“I mean it. And that song was gorgeous. It was just everything. What’s it called?”
“Elle.”
“What? I want to know what the song is called.”
“No. The song is called Elle.”
“Like my name!”
“Like you.” He bites his lip. “I wrote it for you.”
“You wrote that?”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
I can’t believe it. The best song I’ve ever heard is mine. Pleasure seeps through me, radiating out of a smile I can’t stop from forming. “When did you write it?”
He takes my hand and looks away shyly. “A few days ago. It’s been so long since I saw you, and I got home late one night. The house seemed too big and empty, made me wish you were here with me. And I thought, ‘What would it be like if Elle was here?’ I found myself at the piano, and that song’s what came out.”
“God, it’s haunting.”
“I know.” His expression is serious as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “It’s how I feel when I think of you.”
My words are gone, way out of my reach beyond the enormity of this moment. Trapping his hand with mine, I press his palm to my face. To see yourself through someone else’s eyes can be the biggest curse, or the greatest gift. Dominic’s gift is the most precious thing I’ve ever felt.
Echoes of that linger in his eyes. Tightening my grip on his hand, I lead him to his bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Closing the door behind us, he traces my lips with his thumb, and leans down to kiss me, the rich taste of the red wine we drank lingering on his breath and mouth. Running my hands down his body, I tug at the bottom of his shirt. He reaches and pulls it over his head, and does the same to my top, and we find our way right back into each other’s arms, losing ourselves in the kiss even as we find each other in a close embrace.
We’re all silky movements; hands whispering across skin, arms sliding across backs, lips lightly melding to each other’s with slow exhalations. Tongues gently meet and brush together, freeing the softest gasps. It feels like it’s been forever.
I reach down and undo his pants, and he undoes mine, slipping them over my hips, down to the floor with a quiet crumpling sound as they land. His follow suit a couple seconds later. He pulls me close, I pull him closer. I hold him tight, he holds me tighter. We press against each other, mouths hungrily finding each other again, deeper this time. Pushing against him, he lets me walk him backwards until he’s sitting on the bed.
Breaking contact, I turn on the rock salt lamp and switch off the main light. Now is the time for softness, even in lighting.
“Move back,” I whisper. He does.
Climbing onto the bed, I straddle him, gently trailing my fingers up his arms. He sits up, wraps his arms around me, and kisses my neck. The soft strength of his hair greets my fingers as I slide them through, closing my eyes under the onslaught of pleasure beneath his mouth.
But passive pleasure is unbearable tonight.
Pulling away from him, I move down his body, and remove his boxer-briefs. Standing by the edge of the bed, I slip off my panties, unfasten my bra, and look down at him. His eyes travel the length of my body and return to my eyes.
“You’re perfect,” he breathes, and I don’t feel the need to cover up or hide from his gaze. In his eyes, I’m held so securely, I’m so beautiful I don’t feel shy. I feel free.
Climbing back on the bed, I trail hands up his thighs, take him in my hand as I stretch out above him, take his bottom lip gently between my teeth, and begin stroking my hand up and down his hard length. He moans, hips gently rocking with me, and his hands delicately claim my breasts. Sliding my tongue between his lips, I coax his tongue into my mouth and gently suck the tip.
His hands reach behind me, sliding down my back to grab and knead my ass, slipping forward, fingers brushing against the most intimate places of my body.
My body still hums from the music beneath my skin, and he lifts us up and lays me on my back. He stretches my hands up above my head, his fingers entwined with mine, gazes at me in a way that makes me feel more naked than I’ve ever felt.
Makes me feel more beautiful than I’ve ever felt. I’m completely safe with him.
It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and it’s completely perfect.
He bends and covers me with kisses, with feather-soft brushes of his fingertips. Every inch of my body is touched and known by him until I’m floating in a warm, undulating pleasure-filled haze.
The hands that made me drunk on his music have made me drunk on his touch. These hands that hold my heart, that I trust to keep me safe.
I don’t have to tell him I’m ready for him, that I want him now, need him now. He knows. He always knows.
He gets protection from the nightstand and turns back toward me. But even with the condom on, and obviously ready, he still kisses me unhurriedly, caressing my skin with his soft, skilful hands. Pulling him with me, I lie back, more than ready for him.
He wraps an arm around me and slides the other down my body, lightly stroking, pinning me to the spot because I can’t move through the want, the need.
He pushes inside me, achingly slow, the perfect sensation stealing the breath from our bodies. When he’s completely filled me, he doesn’t pull out; he pushes up a little harder, and I know why the French call it The Little Death, because I cling to him and die a little, forgetting everything except the exquisite torture of a pleasure so deep it verges on pain.
And then he drags out, plunges in again, and again, looks down and smiles, and I think I’d stay here with him forever if he’d have me. Pushing against his chest he stops, and lets me turn him over, and climb on top. I lean down, kissing him, brushing his hair back from his face, and then adjust the angle of my hips and push down on him.
New sensitive places are touched inside me as I rock back and forth, up and down, running my hands on his chest. Grabbing his hands, I lead them to my breasts. He massages them and sits up to take a nipple in his mouth. He rasps against the tip with his tongue, and then sucks once hard, driving a flash of heat through me and I gasp, and begin circling my hips as I move up and down on him.
