s just sloppy—”

  “It’s rock n’ roll, is what it is.”

  “Which reminds me, you need to write down all of your sections properly. Neatly. Not on the back of a pizza box.”

  “Yes ma’am.” And it sounded so good, with his accent, that I would have forgiven him anything.

  “Anyway,” I told him, “the improv challenge is horrible. They play you a melody and then you have to compose around it, and then perform it. Live on stage, in front of everyone, and you only get one shot.”

  “How many days do you get to compose?”

  “You get thirty minutes.”

  He went quiet. “Okay, that is pretty hardcore.”

  I turned to face him. “Surely you remember all this? They do it every year, just after the recitals.”

  He thought about it. “I missed last year’s. Hangover.”

  “What about the year before?”

  “Also hungover.”

  “Connor, have you ever actually been to a recital, your entire time at Fenbrook?”

  “Yes!” Then he looked down at his feet. “No.”

  I just stared at him.

  “It didn’t seem very important, alright? I was never going to do my final recital—I always thought I’d flunk out long before this. And I didn’t see any point in going along the first three years, just to watch that year’s seniors do theirs.”

  It suddenly made sense. The insecurity he’d opened up to me about in his apartment—what could be scarier than hearing student after student perform, if you doubted your own ability?

  “Come on,” I told him. “Let’s rehearse.”

  But as soon as we were inside with the door closed, it was difficult not to think that we’re alone together. We caught each other staring: me at his arms as he took his jacket off, him at my bare stomach as I shrugged off my cello case and my sweatshirt rose.

  “We have to work,” I said seriously.

  He just looked at me with those big, blue-gray eyes and I nearly threw myself into his arms right then.

  “Don’t,” I said, half warning and half joking.

  He stared for a second longer and then relented. “We’re going out tonight though, yeah?”

  I nodded “Oh yes.” Tonight’s the night, I heard Jasmine say, and a little thrill went through me. Then I heard Ruth saying the same words and winced, annoyed at having it tarnished.

  Our recital piece was made up of six sections—three composed by him, three by me—and so far we’d written four of them. With just over a month to go, we still each had one section left to write. I’d started to try to mix the sounds of my cello and his electric guitar together, but I couldn’t get it to mesh. It felt like the sections were tracking our relationship: the first pair had been very different, very us, before we knew each other; for the second pair he’d written my personality into the music and I’d written his; somehow, I knew the third pair would be us coming together.

  Since the first rehearsal, the tiny practice room had been thick with tension, both when I thought I hated him but wanted him, and when I knew I loved him but didn’t know how he felt. Now, though…now it was different again. Before, I’d gazed at his arms and imagined them wrapped around me, or seen the way his jeans pulled tight around his thighs and dreamed of running my hand over the warm fabric. Now, I sat there knowing that, that night, we’d be together. We’d…fuck.

  I thought back to my dream of him, of me as innocent virgin, corsets and heaving bosoms and pleas for gentleness as he ravished me. I thought of Jasmine and riding him cowgirl and hula-hooping. Was that any more realistic than my fantasy? Could I really pull off seductress?

  “You okay?” asked Connor.

  “Fine. Why?”

  “You haven’t played a note in about five minutes.” He was grinning, as if he somehow knew exactly what was going through my mind.

  I flushed and stared at my music, trying to get the thought of him fucking me out of my head. At that exact second, my phone rang. The screen burned accusingly with my father’s name.

  “Do you need to get that?” asked Connor.

  I thought about how I’d have to lie to him, telling him how everything was going just fine with Connor, “the violinist.” The irony was that it was going well. The piece was really coming together. If only my father would trust me….

  “No,” I told Connor. “I’ll call them back.” I turned my phone off. I’d call him back the next day and apologize, but I wasn’t letting anything—not even my father—spoil our first day together.

  ***

  I’d been so focused on what was going to happen after the date that I hadn’t thought about where Connor was going to take me. When he announced dinner and a movie, I got this big, silly grin on my face. It was about the most traditional, couple-y thing we could have done, and it felt perfect.

  We had dinner in a French place tucked away in a backstreet, where the tables were so small we could t
alk in whispers without even leaning into each other. We spent at least half the meal eating one-handed because we were holding hands across the table, and when the waitress said how cute we were it didn’t feel cheesy or silly at all. It felt fantastic.

  “After we graduate—” he began.

