Next door, I discovered why he’d brought me out into the city. It was an upmarket coffee shop with an open mike night. People were doing poetry, songs, and little opinion pieces about life and love and society. If a presentation about Romeo and Juliet would go down well anywhere outside of Fenbrook, it was there.
That didn’t stop me being terrified, of course.
“No,” I told Connor, as soon as I figured out his plan.
“She’s next,” Connor told the organizer, ignoring me completely.
“Connor!”
He turned to me, looked deep into my eyes, and kissed me, silencing any further protest. Again, I felt that warm glow of strength seeping through me, pushing back the fear.
“What did we learn?” he asked as he pulled back.
“Play my part. Use the napkin,” I recited.
And then he was pushing me to the front and leaning in front of the mike. “Karen Montfort on…Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet!” he announced. There was some polite applause, thirty or so heads turned to gaze at me and…I was on.
Someone whacked a bass drum and I nearly yelled at them to shut up. Then I realized it was my heart.
Say something!
But I couldn’t think of anything to say. The silence grew and grew.
Say anything!
There was a guy at the front with steel-rimmed glasses and an overcoat, cuddled up to a girl with frizzy hair. They looked non-threatening. “YOU!” I yelled into the mike, stabbing out a finger towards him. He flinched. “You…need to listen to Romeo and Juliet.”
There was some good-natured laughter, and it became easier to breathe. I read the first word on the napkin, and started to talk. The first few sentences were like wading through oatmeal, but as I kept speaking and the world didn’t end, I started to loosen up. It was terrifying, but it was at least ninety percent less terrifying than I expected it to be. When some newcomers blundered into the coffee shop halfway through, I froze for a second. Just play your part, I remembered. I started speaking again, and they shuffled to their seats apologetically.
By the time I reached my fourth point, I was in full flow. By the final one, I almost didn’t want it to end. As I moved away from the mike, there was a smattering of friendly applause.
I staggered over to Connor and almost fell against him in relief, burying my face in his chest. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” I told him.
“But it worked. You did well. Do the same thing tomorrow: instant A.”
I didn’t know about that. But it did feel like maybe I’d actually be able to speak.
“We should celebrate,” Connor told me. “Do you want to go for a drink?”
I drew back and looked up at him, this man who’d cured my fear—or at least made it manageable. He was doing that smile again, his eyes twinkling. I felt my heart boom in my chest again, and not from fear this time.
“No,” I told him. “I’ve got a better idea.”
***
We were kissing as we climbed the stairs to his apartment, struggling with each other’s clothes even as we opened the door. My sweatshirt went over my head and I stripped off his jacket. His hands smoothed over my skin beneath my vest top, and mine traced the hard muscles of his abs under his t-shirt. We only broke the kiss to strip more clothes off, and then we were falling onto the bed, rolling over and over, my bra-clad breasts mashing against his bare pecs, denim-wrapped legs scissored together. Our mouths were wet and panting, hungry for each other.
We rolled so that I was on top, and I reached down between us and unbuckled his belt, then eased his jeans down. Maybe it was because I didn’t have the virgin thing hanging over me anymore, maybe it was the adrenaline of having conquered my fear, or maybe it was just the feel of him under my hands, but I was more turned on than I’d ever been. There was a hot ache between my thighs, a need to be filled.
“This is new.” He grinned up at me, surprised but amused at my sudden hunger and I felt myself grinning back. All the sex in my fantasies had always been so…serious. Passionate, yes, but po-faced. I hadn’t ever considered that it could be fun.
I pulled down his jockey shorts and his cock sprang out, thickly erect. I grasped it with one hand, enjoying the feel of its heat, and stroked it a few times as I leant forward and kissed him long and deep, my tongue licking his the way I planned to lick his cock. He got my meaning and growled low in his throat.
