Double Exposition (Songs and Sonatas Book 1)

by Jerica MacMillan

  “Now, in porn, they pretty much always come on the girl’s face. Some guys like that, though I think it’s more because they’ve seen it so much in porn that they think it’s normal. Most guys find it really hot if you swallow, but that’s a personal choice. You can always spit it out if you want.”

  I bite my lip, taking that in. I didn’t even think about that. She’d started off talking about it like it was foreplay. “You mean, he won’t want to just come … in me?”

  She tilts her head to the side. “Guys are different. But at some point you may want to give him a BJ until he comes, not just as a prelude to intercourse.”

  “Why would I want to do that? I mean, if he …”

  A devilish gleam comes to Lauren’s eye. “What about you? Is that what you’re asking?”

  Blushing again, I nod.

  She taps a finger against her lips. “Well, I mean, I don’t know Jonathan, except by reputation. And everyone has their own kinks. But you might want to do something just for him at some point. Or if you forget a condom. Or the condom is ripped. Then you can sixty-nine or take turns on each other. There are lots of reasons. You might find that you enjoy it. It can be incredibly hot to focus on your partner’s pleasure. It sounds like he cares about your pleasure, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much.” She gives me a wink and closes the laptop. “Now, I need to go over the stuff for sight singing tomorrow. What about you?”

  I nod, dazed by the quick subject change, but manage to get my book out of my backpack. We spend about a half hour singing through our assigned melodic and rhythmic exercises for class the next day.

  When I climb into bed that night, my head is still spinning with all the events of the day. I’ve gone from giving what is probably the worst performance of my life to having great sex with my hot boyfriend and getting a lesson in oral sex from my roommate. The sudden changes lately are enough to give me whiplash and leave me wondering what will happen next. I guess I’ll just have to wait and find out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jonathan

  Gabby comes bounding out of the performing arts building, a big smile on her face. I brace myself for her greeting, and catch her up in my arms when she throws herself at me, kissing her thoroughly.

  “I missed you.” Her words and her smile make my breath catch. What did I do to get a girl as amazing as her?

  I let her slide down till her feet hit the pavement and return her smile. “I missed you too.” Sappy as it sounds, it’s true. Even though we talked on the phone this morning, texted between classes, and I saw her last night. I miss her when she’s not around. She’s quickly become the most important person in my life. The last person I want to talk to at night, and the first one I want to see in the morning. I hate that she insists on staying in the dorms during the week, but I don’t blame her. If I had to be in class at eight a.m., I’d want to be as close as possible too.

  We’ve fallen into an easy routine where we have dinner together in the evenings. Five o’clock to eleven is our time together during the week. Eleven is when she says she has to be back at the dorm so she can catch up with her friend and roommate and get enough sleep before class the next day. She tries to get her homework and practicing in as much as she can before I come get her, but on Tuesdays and Thursdays it’s impossible, so she practices when she’s with me. I don’t mind, because I get to hear her play, and I doubt I would as much otherwise.

  She climbs into the passenger side after stowing her violin case in the back seat, and we head back to my house. I glance at her as I navigate away from campus. “How was rehearsal?”

  She turns and gives me a wide grin. “Really good, actually. The overture from Aida is coming together. It’s so beautiful. And I’m enjoying the Mozart symphony we’re playing more than I usually would as a second violin. The firsts always get the good melodies, but after working on the concerto, I have a new appreciation for his lyrical style and, even though I don’t get much of the melody, it’s so pretty to listen to. You’re going to come to our concert right?”

  “Of course,” I answer automatically. “When is it?”

  She chuckles. “You don’t need to check your schedule?”

  “For you? No. I’ll cancel any conflicts. I love listening to you play.”

  Her smile dims, and she ducks her head so I can’t see her face anymore. “Yeah.”

  “Hey.”

  She keeps her focus straight ahead. “Yeah?”

  “Gabby, look at me.” We’re at a red light, about four cars back, so I have time to make eye contact while I tell her, “Your playing is beautiful. You need to learn to take a compliment.”

  Her nostrils flare as she sucks in a breath. “I can take a compliment.”

  I give a quick shake of my head. “No. You can’t. Not about this.”

  Her eyes drop, and I have to let that go, because traffic is moving again.

  “Why is that?”

  “Why is what?”

  I give her a look out of the corner of my eye. “Why is it that you can’t take a compliment about your playing?”

  She gives a little shake of her head and looks down. “I just know that I’m not that great. I struggle with intonation. You’ve heard me go over stuff again and again and again. I still don’t know how you can stand to hear me practice. It’s horrible.”

  “It’s not horrible.”

  Now she gives me a look.

  I can’t help chuckling. “You don’t believe me?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll admit that your intonation exercises aren’t the most fun thing to listen to.”

  “Ha! I knew it.” She gives me a look of triumphant superiority.

  I grin and shake my head. “But when you play—really play—it’s gorgeous. You transform into someone—something else. Like you’re not really there anymore. It’s almost like you have this glow around you, a light, when you’re playing. Just letting the music flow. It doesn’t matter if your intonation isn’t absolute perfection. You feel it. And you transfer those feelings to your listener. That’s why your playing is beautiful.” As I finish my little tirade, I park the car in front of my house.

