Hearts in Harmony

by Gemma Brocato

  She propped herself up on her elbow and fisted a hand in the silky waves of his hair, tugging gently to pull his head up, to make eye contact. “Clay, I need you to put something inside me. Now. I don’t care what it is, your finger, your tongue, your cock. I don’t care. Please, just do something now,” she begged.

  Clay rasped out a chuckle, deep, sexy, a bit hoarse. His eyes shimmered in the soft light from the table lamp as he combed his fingers through the darks curls covering her. As he brushed his thumb against her clit, sensation as intense as lightning careened through her, heightening her need. She mewled softly while he took his time. Hoping for some kind of satisfaction, she arched her hips toward his hand. He trailed his finger over her, rubbed against her opening, dipping in teasingly, then pulling out to glide up to the sensitive nub, then down.

  Her hips bucked again, but Clay put his hand on her, holding her still. He pushed a finger into her up to the knuckle, then eased it out, only to push forward, a little farther, repeating the process several times. He alternately watched the motion of his fingers disappearing inside her, and her face.

  He slipped one finger out, replacing it with two, stretching and filling her. When he pressed his free hand flat against her stomach, her abdominal muscles involuntarily contracted. He reached under her to lift her hips higher, giving him better access, exposing more of her to his clever hand. Biting her lip to keep from crying out, she thrashed her head to the side when he pressed his mouth against her and tongued her clit. Pushing his fingers deeper, he sent waves of pleasurable sensation through her, which tingled all the way up her spine to her scalp.

  She shivered with need by the time he pulled away and reached for one of the condoms he’d tossed on the table. Before she had time to whimper, he’d rolled the condom on and was moving on top of her, pressing kisses along the way, starting with her pubic bone, traveling north to her navel, where his tongue dipped in and laved. Then on to her breasts, covering them with the hot, hot palms of his hands, lifting, then pressing them together so his talented tongue could play with the tight nipples.

  He settled between her thighs, pressing the solid head of his erection against her opening, poised for entry. He claimed her mouth and shifted, easing just the tip of his penis into her. He dipped his tongue past her lips and surged forward, filling her. She bit back a moan. The delicious pressure of each thrust echoed home and he held her lips with his, swallowing her cry. Easing back, he heaved into her again, setting up a driving rhythm that pushed them closer.

  She welcomed his weight, the slick slide of it against her as he plunged into her hard and fast, luxuriating at the sensations building in her. This was not the sweet gentle lovemaking she’d imagined. It was hot, driving, passionate, and exactly what she craved. Clay’s hard body driving into hers pushed her to mindless abandon. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist, she strained to get closer to his heat and strength. Her breasts flattened against his chest, the light hair tickling, every sensation building on itself until she reeled, lightheaded with pleasure.

  Tension coiled tighter in her as Clay’s hips and torso moved. He propped himself up on one arm and then snaked his hand around to her bottom, squeezing in time with the motion of his hips. He broke the kiss, his hot, labored breath caressing her cheek. With his face buried against her neck, he groaned quietly each time he seated himself in her as far as he could.

  Colors spun in a kaleidoscope behind her eyelids, each hue flaring higher as she drew closer to the flame. Her world centered on where she and Clay were joined, merged into one. A tight, squeaking scream built in her throat as his body rubbed hers with each sensuous motion of his hips and his breath quickened in time with hers.

  He pressed his lips to hers, swallowing the scream she couldn’t control when her muscles clenched and rapture burst forth. He bucked into her harder and faster in response, joining her in release, groaning quietly with her while they both circled around sensation, the feeling of hundreds of nerve endings doing a joyous dance.

  * * * *

  Clay collapsed on top of her, his lips pressing against the one spot he had strength left to touch—her neck. God, he’d meant to take it slow, to relish the ecstasy of moving over her, in her. But their bodies had different ideas, driving them hard and fast with need. His skin tingled as Pippa trailed her fingers across it, doing a slow slide from the base of his skull to the small of his back, making him heave into hers in aftershocks.

  He eased his grip on her bottom as her legs fell away from his hips. He shifted to relieve some of his weight, but she tightened her arms, holding him in place.

  “Don’t move yet, please.” She exhaled a deep breath and turned her head to where his rested on her pillow. The dim light revealed a soft, sexy smile and glazed eyes a shade of blue that reminded him of the October sky. He smiled and shifted again, pushing himself back to the hilt inside of her. Her eyes lost all focus and her lips formed a small round circle of pleasure.

  He hardened at her response. Oh fuck, give him five minutes and he’d be ready to go again. Maybe sooner. He took possession of her lips again and she answered with aggression, the heat of her kiss spearing straight to his cock, stirring it within the confines of her tight sheath, her muscles clenching, milking him.

  His gasp echoed in the quiet of her bedroom, along with her delighted chuckle. God, he wanted to move in her again, take them both back to the brink and over. But what he should do was pull out of her.

  Harsh cold reality washed over him, dousing pleasurable sensation in the wet blanket of stark truth. He couldn’t trust the condom for a second round, and there was no way he would take the chance. This relationship was already complicated enough without bringing another life into it. She’d hate him if she ended up pregnant. And he’d despise himself with an equal passion if that happened. His plans included leaving Granite Pointe and this warm, loving woman. Why the hell did thoughts of moving on create a gnawing ache in his gut?

