“Luke.” I whisper the name.
Asher’s eyes pop open not understanding why I am whispering another man’s name. I mentioned my brother vaguely yesterday but not his name. Just the casual mention of having a brother.
My heart is beating a million miles a minute. My lip trembles slightly. I try to keep it together. “Luke. I had a brother named Luke. Today is his birthday. At least, today would have been his birthday.”
Understanding crosses Asher’s face. His posture straightens as he leans forward and takes my face in his hands. “Emma, you don’t have to—”
“He was impulsive like you. Always down to go to the next party or jump off a cliff or drive across country with his friends just because he had a free week from school. Luke was really smart too. He wanted to be an architect. I like to think he would have made a great one.”
I take a deep, cleansing breath and continue. “Last winter, Luke was home for the holidays. Just after the New Year, my boyfriend, Parker, broke up with me. Luke was pissed. He said he never liked the douchebag anyway. His cure for a broken heart was to go out. So I let him take me.”
My eyes flutter closed at the memory. “I had ten too many shots of Fireball. Luke didn’t drink. When it was time to leave, I didn’t want to go home so we went for a drive.”
Images of snow covered roads and the inside of Luke’s car as he blared Kings of Leon from his radio flash in my mind. I didn’t comprehend how fast we were going and I certainly didn’t do anything to make him stop. I’ll never forget the look of his face as he tried to regain control of the car. Clawing, grabbing, desperate for control. He was frightened.
“When I woke up in a hospital room the next day, they told me my brother died at the scene. Said it was a miracle I was alive. I had major injuries but most healed. My hand, unfortunately, was crushed. The next day the doctors told me it would never work again. They said I was lucky they were able to salvage it at all. I told them they might as well have severed it.”
Asher’s thumbs rub the spot just under my eyes, catching the tears that are falling. I lift my gaze to his and see they are slightly red-rimmed as well.
I look into his eyes and say the thing that has been driving a knife through my heart for six months. “I killed my brother. If I hadn’t asked him to go for a drive he would be alive. Don’t you see I’m broken? I’m not perfect.”
Asher’s mouth finds my forehead and gives me a gentle kiss before pulling me into his chest. I like the way my body fits against his but I can’t go daydreaming about what could be. I am damaged and he can’t fix me.
“You are, by far, the most amazing person I have ever known,” he says into my hair.
I lean back and blink at him. Hasn’t he heard a word I said?
“How can you say that?”
Asher pushes my shoulders back and leans down slightly, putting me face-to-face with him. “Emma, in three days you had your heart broken, lost your brother, and your ability to play music. And you’re still here to tell the tale. I don’t know many people who would make it through a month, let alone six.”
He is giving me far too much credit. He doesn’t know what my family had to endure all this time. The doctors, the meds, the anxiety and worry over what I might do. The truth is, I barely made it through.
I look down at my hand and see that awful scar that takes up half my hand. “I hate this stupid scar. Not for how it looks. I hate how it reminds me of everything I lost. Everything I’ll never get back.”
Asher takes my hand and raises it to his lips, placing delicate kisses along every inch of the scar. My body pulsates at the feeling of his mouth on my most vulnerable piece of flesh.
“I want to try something with you but I need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Emma?” he asks and I look back at him, unsure of the truthful answer. I’ve already told him my darkest secret. Why not go further into the rabbit hole with him?
I nod my head yes. Numb to the fact I just bared my soul and he still wants to spend time with me.
I seem to have a problem saying no to Asher Gutierrez.
We arrive at the yacht; Asher pulls up to the dock on the starboard side. We get off and Mateo hops on to park the speedboat. Asher grabs my hand and leads me past the pool area and through the sliding glass doors I entered days ago. I follow him through the living area, past the bar and up the stairs. I get nervous as we round the corner to what I believe to be Devon’s private areas. The staterooms and the office are back here. I know Asher is impulsive but I hope he doesn’t do anything to get himself in trouble.
Or me for that matter. I’d hate to piss off the man who went through so much trouble to help me and my sister.
I follow his pull down the hall to the door at the far end. I know this door very well and my heart starts racing when Asher opens it.
The grand two-story music room is just as impressive as it was the first time I saw it. The piano still sits to the side looking all polished and pristine. I hope Asher doesn’t expect me to play again because I don’t think I’d be able to after his appraisal of my performance last time.
Asher closes the door behind us and flicks on the light switch, setting them to dim. The sun is hidden from our view out the window. On the horizon, dusk awaits.
I turn toward Asher. “We shouldn’t be in here. This area is private. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
Asher grins and places his fingers in my hair, pushing the ashy strands behind my ear. “No one is here. It’s just you and me.”
“No Devon?” My voice is shaky, like learning my boyfriend’s parents are out of town for the weekend. No supervision. No rules.
“No Devon. We’re free in here. It’s our sacred space.” Warm lips brush my cheek as he grabs my hand and whirls me around toward the cello. “I want to play with you. Together.” He walks around a seat and stands just behind it. “I know that wound on your hand runs deeper than the superficial scar.”