  I gave a little intake of breath.

  “Oh come on—you think I’m going to jinx it?”

  “Yes,” I said seriously.

  “Okay…if we graduate…the New York Phil, huh?”

  It felt like there was just enough of a chance that I could dare to talk about it. I let the glow of excitement build inside me. “Yes. Playing concerts, touring the world….” I grinned. “They play in Europe. I’ve always wanted to see Europe.”

  And then I caught myself. I’d been imagining it for years…and never in that time had anyone else ever been in the picture.

  “I mean…you know. If you think that would work with…us,” I said.

  He frowned in confusion and then stared at me. “Karen…Jesus, you don’t have to ask my permission!” He sighed and traced my cheek with a finger. “You’ve spent so long doing what everybody else wants. It’s okay to do what you want. I’d never stop you following your dreams. You do what you need to do, and we’ll figure out us.”

  It was like a rush of pure oxygen after being cooped up in a tiny box my whole life. I wanted to throw my arms around him and kiss him right there in the restaurant…and then I went ahead and did exactly that, just to show I understood.

  ***

  The movie was a romantic comedy, fun and simple and immediately forgettable. I was surprised that he’d pick something so tame and…normal, but cuddling up beside him, his arm around my shoulders, I didn’t care what we watched. I kept looking across at him, his face lit by the screen’s glow, and thinking he’s mine.

  It was only in the bar he took me to, afterwards, that it started to make sense. It was perfect—not too dressy and not too casual. In my dress and the smarter-than-usual jeans he’d worn, we could have been an advertising poster for the place.

  “You’ve never been here before, have you?” I asked as he brought the drinks over. “Or the restaurant. And you don’t normally go to the movies, do you?”

  He gave me a long look and then hung his head and said, “Clarissa. They were all her suggestions. I had no fucking idea where to take you.”

  I burst out laughing. “What do you normally do on dates?”

  He held out his hands helplessly. “I don’t go on dates. You know what I’m like.” He looked abashed. “What I was like.”

  I narrowed my eyes, smirking. “You play some rock club, and there’s some young thing at the front, all innocent and big eyes, and you play a solo she thinks is just for her. And then you get her back to your dressing room, ravish her on the counter and both of you get drunk on cheap beer.”

  “Did you really just say ravish?”

  My face went hot, but I was grinning. “Don’t try to change the subject! Is that accurate?”

  He looked everywhere but my face. “…yeah. Pretty much. That’s how I met Ruth.”

  I nodded quickly—I didn’t want to talk about her. “And tonight? That was…?”

  “That was me trying to give you the perfect date. How did I do?”

  I smiled. “Perfect. But next time, if you want to take me to some place with…you know, a mosh pit and beer all over the floor…that’d be fine too.”

  “I think it’s just possible that this is going to work out.”

  He finished his drink, and I realized I’d finished mine. We sat there looking at the empty glasses, neither of us wanting to be the one to say it.

  At last, he said, “Would you like….”

  “…to go to my apartment?” I finished.

  He stared into my eyes. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  ***

  We were kissing before we even got in the door, turning around and around as we moved down the hall as if we were dancing, our lips never separating for an instant. It was as if we’d been starved of each other all the months we’d worked together, straining at chains that had finally been released.

  We fell onto the couch, the same one I’d watched him sleep on what felt like years ago. I was on top, kissing down his neck as his hands roamed over my back, smoothing the jersey dress over my body. His large hands cupped my ass and I drew in a long breath, my whole body trembling at his touch. One of his knees parted mine, rough denim against smooth nylon, and then we were scissored together, kissing long and deep as his hands rubbed my thighs, the edges of his hands nudging my dress higher and higher. When it reached my stocking tops and his hands touched bare flesh, he froze and lifted me—easily—so he could look down at my legs, then grinned with delight at what he saw. I had a little warm rush of pride. Score one to Jasmine.

  He rolled us over, and then I was looking up at him, running my hand over the stubble on his cheek, stroking through his soft, feathery hair. His hands skimmed up my hips, my stomach…I groaned as he lightly squeezed my breasts. Pleasure arced between them, joining and flowing straight down between my legs, and I squirmed beneath him. My hair was fanned out around me like a halo and he smoothed it against the cushions with his fingertips.

  “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “I knew it when I saw you on the steps.”

  “I was lucky,” I told him. “Lucky you saved me.”