I smoothed my hands over his chest as I kissed him, sweeping them along the contours of his pecs, rubbing over his nipples. I discovered that he seemed almost as sensitive there as I was, and leaned down to enclose one with my mouth. I tried giving it an experimental nibble with the edges of my teeth and his back arched off the bed in response. I was on my hands and knees above him, my ass in the air, and he gave it a slap. It was just a playful swat, really, especially through my jeans, and I giggled. But there was something deep inside me that did a little flip-flop at the sensation. Something that awoke and sent a whole new current surging straight to my groin, one I’d never felt before. I thought of Clarissa and her games with Neil. Something to explore later, I decided with a little thrill of excitement. We had all the time in the world and there were a lot of things I wanted to try.
I left his nipple gleaming wetly and moved down to his cock. Sliding my mouth down over the head, I closed my eyes, my mind going dreamy as I started to suck, my hand starting a slow rhythm on his shaft. I had more time, now, to concentrate on the sensations. The taste of him, salty and male on my tongue. The heat of him, throbbing against my palm. I felt his hands unbuttoning my own jeans, and between us we managed to strip them down off my legs while I sucked him, my panties sliding down along with them.
I hollowed my cheeks, my tongue sliding around and around the straining, swollen head of him, relishing every moan of pleasure I drew from him. As I stroked him with one hand, the other slipped down between his legs, cupping his balls. I let them roll over my fingers, marveling at them. Something connected in my brain, the thought of all that male seed locked up inside him, waiting to gush out. Waiting to…I gulped, words like fertile suddenly filling my head. The thought of that part of it, of the primal nature of it, hadn’t really sunk in until then, and when it did a ripple of something between fear and arousal went through me. Not that I wanted to get pregnant—obviously. But the idea of it….
I felt his hand between my legs, then, nudging my thighs apart a little and then cupping my sex, fingertips parting me and finding me already wet. His thumb circled my clit while two broad fingers slid over me and then—God!—into me. He started to move them and his speed guided me as I sucked and stroked him, both of us building to a frenzy. I knew I had to stop before he came, but part of me almost didn’t want to.
He gently lifted my head with his free hand, his chest rising and falling beautifully as he panted, and started to roll us over.
“No,” I told him. “I want to go on top.”
He blinked and then grinned again. “You really are different tonight.”
I flushed. “I have a lot of catching up to do.” I reached back behind me and unclipped my bra, ready to shed the last bit of my clothing but feeling that flutter of nerves again. He’d already seen my breasts, but—
I took it off, looking into his eyes the whole time, and saw that delighted gleam in them when my breasts were freed. He put both hands on them, his warm palms just grazing my nipples, and I closed my eyes and shuddered, a wave of heat rippling down between my legs. He started to circle his hands, lifting each breast just a little each time, and I felt my nipples stiffen at his touch.
He pulled out a condom and rolled it on, and I swung a knee over him. We gazed at each other for a second, and I must have looked nervous because he nodded at me minutely.
I lowered myself down onto him. God…it was so different, being in control. I could let his straining cock just tease my folds, brushing the heat of him against me again and again before letting it slowly part me. My thighs tensed as I settled lower, the head spread
ing me wide, my breath coming in tight little pants. Every millimeter brought new ripples of electricity as his cock slid deeper, stretched me wider. I sank down and down…until at last he was completely buried in me. I knelt there for a moment, just staring down into his eyes, enjoying the feel of him there.
And then, planting my hands on those deliciously full, hard pecs, I started to fuck him. Slowly at first, drawing him from me inch by exquisite inch, and then faster, until I was almost falling onto him with each downward stroke. His hands slid under my ass, lifting me higher, until I was riding him fast and hard, gasping for breath, tight and silken around that plunging hardness. He pressed against my breasts, encouraging me to lean back—I tried it and OhMyGod! Suddenly he was stroking against a whole new spot, and I put my hands behind me, supporting myself there, my breasts straining up towards the ceiling as I felt the orgasm rise inside me. I came like that, quick and almost violent, left breathless from the suddenness of it. Then he coaxed me forward, so that I was leaning over him, and we kissed, gasping into each other’s mouths as our groins slapped and thrust. He pushed my hair back from my ear and whispered:
“I love fucking you, Karen Montfort.”