I stop just next to the cello and really think about that. I’ve been on one date and countless boats with the man. I think it’s clear I trust him in the physical sense. In the emotional sense, I don’t trust myself.
“Asher, I don’t think I can—”
“Shh.” He guides my body down onto the chair and slides another stool behind mine, so close the two are touching. He presses his body behind mine, his legs straddling my hips. “Close your eyes.”
I want to explain to him the cello and the violin are different instruments. I want to explain they’re the same instrument. I want to explain my injury prevents me from playing any bow and I want to tell him to stop whatever he is about to try.
But I can’t.
Because his entire body is wrapped around me and all I can do is feel his heat.
I close my eyes and breathe in. His scent of sea and soap eradicate my senses and the velvet skin of his forearms along with his strong thighs outside my own feel like a warm blanket on a blistery cold night.
Asher glides his right hand underneath mine and lifts it in the air, palm to knuckles. “Hold onto me just like this,” his voice whispers in my ear.
I nod and then jump a little with the feel of the weight of the cello resting against my kneecaps. “Open your legs.”
I do so and allow him to place the cello in between my thighs, resting on my left knee. He spreads his even wider to accommodate the heavy instrument in between us.
He lifts my left hand and places it on the strings of the cello. My fingers instinctively find a chord even though the strings are placed further apart than I’m used to. With my hands in place, Asher weaves his free left arm around my waist and pulls me in tight.
“Are you ready?” He rests his head beside my neck. His lips warm on my skin. I know he can feel my quiver at the feel of him. All my attention is focused on him and not the instrument in front of me.
“Ready for what?” I say with a swallow.
I feel his mouth turn up against my neck. “To feel.”
With his wo
rds, Asher raises his right hand, which mine is laying on top of, and grabs hold of the bow. My hand gently forms around his in response. His elbow up in the air, his palm poised for performance, Asher dips the bow across the strings eliciting a glorious sound. He guides our hands back and dips back across the strings again, creating more familiar sounds.
His hand is gripped around the bow, taking the control I cannot obtain without screaming in pain. With my hand wrapped around his massive one I am able to imitate the feeling of playing.
Tension in my spine stiffens. It feels unnatural to be playing in this position. My elbow props up on his with each glide and I pretend not to notice when his forearm casually brushes against my breast with each stroke.
Instead of focusing on the unnatural, I keep my eyes closed and try to feel the movements. My fingers shift chords and his hand dips to let the bow strike the strings in a new direction. I allow my head to fall back against his shoulder and breathe in the sounds we are creating and suddenly my arm doesn’t feel like following anymore.
With a tightened grip on his, my hand glides free and takes control of the movements, this time telling his where to go. I weave and thread the bow across the strings, my movements faster and with more purpose.
My back leans forwards and I grab the neck of the instrument and play chords up and down, pulling the massive wood with me to create a musical force I haven’t felt in months.
The sounds keep playing and the song is magnificent. It’s not one I know, but something that is pouring through me. With every pump of his muscles against my body I play harder and with every feel of his breath against my very tender skin, I play louder. Faster and with more control than I’ve felt in a long time, I play that instrument until the sound is so vibrating throughout the space I’m afraid I’ll shatter the windows.
I open my eyes and take in the site of the ocean in front of us. I play to the crash. I play to the white tops. I play to the rumbling of the waters beneath us.
Even before the accident, my heart and soul have never felt so liberated. You can’t truly learn of the bliss and joy of something until its been taken away from you.
In this moment I am feeling exhilaration.
In this moment I am feeling rapture.
In this moment I am . . . Feeling.
Asher chances releasing me and grabs hold of the cello and plays a few chords with me. Together we play the instrument. Our bodies mold together as one. If anyone were to walk in on us, they would think we are performing some sort of impressionist dance. A modern movement of lust and love and passion. That is what this song is instilling in us.
Passion.
Our breathing is tense and erratic. His heart is beating against my back, striking it like a ten-pound percussion. Our bodies are entwined so deeply with each other I feel like we are one.
When Asher puts his hand back around my waist he slows his hand control under mine and brings us to a slower tempo. We play this way until our bodies are calmed and we’re aware of how sweaty our palms are.
Our movements sashay and sway together in a dance of lovers and together we bring the song to a close.
When the humming has stopped, Asher leans over, placing the cello back in its stand and rests the bow next to it. I release my hand from his and rest the other on his knee.
I close my eyes and lean my head on his shoulder and breathe out the greatest breath of a lifetime.
“Thank you.”
His broad chest against my back is rising and falling in tantric rhythm to my own heavily beating heart. My own movements are steady, yet as intense as his. That’s why my skin hums with electricity as his hand comes circling around my waist and his palm lands on the inside of my thigh.
“I’ve never felt someone playing before. You ignite with a fervor and rage and ardor and devotion. I am infatuated.”