He moans and wraps his arms tightly around me, pressing up into me as I push down, increasing the pressure, the strength of the thrusts. I’m so lost inside the delicious friction that I don’t realize we’re kissing until I cry out, breaking the kiss, shuddering in his arms as an orgasm slams through me.
He moves faster, harder, drawing out the ripples of heat coursing through me, and a moment later he grips me so tightly I can’t tell where he ends and I begin, and cries out, shaking inside me, forehead pressed against mine.
I’d be content to live on his lap like that, but after a bit, my hips start to hurt, so I shift my weight to get off. Dominic squeezes me, and I squeeze him back, affection surging through me. Kissing my neck, he lets me go.
“Bathroom,” I say.
“Me too.” He smiles and heads to the main bathroom while I use his. Washing my hands after, my eyes are bright in the mirror, skin flushed and glowing. What a perfect night. My body hums with contentedness, and peace. With the music Dominic made with the piano, and then the music we made with our bodies. Eager to get back to him, I don’t dawdle. Sheet firmly in place around me, I open the door.
He’s sitting on the bed in a pair of pyjama pants when I come out of the bathroom.
“Oh, I got you something.” He walks over to his dresser, pulls a dark green bag from it, and stands by the foot of the bed.
“What is it?” I move to him. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know, but it’s nothing. Open it. It’s practical.”
Reaching in, I swoon. It’s something satin.
“I love it!”
He laughs. “You haven’t even seen it yet. It might be hideous.”
“I don’t care, it feels amazing.” Tipping the bag upsi
de down, the most perfect shade of liquid-silver material slides out onto the bed. I grab a thin strap and hold up the top. “Pyjamas?”
“As adorable as you are in mine, I thought you might appreciate the fit of these better.”
The stretchy, satiny tank has no lace details to scratch my skin. The pants look loose fitting. They feel perfect.
“You’re just assaulting all my senses with awesomeness tonight, aren’t you?” I grin.
“I didn’t plan on it, but I guess so.”
I slip the bottoms on, and slide the top on, smoothing it down my stomach. They fit perfectly and swaddle me in silkiness.
I love them because they mean he’s concerned about my comfort, which makes me feel all warm and squishy inside. But more than that, they mean even when I wasn’t here, he was thinking about me. That’s why women like little gifts. They show we’re not out of sight out of mind. Dominic thinks about me even when I’m not here. These and the song he wrote for me show me he cares.
“They’re perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I love the idea of something I gave you being against your skin.”
It’s so thoughtful. There’s not even a tag to itch my neck.
“I had them remove the tag so it wouldn’t annoy you,” he says.
“This was a perfect night.” I hug him.
“Yes, it was.”
“Next time, I’m setting up the date, and you get to be the one in the dark.”
“Sounds good. Do I get any hints?”
“Nope.” I wriggle gleefully.
“I think I’ve created a monster.”
“You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”
“Then I’ll have to suffer the consequences.”
“Yes, you will.”
He turns me around and kisses the back of my neck, hands wandering lazily over the pyjamas. “This material really is delightfully silky, isn’t it?”
“Mmm.”
“And I can’t help but notice how quickly it’s taken on the heat of your body.” His hands move lower. “Especially here.”
I sag against him. “You’re a wicked man.”
“Sure I can’t get a hint about our date?”
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
“Challenge accepted.” He lifts me to the bed.
I will never tell him what I’ve got planned for our date.
But there’s no way I’m going to let him know that.
Chapter Twenty-Five
At ten to eight the phone rings. Mary-Margaret answers it and talks for a couple moments, hangs up then turns to me. “Field of Purses cancelled tonight.”
“No!” I exclaim with a giant smile, happy that that pretentious singing group aren’t coming. “So there’s no concert tonight? Wait, do we have to tell anyone they cancelled? Are angry people going to be showing up giving us crap because they already bought tickets?”
“No, they let everyone else know except for us until now. They cancelled because they only sold about twelve tickets. We don’t have to deal with any mad ticketholders, and we don’t have to stay late tonight!”
“That is fabulous!”
“I know. You’ve got to be tired. You must have moved half the library by yourself.”
“Well, shuffling the picture books over made more room. We needed the space. It was the shelf-reading that burned me out. I’m bug-eyed from reading all of those call numbers.”
“Yeah, you can only read them for so long before it just makes no sense. Better to do it in bursts,” she commiserates.
“But we’re free!” I throw my arms out.
“I don’t mind staying, but it’s an extra hour and a half, and my poor dog will probably be crossing his legs when I get home, he’ll have to pee so bad!”
I laugh at the idea of her border collie doing the pee dance.
We start shutting things down, and I’m happy I can just go home and relax. No concert to abuse my ears and lengthen my day by nearly two hours.
***
One missed call. From Jason. “Hey Sexy As, just wanted to give you a call. I miss your voice. I miss your everything. Call me, I’d love to see you sometime. I’ve been thinking about you.”