And a different kind of orgasm thundered up inside me, one without any notion of romance or delicacy, one formed from raw heat and filth, and I found myself gasping.
“I love fucking you, Connor Locke.”
And the climax overtook me, my whole body shuddering as he shot and shot inside me.
Chapter 28
The next morning, I woke to find myself alone in the bed. I panicked for a moment…until I heard the sound of his guitar.
When I’d pulled on my clothes and rubbed the dreams from my eyes, I stumbled up the stairs and emerged blinking onto the roof. He was staring off into the distance, hands sure and quick on the strings. He saw me, but didn’t speak and I didn’t interrupt him. I just stood there and listened. He’d written his final section and it was us, together, but from his point of view. I’d written something based on that first night, all slow and intimate. He’d based his on the sex we’d just had: urgent and powerful and…God, I could almost relive it, just listening to it. I knew I was going to go red every time we got to the…ahem…crescendo.
***
I have a tendency to trudge, rather than walk. Some of that I blame on carrying the cello case, but I know that some of it’s me. That morning, though, leaving Connor’s apartment, I bounced, the goodbye kiss he’d given me making me feel lighter than air. If I’d had a little more coordination, I might have skipped.
I bounced down the stairs and ran straight into Ruth coming the other way.
“Oh,” she said, with an air of great disappointment. “I was going to see Connor. But if he’s just spent a night with you I suppose he’ll be going straight back to bed for a lie-in.”
There was no reason at all I should have been embarrassed, but I could feel my face flushing anyway.
“Let’s have coffee instead,” Ruth told me, slipping an arm around me and leading me down the stairs. “You can tell me all about it.”
I wanted to tell her that I had to get to Fenbrook to get some cello practice in before classes. I wanted to tell her that I had my presentation that morning, and that I was nervous enough without talking to her. I wanted to tell her that this whole thing was getting to be invasive and creepy, and that she should have the decency to go back to Ireland and leave us the hell alone.
But she was his friend, so I bit my tongue so hard I almost drew blood, and smiled.
***
We went to a diner because, in Ruth’s words, “Starbucks can’t make a decent cup of tea to save their lives.” She left the teabag in until the tea was the color of tar, dumped in half a cup of milk and then sat there stirring it as she talked. “I’m so glad Connor met someone like you. I mean, I was surprised, but don’t take that in a bad way.”
“Surprised?”
“Well…you’re very different. I mean, you’re posh and you’ve got money oozing out of you—don’t argue, luv, you have—and you’re clever—”
“Connor’s clever.”
She made an Oh! Isn’t that cute face, as if I were a child who’d just said my teddy bear was an astronaut. Her spoon tinkled in her cup as she stirred endlessly, making me grit my teeth. “You’re very different, anyway. Oh, don’t get me wrong, though, luv. I can see what he sees in you, clear as day.”
She made it sound like a compliment, but I found myself asking, “What?”
Ruth smirked. She was still stirring her tea—what could there possibly be left to mix? “You know…you’re the lady of the manor. The princess. He’s your bit of rough.”
I flushed. That was uncomfortably close to my dream. “That’s ridiculous,” I told her. “Connor doesn’t see me like that.”
“Nothing wrong with it, luv. We’ve all got to have our roles to play.”
I wondered what her role was. And I thought of Clarissa and Neil, trapped in a shallow relationship by their sex games. “It’s not like that. I mean, I know we’re different, but it’s not…I mean, there’s more to it than that.”
“Is there, luv? You sure?”
I went to speak, but couldn’t think of what to say.
“Because if there isn’t….” Ruth left it hanging there. “Well. I’ve said my piece.” She tapped her spoon twice on the edge and then drained the cup in one long swallow. “I just want what’s best for him. For both of you. You know that, don’t you?” And then she kissed me once, on the top of the head. “Ta ta.” And she was gone, leaving me in stunned silence.