  He captured her lips with his, swallowing her protesting moan as he eased out and rolled to his back, stripping off the condom and pulling her along with him in one fluid move. Her thigh swept over his and he groaned as the damp heat between her legs seeped into his hip. Pressing his palm against the side of her breast, he played with her nipple, enjoying the silky feel of her skin, the puckering of the nub when he flicked his thumb against it. Her head rested on his chest and he tangled one hand in her dark wayward hair, massaging her scalp with slow circles.

  Pippa sighed, a contented sound that encased his heart with a squeeze. He shook the feeling off, determined to get them back to a fun place, where they didn’t have to feel, just want. He was best at just wanting.

  “Jesus, Pippa. That was…Jesus,” he said, finding himself at a loss for words.

  She chuckled, a deep sensuous sound that wrapped around his chest and tightened. “Yes it was.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken you for a screamer. That was a bit of surprise. A good one, though.” He moved his hand from her breast to her hip, giving it a playful pinch.

  Color flooded her cheeks, heating them where her face rested against his chest. “Someone once said the difference between sex with kids in the house and without was volume. I guess that’s true.”

  “You’ve never done it with the kids home?”

  “Honestly, no. It’s not like I’ve had dozens of partners since the kids were born. But, I’ve never been with anyone here, in my bed.” She laughed. “You’re my first.”

  Something swelled in his chest at the idea that no one else had been in this bed with her. It was an odd but pleasant sensation. But this wasn’t getting them back to the fun place he’d intended. “Oh, well, thanks. If we did this in the big barn at the farm, it would be a first for me. Too bad it isn’t summer.”

  “Yeah, too bad. There could be a lot of first places for us. In the back pasture at the farm. Under the bleachers at the high school. The possibilities are endless.”

  “The b
asement at your parents’ house,” he suggested, a leer evident in his voice.

  “Maybe your mom’s house. My parents’ basement has already been christened.” The tone in her voice was playful, but her words made an unfamiliar vibe clench his gut, a sensation a lot like jealousy.

  He knew enough of Pippa’s history to guess Mark had been the man with her in the basement. He continued to stroke his fingers up and down her arm and silently processed the idea that he could be jealous of a dead man. It wasn’t the first time he’d been struck by the emotion since he’d met her. Hell, that day at the cemetery, when she’d been visiting Mark’s grave, jealousy had shimmered. When she’d turned the tables on him and showed him a strength of character he’d have never believed her capable of. His envy made him feel small and petty. Mark was gone. He and Pippa were the only people occupying this bed. There wasn’t room for anyone else.

  He tensed as he reminded himself that fun and temporary was all it could be. She might make room for him in her bed, but she shouldn’t make room in her life. Not when they both knew he’d disappear as soon as his mother’s health improved enough for her to live independently again.

  But that could be months away, and he was determined they’d enjoy each other in the meantime.

  Pippa touched his chin, pulling his face around to hers, and pressed her lips to his.

  “Now who’s thinking too much?” she asked as she rose up to straddle him. “I couldn’t help noticing you tossed several condoms on the table. What do you say we take advantage of that?”

  Thoughts of jealousy, leaving, and her parents’ basement fled his mind as he gave into what he did best, just wanting.

  16

  Her mood was so exceptional, not even the dreaded walk through the doors at Woodward State Juvenile Hospital had dampened her spirits. With each step, a sensuous cloud surrounded her. This morning’s exhaustion was the good kind, the fuzzy, soft piano concerto type. The sun played a flirtatious game of hide and seek with colorful leaves on her drive to work, echoing the way she’d been last night with Clay. Once she’d gotten past her nervousness.

  He hadn’t left until nearly three and most of the talking had been the kind done with hands. She smiled at the thought that his hands could be considered masters of communication. As she waited for her next client, she shifted in her chair, awakening the tingling she’d managed to ignore during her previous appointment.

  She stifled a yawn as she made a note in the file of the seventeen-year-old boy who loved to play with fire. His personal playlist varied from iconic Burning Down The House by the Talking Heads to Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire. The task of steering him toward less destructive song choices when they’d begun working together had been challenging. But today, for the first time in four months, they’d had a bit of a breakthrough. The youth had picked up a pair of drumsticks on his own, tapped along with the beat and managed a lopsided grin and grudging thank you when they’d finished for the day.

  If only her next client could be as easy.

  Daniel Robards seemed to be programmed to argue with everyone. She’d sat in on meetings with the social worker whose only goal was to return the boy to his mother’s custody. Watching Daniel derail the process, insisting he wouldn’t live with the woman, being overly aggressive and completely unresponsive by turns had tainted her already negative opinion. She struggled at each meeting to find some redeeming characteristic. Daniel’s past behavior, aggressive bullying, and hate inspired crimes were horrible. But his always smug expression, like he had a secret that would shock the rest of the world, put her off more.