  He gave me one of those smiles. “Not that lucky. I knew what was going to happen when I opened that door.”

  My eyes went wide, more delighted than angry. “It was deliberate?!”

  “To tell you the truth,” he said, “I was hoping you’d be a little more grateful.”

  I thumped him on the arm and he chuckled, and then I was twisting us back around so that he was on the bottom, and unfastening his jeans. My breath was coming fast now, my fingers clumsy at the belt buckle. He raised himself up on his elbows as I pulled his jeans down, lifting his tight ass so I could free them. I could see the bulge of his cock beneath his black jockey shorts, and took a deep breath….

  And then I was hooking my fingers into the waistband and dragging them down, forcing my face to remain neutral. I had to pretend I’d seen lots of erect cocks before. I was absolutely not going to gasp, or go wide-eyed—

  I gasped, and felt my eyes widen.

  It was beautiful: thick and smooth with a glossy, arrow-shaped head. It leapt upright as I freed it, and the first thing I thought was that it was bigger than my dildo—the only thing I had to compare it to. And dildos didn’t throb, I realized as I gripped the shaft, or twitch in your hand. It was so alive, so part of him. I’d been thinking of it as almost a thing on its own…I hadn’t really thought of it as being a part of Connor, that he would be right up inside my body.

  I was glad Jasmine had told me to do it this way. I needed the time, needed the build-up. Maybe she’d known that.

  “Are you sure?” asked Connor quickly, as he saw me lower my head.

  I looked at him for a second and nodded. I was nervous, but I couldn’t stop smiling at the idea of giving him pleasure.

  I was kneeling astride his legs, one hand wrapped around the root of him to stop him springing upwards. I went to lick him, but just the touch of my breath on him was enough to make him gasp so I did it again, a little sigh of hot air that stroked his sensitive flesh. Then I was tasting him, a hint of salt and delicious male musk, but the thing I wasn’t ready for was how warm he was, the incredible intimacy of that hot, pulsing flesh against my tongue.

  I wanted to taste all of him, to know all of him, and I started licking down his length, slathering him until he shone. I saw his hands lift and close into fists, tight little gasps as my tongue teased his already hard cock to the straining, throbbing limit.

  I took him in my mouth and sucked as Jasmine had shown me, and he arched his back and pushed with his groin, wanting more of him inside me. I worked at it with my cheeks and tongue, enveloping as much of him as I could in soft, h
ot wetness. I wasn’t ready to try any deeper, but I suddenly got the idea of deep throating. I would have done, if I could. I wanted all of him.

  His hand plunged into my hair, lifting me. “Stop there,” he said quickly, and I climbed off him. He hitched up his jeans and then, to my delight, he scooped me up, lifting me with a hand under my legs and another under my back. As he carried me through to the bedroom, my heart boomed louder with every step he took. He kicked the door closed behind him and dropped me on the bed. I sprawled there on my back, looking up at him.

  It was completely different to my dream in every conceivable way. And yet perfect.

  “Take off your dress.” His voice almost a growl. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears and my breath came in tight, shallow pants as I hauled the dress up around my hips…my waist…my breasts. Watching his eyes on me, seeing him drink in my body as it was revealed, sent a rush of heat straight down to my groin and I could feel it turning to slick readiness there. The dress came up and over my head and I threw it aside.

  His eyes devoured me as he pulled off his shirt and kicked off his jeans and boots. Naked, he seemed even bigger; when he climbed onto the bed, one knee between my legs, I felt a sudden wave of delicious dread. I was tiny beneath him, the helpless innocent about to be ravaged. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to follow all of Jasmine’s advice—suddenly, I just wanted to be taken.

  Connor stretched out on top of me, kissing down the valley of my breasts, his hands skimming along my bare sides. Every inch of skin he touched seemed to light up in their wake, my whole body coming alive. His mouth was hot at my shoulder, my neck…God, at my ear….

  I explored his back with my hands, tracing the muscles I’d wanted to touch since I’d first seen him strip his t-shirt off backstage. Again and again, I followed the hard lines of him down from his wide shoulders to that tight, trim waist…and then, at last, I let my palms slide down to his ass, the firm muscles flexing each time he moved. I wound my legs around him—

  He winced, looking down behind him, and I saw I’d just dug one of the Killer Heels into his leg. I quickly unfastened them and kicked them off, figuring they’d served their purpose, and he smiled.