***
Three hours later, I sat in the lecture theater waiting for my turn, trying to stop my foot tapping nervously on the floor. Just play the role. Use the napkin. The napkin that was rapidly going damp from my sweating hands.
Ruth was wrong. We were in love, and there was a lot more to us than some roles of rich girl, poor boy. What did she know? I tried to push it from my mind and focus on the presentation. Play the role. Use the napkin. Play the role. Use the napkin. Play the napkin. Use the role. Wait, what?
“Karen, your turn,” said Doctor Geisler.
I stood up.
***
When I emerged from my class I wasn’t quite back to bouncing but I did feel like a huge weight had been lifted. The presentation had gone just fine—maybe not an A, but a solid B, at a guess. I wanted to tell Connor. I wanted to thank Connor. I wanted to celebrate with Connor. I wanted to fu—
“Did you remember?” asked Jasmine, grabbing my arm.
“Of course,” I lied.
“Liar. Come on, we have to get across town.” She leaned in close. “It’s my interview.”
My mind went blank for a second. She was wearing a suit I’d never seen her in before—actually, I’d never seen Jasmine in a suit. Was she going for a job?
And then I remembered and the world turned cold and gray. Oh yeah. That interview.
Chapter 29
In the back of the cab, I looked again at Jasmine’s suit.
“I borrowed it from Natasha,” she told me. “That’s why the jacket doesn’t close.” She wriggled in her seat. “And I keep worrying the skirt’s going to rip.”
“Good thing you didn’t borrow it from Clarissa—you’d never have got it on.”
“Are you saying I have a big ass?”
“Jasmine, I have a big ass compared to Clarissa. She’s a stick. Your ass is….”
“Perfect for the job I’m interviewing for?” Jasmine asked, a little tightly.
Shamefully, that was exactly what I’d been thinking. I had no doubt at all that Jasmine’s curves would go down very well with men. Or that they’d be willing to pay to—
“Are you sure about this?” I asked for the fifteenth time. “I mean, really?”
Jasmine’s lip quavered. “You said you’d support me.”
“I will! I am! I’m just…are you sure?”
She nodded. And then we were there.
***
I’d expected the interview to be in a brothel, with some fifty-something madam who was all heavy makeup and perfume. In fact, it was held in a quiet corner of an upmarket hotel bar, and the head of the agency—who introduced herself as Tabitha—looked to be no older than forty, her dark hair pinned up in a sexy bun. We could have been sales executives or pharmaceutical reps. Well, the other two could. I was in my usual jeans and a sweatshirt.
“Umm. Is it okay if my friend sits in?” Jasmine asked.
Tabitha gave me a quick glance. “Absolutely.” She took a photo of Jasmine’s driver’s license, ticked a couple of boxes on an official-looking form and then got started. “I already have your answers from the phone interview, so this is really more about you,” she said. “Let’s talk.”
They chatted for a few minutes, with Tabitha abruptly changing the subject every so often. Politics, wine, sports, movies…she was being a client, I realized. Seeing how good Jasmine was at small talk, at putting people at ease. And the truth was, between Jasmine’s natural charisma and her acting training, she was superb...which only made me worry more.
“Good,” said Tabitha. “When would you be available to work?”
Jasmine swallowed, and I sensed she was getting nervous. “Any evening.”
“Excellent. In-call or out-call?”
Jasmine looked blank.
“Can you entertain clients in your apartment, or meet them in their hotel rooms, or both?”
“Hotel rooms,” said Jasmine. The two words hung there, seedy and incriminating.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” I asked suddenly. They both turned to look at me. “I mean…isn’t it?”
Tabitha smiled. “Nearly all our men are repeat customers and we only take new clients with personal recommendations. We need a valid credit card to accept a booking, and we only send girls to hotels that also require ID at check-in. The men are never anonymous.”
In Harmony Page 26