  She’s staring at me, her lips parted, but not saying anything. I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn so I’m fully facing her. “When I say that your playing is beautiful, that’s what I mean. Your playing is beautiful. You are beautiful when you play. And you make beautiful things out of little black squiggles on a page that most people can’t even make sense of. That’s amazing. You’re amazing, and you need to start believing that.”

  Her eyes go back and forth between mine, searching for something—sincerity, maybe? Or something to indicate that I’m not being one hundred percent truthful. But she won’t find it. Because I’m dead serious.

  Finally she drops her gaze, her chin tucking down so I can’t see her face again, but she pushes her hair behind her ear. “Um. Thank you. I—“ She looks up, out the window, then back at me. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  I give her a small smile. “That’s all you need to say. When someone gives you a compliment, just say thank you. Any justification of why they shouldn’t be paying you a compliment is a slap in the face. You’re basically saying they have no taste.”

  “What? That’s not—“

  I slide my hand to her knee and give a squeeze, cutting her off. “I know that’s not what you’re trying to do, but that’s how it comes across. If someone enjoys your playing, that’s their experience, and they’re giving you a gift by paying you a compliment. When you tell them all the reasons why they shouldn’t have enjoyed their experience, you’re throwing their gift in their face. It’s not very nice, Gabby.”

  She looks at me, taking in the smile still on my face, and the slight teasing note I gave the last sentence, and she nods. “Okay. I’m sorry—“

  I cut her off again. “You don’t need to apologize to me. I get it. And I have a big ego and happen to think I have excellent taste, so I’m not up
set for my own sake that you haven’t been able to let me compliment your playing. But I find it upsetting that your sense of self-worth is so low that you can’t take a compliment.”

  Squeezing her knee one more time, I lean in and brush a kiss over her lips. Her response is delayed, but she seems to be in shock. When I get out of the car, she comes to life again, climbing out too and getting her violin from the back.

  When we get inside, she sets her things down but stops just inside the closed front door. I pause on the way to the kitchen and look at her. She swallows, squaring her shoulders the way she does when she’s gathering her courage, and looks me in the eye. “I get told what I do wrong pretty much every day. Every day, I practice, and I try to pick out the imperfections so I can correct them, repeating a measure again and again until I can play it correctly every time.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’ve heard you do that. You’ve told me about your teacher’s methods before.”

  “Yeah. But no one, at least no one who always tells me my flaws and weaknesses, tells me when I do things right. Not very often. Clara’s better than my teacher in high school. She would yell that my playing was ugly to get me to stop and try again. Clara at least gives me concrete tools to fix my mistakes. But no one has ever—ever—described my playing the way you just did.” She points a finger over her shoulder. “That—in the car—that’s really what you see, what you hear when I play?”

  “It really is. I’d never lie to you about something like that.”

  She nods, looking thoughtful, her eyes focused on some spot on the floor in front of me. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  Raising her eyes to me again, her lips twist in a crooked smile. “Okay. If that’s what you think, then I’ll believe you.”

  “Good.” I close the distance between us in a few steps and pull her into my arms. This time when I kiss her, she responds immediately, opening for me, wrapping her arms around my neck, and holding me close, pressing her body against mine.

  Nipping at her lip, I pull back. “I thought we were going to have dinner first.”

  With a cheeky grin and a shrug, she says, “I thought dessert first was our usual thing.”

  Laughing, I hitch her up so her legs are around my waist and carry her into my bedroom. Instead of tossing her on my bed like I thought about doing at first, I turn and sit down, laying back with her on top of me. She lowers her mouth to mine, and I let her set the tempo and pace of our kiss, my hands running and tangling through her hair. Most of the time when she comes over, she wears it down. A few times she’s had it in a ponytail, or worse, a bun of some kind. It never lasts long. If she doesn’t beat me to it, I free her hair at the first chance so I can feel it flow through my fingers.

  When she starts grinding down on me, my hands go to her hips, holding her still so I can thrust up against her. Without any prompting from me, she sits up and yanks her shirt over her head. I let out a growl of approval. Always before, I’ve started the undressing, either by lifting her shirt or taking off my own first. This is the first time she’s initiated getting naked, and I like it. I like that she’s getting comfortable enough with me, with us, to do that.

  Her bra comes off next, and then she starts yanking at my shirt, working it out from under where her thighs have trapped it against me, pushing it up to my armpits. I sit up enough to reach behind my head and yank it off, getting momentarily tangled in the fabric, but managing to get my arms out at last.

  Gabby’s laughing when I toss the shirt to the side, harder than necessary. I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you laughing at me?”

  She bites her lip, stifling her laughter, and shakes her head. “Never. Who could laugh at Jonny B when he pulls a move like that?” My fingers dig into her sides, and she arches and shrieks as I tickle her.