Warm, heated breaths play on the soft skin of my throat and I constrict when his warm mouth crosses the nape so gently it feels like a breeze tickling my skin. His tongue darts out and licks the sensitive skin sending shivers down my body and into the very core.
I curve my back into him and let the warmth envelope me. Leaning my neck further to the side, I offer him more of me, asking to be taken.
And he does. French kisses dance up and down my neck, making my body feel alive—and I didn’t even know I was dead.
“Emma.” My name off his lips is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. I know he’s asking if I’m okay with where his hand is. Asher is a man who takes what he wants. And my heart beats a thousand strums for the fact he wants to know if I’m okay with what his intentions are.
I don’t know what I’m okay with. I know I’m scared. I know I’m turned on. I know I don’t want to cry and I know I want to feel alive.
So in quite the most impulsive moment of my life, I place my hand over Asher’s hand and move it further up my legs so it’s resting under the white shorts.
As his palm presses deeper into my thigh, his fingers caress the flesh and make their way up and down, playing me like chords of an instrument.
And I so want to be played.
I want to be the music.
I turn my head toward him and connect with golden eyes, so intense and full of passion. I take his mouth into mine and kiss him so intensely I think I might combust.
Two hands are now on my thighs, working them up and down until I am in a frenzy. My breasts push through my bra and my skin feels as hot and brightly colored as the tank top they’re trying to be free of.
I let out a gasp when one of Asher’s very delicate fingers slip further inside my shorts and brushes along the outside of my thong.
“You are so sensitive,” he says, his mouth in a smile I can feel against my skin.
I am throbbing and need to be touched. Even in this lustful haze I can understand how insane it is that I want him so much. I am not an overtly sexual person. Parker and I were in a loving relationship but I never craved him. Not like this. This is primal.
At this moment I can only think of how alive I feel.
In this room.
With this man.
Asher’s fingers work me over my panties, drawing dangerous circles sending me into a crescendo of pleasure. He kisses my shoulder and continues to rub me. When my body is on the brink of an orgasm I swing my head back around and kiss him, feeling his tongue in my mouth as my body falls apart, collapsing into him with an orgasm so intense I could stop breathing.
My head falls to his chest, reveling in the best sexual experience of my life and his fingers didn’t even touch my skin. If he can do this to me with our clothes on, I can’t imagine what can be done with them off.
I don’t know Asher very well, but I want to get to know him further. He is so easy to talk to. He doesn’t push me like everyone else, yet he makes me want to tell him things.
Most importantly, he gave me the greatest gift anyone could ever give. He made me feel music again.
I slowly rise from my seat and do something so bold and daring, so unlike me, yet so absolutely right for this very moment.
I strip.
My fingers deftly work the button of my shorts, allowing to slowly fall off my hips and down my legs, getting turned on as Asher’s eyes turn black with lust. A smile crosses my lips as I watch his gaze travel down my legs and back up in complete appreciation for what I am doing.
I cross my hand across my body and lift my shirt over my head, leaving me in nothing but my lace bra and matching thong.
Asher’s breath hitches. His teeth bite down on his lower lip and skim the plum of his mouth.
Remember how I said I didn’t find lip-biting sexy?
Turns out, I lied.
“Baby, I like where this is going but I need you to know this is not why I brought you here.” His words are sincere but his tone and the incredible bulge in his pants lets me know he wants me to keep going.
“Just call me impulsive,” I say and I’m rewarded with a crooked smile that turns smolde
ring when I hook my thumbs under my panties and lower them until they hit the floor. When my bra comes off, I swear the room gets ten degrees hotter.
So, here I am, stark naked in the music room, standing in front of the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life who happens to be sitting in front of a massive window overlooking the Mediterranean. In my wildest dreams I never would have envisioned this moment taking place.
But I’m here.
And I’m nervous.
Nervous because he is not saying anything. He is staring at me. His eyes let me know he likes what he sees but his lack of expression right now is making me want to shut down and run from the room.
I have one orgasmic musical experience and suddenly I think I’m a porn star. What is wrong with me? How could I think—
“You’re perfect.”
His words catch me so off guard, I have to think for a second if I heard them right.
“Come here.” Asher says and puts his hand out in front of him.
I take a step forward and grab his hand. He closes his legs and places his hand on my hip, guiding me over him, until I am straddling him.
Our hips join and I can feel his need for me rubbing against me. I look down at the source of his arousal and have to take a moment to gather my wits.
“Emma, look at me.” Asher wraps his hands in my hair, guiding my face up so we are staring at each other. His thumbs caress my cheeks. There is something about his touch that makes me feel protected.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” I say.
Asher offers a kind smile. “I can tell.”
I shrug away from him but he pulls my head back. “Don’t be embarrassed. I like that you’re nervous. It makes you real.”
I can almost laugh. “A real lunatic.” I look at him and relax as his hands rub up and down my spine. “I’ve known you for moments—yet I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone else. Isn’t that crazy?”
Asher doesn’t match my expression. Instead, he looks on as serious as ever. “It’s insane.”
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