Delete. It’s his third message like this since I saw him at his party almost a month ago. Since I let him kiss me and kissed him back. I haven’t called him back, but I’ve returned a few texts. I’m not even sure what he wants from me. Friendship my ass, he definitely wants more than that, but he has to know it can’t be the same. Too much has happened for us to just be friends. He’s done too much to my heart for me to let this go.
It feels fucking fabulous to have him being the one calling me, wanting to hang out. For him to be the one chasing me, wondering where I am, what I’m doing. He’s the one wanting me. I’m not actively leading him on, but I’m not discouraging him as I probably should be. My ego needs it right now, but I still feel a tiny twinge of guilt.
I’d hoped for there to be a message from Dominic, a voicemail I could listen to so I could hear his voice again. It’s been thirteen days since that amazing date. All I want to do is spend time with him, but time is something he doesn’t have right now, which sucks. We’re going to have to figure out a way to record the song he wrote me. I’d listen to it every night if I could. He played it over the phone to me the other night, and it was just as beautiful, though the vibrations didn’t fill me up like they did when I was there by the piano. Phones are good, but they’re not the same.
The house is dark when I walk up the stairs. Weird. I thought Kennedy and Nick were going to be here tonight. They asked me when I’d be home so we could hang. Slipping the key in the lock, I open the door and kick off my shoes as quickly as I can.
That feeling of getting heels off after a long day is second only to taking the elastic out of a tight ponytail. Instant relief that’s almost painful. I walk around the corner, and flick on the living room light, blinking in the sudden brightness—and then cringe at the sight that greets me.
“Shit! Elle, you’re home early!” Kennedy’s voice is unnaturally high.
“Oh my god! Why are you naked?” Horror raises my voice an octave to match hers.
Nick springs off of Kennedy and grabs his shirt. Okay, so a longer glance shows they aren’t naked. But Kennedy’s only wearing shorts and a bra.
“Why were you? Um. Oh my god! Are you two together?” I can’t believe this.
Nick tugs his shirt on, and Kennedy finds hers.
“We, I—sort of?” Nick looks at Kennedy.
“Yes, we are,” Kennedy affirms. “We are.”
Nick’s smile could light up the block. “Took you long enough to admit it.”
“What do you mean by ‘long enough?’ How long has this been going on?”
Kennedy clears her throat. “We started um, getting closer, just before we moved here.”
“But,” Nick continues. “It was never anything official.”
“That was because of me.” Kennedy wrings her hands. “I wasn’t sure if we should pursue anything as roommates and friends.”
“But we couldn’t stay away from each other.” Nick sits beside her on the couch, taking her hand. “I know this might seem crazy, Ellie, but—”
“Actually,” I hold a hand up, “this explains a lot. I wondered why you two had been snipping at each other lately. And that whole night at the gallery you two were being assholes. But why didn’t you tell me?”
“Again, that was me,” Kennedy huffs. “I didn’t see the point of saying anything if we weren’t going to be anything other than friends with benefits. And I wasn’t sure it was possible to be together and not have the friendship implode.” I look at Nick. He looks a bit wary, like he’s been through a battle and finally got what he wanted, but still thinks it’s too good to be true.
“But I don’t care anymore,” Kennedy continues. “I love him, and it’s worth trying.”
“Awww you guys! I really like this. I hope it works out. Bu
t if either of you hurts the other, I’ll have to kill you. I love you both equally and don’t want to see anything bad happen.”
“We were going to tell you tonight.” Nick tears his gaze from Kennedy. “There was also something else we wanted to talk about.”
“You guys aren’t moving out and deserting me are you?” My heart stops beating.
“No! As if!” Kennedy dismisses that idea, and I can breathe again.
She takes a deep breath. “It’s just that we got talking about you the other day. When we realized you haven’t been smoking like you used to, we thought about it, and...”
“We realized how much you’d been smoking before that.” Nick says. “It was an insane amount. And we thought it might have been because you felt like we were pulling away from you.”
“We hadn’t noticed because we were focusing on each other, but we’re sorry, Elle, if you felt like an outsider because of us,” Kennedy finishes.
Their sad, earnest faces loosen the binds of my self-imposed burden. If ever there was a time to come clean, now would be it.
“Something has been up, but it wasn’t anything you guys did.” I pause, taking a few deep breaths, and crouch to sit cross-legged onto the floor. Sometimes letting someone into your pain is more painful than the event itself. But it’s time. “Mine and Jason’s breakup wasn’t mutual. He broke up with me.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell us?” Kennedy leans forward looking stunned.
“Yeah, that’s not the worst part. It wasn’t a simple break up. It wasn’t a break up at all. He told me he was going to work.”
Nick crosses his arms. “Yeah, I remember that.”
“And he said he’d call me a couple days later. Then he called, and said work was taking a little longer than he’d thought, so he’d be home in a few days.” I plunge ahead, ripping off the emotional bandage. “And then, he just didn’t call me anymore.”
“What?” Kennedy’s voice is breathy with disbelief.
“He didn’t call me anymore. I didn’t find out until I invited Skeeter to our housewarming party that Jason had actually moved away.”
Just Breathe Page 17