  Crawling off me, she tries to get away, but I wrap my arms around her, pinning her to the bed and tickling her until she’s breathless, slapping weakly at my shoulders, saying, “Stop, stop. Please stop.”

  I finally quit tickling her, loving the sight of her in my bed, her hair spread all around her, her face flushed and eyes bright with laughter, the remnant of a smile still on her lips. Studying her face, I commit this moment to memory, because these are the things I want to remember most about her when I finally have to go. Because as much as I like to pretend otherwise, this relationship can’t possibly last. Even though she’s embedded herself in my daily routine so firmly already that the thought of that ending causes physical pain.

  She must notice a change in my expression, because her face grows serious. “What? Is something wrong?”

  Forcing a smile, I shake my head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” When I kiss her, though, my heart lurches. Because I’m already falling in love with this girl. I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I know she’s younger than me, and I know all the reasons that I shouldn’t. That I should’ve stayed away from her like I decided to that first night. But I don’t regret breaking that promise to myself. Because whatever happens with us, I’ll never regret these months we have together, no matter how fleeting.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gabby

  After two orgasms for me, one with his mouth and one on his cock, and one for him that seemed as good as my two put together, I lay sated and boneless in Jonathan’s bed, my arms wrapped around him as he lays with his upper body draped across mine. He mumbles something into my skin.

  “What was that?”

  He lifts his head, his face solemn as he looks at me, like he’s not sure how I’ll react to what he has to say. “I said, I don’t want to take you home tonight.”

  I suck in a breath, letting it out slowly. “What time is it?”

  Reaching for his phone on the bedside table, he checks the time. “Not quite six. Why?”

  I quirk an eyebrow at him. “We still have like five hours together, and you’re whining about me going home already?”

  He props himself on an elbow. “Yeah. You’ll practice for at least an hour of that time, maybe more if you’re really in the zone, we’ll both do some homework for another hour, maybe two, plus dinner. That only leaves one more hour of time just for you and me.”

  “And then Ben’ll come home at some point,” I finish for him.

  His hand trails down my torso between my breasts and over my belly, and he watches its progress. “Actually, Ben’s staying with Beth tonight.”

  “Again?” My brows lift in surprise. “That’s like the third time this week, isn’t it?”

  He nods and looks up at my face again. “I have a feeling my roommate won’t be my roommate for much longer.”

  “Really? What are you going to do?”

  His eyes twinkle with mischief, and he bites his lip, but he shakes his head, looking back down at his hand stroking over my skin. “Nothing. Having a roommate is nice, but I can cover the rent on my own if I need to. But Beth is from a conservative family, so unless they’re going to elope over Christmas break, I don’t think he’ll be moving out without a ring on his finger as well as hers.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Jonathan’s hand strays from its path to toy with one of my nipples. This time when he looks me in the eye, his are serious, all trace of mischief gone. “Since Ben won’t be here tonight, would you stay? I promise I’ll have you to class on time tomorrow.”

  I open my mouth, but before I can answer, Jonathan’s tongue is tracing over my other nipple, and he speaks against my skin. “Just think about how much more time we’d have for this if you stay. We can get everything done, and still have fun, no ticking clock hanging over our heads to ruin the mood.”

  He sucks deep, and my back arches, my eyes closing at the sensations his hot mouth evokes. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and he’s using all his powers of persuasion to get me to say yes. Even though I like being on campus in the morning to make it easier to get to my eight o’clocks, the promises he makes with his tongue and fingers are too enticing to turn him down.

  �
��Okay,” I gasp as he sinks two fingers inside me.

  He lifts his head. “Okay?”

  Nodding, I grin. He smiles back, and then sits up, taking his fingers with him. “Great,” he says. “Ready for dinner?”

  My mouth drops open, and my eyes go wide. “What?”

  But before I can sit up, indignant that he’d play me like that, he lets out a low chuckle, and his hand glides back up my leg. “I’m kidding, Gabby. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “You better not. And to think, I was going to practice my blow job skills on you again tonight.”

  His nostrils flare, and his eyes flash with desire. “Oh yeah? You wanna do that now?” He crawls closer to me on his knees, his dick sticking straight out, ready to go for round two.

  “Hmm.” I trail my index finger over my lips, flicking the tip with my tongue, and he groans. But I say, “No, I don’t think so. Not right now. You owe me for that little stunt.”

  “Oh, yeah? And how do you suggest I repay you?”

  My wet finger trails down my torso as I spread my legs. “I think you should practice your oral skills first. Finish what you started, and I’ll think about returning the favor.”

  “You’ll think about it, will you?” He settles between my thighs, still sitting up, his fingers brushing along my thighs, up and down, never getting to where I’m dying to have him touch me.

  My breath hitches as one finger brushes across my clit. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”

  That finger slides inside me, twisting around and curling up, hitting the right spot on the first try. My hips lift and press against his hand, silently begging for more. “I’d be more convinced if that were a promise.”

  “I promise,” I manage to get out as a second finger joins the first, rubbing and tapping. Then his mouth is there, his tongue warm and soft against me, and he lets out a little hum as he circles my clit.