  The door to the therapy room clanged open, startling her out of her relaxed posture. Daniel stood in the doorway leering at her while his security escort clamped a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder, restraining him from stepping into the room. She froze in place when she saw the look on his face. Cold and flat, thin lips drawn over snaggly, yellowish teeth in a sneer. The look was oddly reminiscent of someone else she knew and probably didn’t hold in high regard. Images of people flew through her head and she discarded them, not finding a match. Her scalp tingled and crawled as unease settled like a blanket of snow, damp and chilly.

  “Are you ready for this one, Ms. Sanders?” the guard asked, holding Daniel at the door.

  She sighed mentally, schooling her face into what she considered her professional look. “Sure, Joe. Daniel, come in and take a seat.”

  “Whatever you say, bitch. You’re the boss.” His smirk disappeared, replaced with a pained look when the guard’s fingers dug harshly into his shoulder.

  “Mind your manners, kid. I’ll write you up so fast, you won’t know what happened. You don’t have many privileges left to lose. Capisce?”

  Daniel stared at the large man hovering over his shoulder before turning angry eyes her direction. “I’ll be cool.”

  “I didn’t hear an apology to Ms. Sanders.”

  “Sorry.” The snarky tone implied nothing of the sort.

  Daniel stumbled when Joe shoved him into the room and escorted him to the table. He pushed the boy’s lean, lanky body into the chair opposite her, his back to the barred windows lining one wall. The big man moved to the doorway, eased the door shut and stood next to it. Although Pippa recognized that having Joe at her sessions might be counterproductive, she was grateful to have him present.

  Suppressing a shudder, she greeted the teen with the easiest smile she could manage. “Good morning, Daniel. How are you today?”

  “I’m still in prison. How the he—heck do you think I am?”

  She blew out a breath, having hoped for a better response but expected nothing less. At least he’d edited out the cuss word. “I realize this isn’t easy, but you know you can make a difference in your situation. Have you thought about that?”

  “Sure, I’ve thought about it. I’ve done nothing but think about getting out of here. But the sorry-assed judge who condemned me to two years here put too many conditions on my release.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “My dad has other plans for me though, despite what the judge says.”

  Joe cleared his throat loudly and Daniel shot him a wary look before slouching back in his chair.

  “Daniel, you know when you say things like that I have to report it,” she said, regret tingeing her tone. Good Lord, would she ever get through to this kid? Someone, somewhere, loved this boy. Where it had gone wrong?

  “Whatever. Can we get started with our session? There’s a crack in the ceiling in my room I want to get back to watching, since they won’t let me watch TV.”

  She searched his face for any hint the restrictions bothered him, but saw nothing beyond flat acceptance in his eyes. Not knowing where she’d seen that same look recently really bothered her. Shrugging off the chill running through her, she pulled his file from her brief case and laid it flat on the table, debating her options. If she could replace his resigned look with one of happiness, even if temporarily, it was worth trying. So she’d decided to try a different tactic on him today. Flipping open the file, she pulled out a piece of sheet music.

  “I know you haven’t been happy about learning folk tunes. So I went over the list you created during our initial assessment. Do you remember?” At his curt nod, she flipped the score around so he could see the title. “You’ve shown an aptitude for the guitar and I thought you might enjoy learning to play this song.”

  His eyes widened in disbelief. “No way! A Green Day song?”

  Finally, a spark of interest. One he swiftly hid behind his usual sullen expression. During their initial assessment, she’d noted her client acted as if this particular musical group had hung the moon, which was why she picked this song. Daniel had indicated his father had taken him to one of the group’s concerts several years ago.

  A smile played across her lips as she handed him the guitar and scooted her chair nearer his to help with the fingering. Joe took a step toward them but she waved him back, confident Daniel’s excitement over playing music he
liked would trump any bad behavior.

  “Do you remember what all the notations mean?”

  Daniel straightened in his chair and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the instrument. Nodding, he set it on his knee and hunched over it. He studied the music sheet, then pressed his fingers on the frets and strummed. When Pippa reached out to help him make a small adjustment, his smirk fell away, replaced by concentration. He tried again, his head angled, listening to the tones he made.

  Pippa leaned back and watched his fingers move, making a difference with each stroke until he played the chord as it was written. Looking at him, she was amazed to see the first genuine smile she’d ever found on his face. It reached his eyes, turning the wintry brown a soft shade of chestnut. He eagerly tried the next chord, then the next.

  By the end of their allotted time, Daniel had mastered the first three staffs of the piece. He played it through and softly sang the words as his fingers moved haltingly over the strings, a crooked smile on his lips.

  The guard stepped over to the table. “Sorry, Ms. Sanders. The kid’s got another appointment with the art therapist.”

  A heavy, dark blanket dropped over Daniel’s face at Joe’s announcement. The happy, animated look that had warmed the boy’s expression was wiped away, leaving only blankness in its place. The loss of emotion pricked her heart, a small joy extinguished with only a few words.

  “Good session today, Daniel. Did you enjoy it?” she asked, hoping to revive some of the spirit she’d seen earlier.

  “It was okay,” he responded flatly.

  She could see him hiding his true feelings behind the bitter mask he wore protectively. “Would you like it if I leave you the music, and talk to your case worker about getting you some extra time to practice?”

  “Whatever.”