by Kenya Wright
Thankfully, sanity had won over my horniness. I was close to pulling my jeans down, getting on the bed, and fucking her until she woke up. But I couldn’t. Her dreaming about fucking me wasn’t exactly an invitation for me to spread those legs open and slam my cock into her. Most men might’ve tried that bullshit, calling it dominance and sexual power.
My mom had drilled too many feminist values into my head as a kid. No matter how delicious and welcoming that body looked on my bed, I couldn’t just go after her without complete consent.
So, I’d lowered myself back on the chair and woke her up by saying her name. When she opened those eyes, desire didn’t swim between her eyelids. It was shock and embarrassment. I knew then that I had to give her a minute to calm herself down. She looked completely blown away as she covered herself with the blankets.
And then she spotted me holding my dick on the outside of my jeans.
It was neither one of our best moments. By then, we were both embarrassed. I knew the best path would be to give us both some alone time.
Damn it. But why do I keep thinking I should’ve just woken her up with my mouth between her legs? What the fuck? If a woman is dreaming about fucking you, can you politely lick her pussy until she wakes up?
It was one of those feminist questions I couldn’t ask my mother.
Everyone around me continued eating their dessert and conversing. I gave up on eating as I felt my cock swell under the table. After thinking about her having that wet dream, I wanted to sink my cock right inside of her.
Calm down.
I turned to Simone. “So, you’re Gullah, right? Do they celebrate holidays just like everyone else?”
She nodded. “Oh yes. Christmas is pretty much the same.”
“Do you speak differently?” I asked.
“Definitely,” she said. “The language can be very hard to understand although it’s a form of English. For example, brother would be bubbuh.”
“Wow. That’s different.” I leaned back in my chair. There was this magic to her. Every time I thought I knew her better, I realized I hadn’t even scratched the surface.
“Do you all do something different for New Year’s Eve?” I asked.
“Not really, but everyone cooks the New Year Trinity—pork, black-eyed peas, and greens. It’s symbolic. The greens represent wealth for the New Year. The black eyed-peas offer good luck.”
Ru scrunched his face. “And what’s up with the pig?”
“It’s a superstition dealing with a pig’s behavior. Pigs like to root at the ground with their snouts, typically in a forward movement. Similarly, the tradition of eating pork on New Year’s is said to allow one to move forward in the New Year.”
“We should do this,” I said. “I’ll let the chef know. Anything to bring us luck is worth eating.”
“Food is a big thing for us,” Simone said. “We believe that food holds energy, so it should be grown in a peaceful atmosphere and harvested with love and care.”
“That makes sense,” Ru said. “The French believe something similar. They believe food is an art and the steady consumption of a diet infused with love is healing and healthy.”
I nodded at him, but wished he’d shut the fuck up and take a plane back to New York. I didn’t like that he was here, listening to her voice, drinking in her words. Although she was so talented and deserved to be heard by the world, I was now starting to realize I didn’t want to share her with him or anyone else.
Simone talked a bit more about her heritage. The whole time, Ru watched her. His face held a neutral expression, but those eyes gave him away. They were all over her, desiring and needing.
That’s why you kept her off in Brooklyn so far away? It wasn’t because it would be the best thing for her solo career. It was because you didn’t want to share her with anybody else.
Too bad. Now you’ll have to give her up completely.
I was happy when dessert ended. Chucky and his family said their goodbyes.
Earlier, dinner had been odd. I couldn’t keep my hands off Simone. Anytime I could sneak a touch, I did—pushing her chair to the table, holding her hand during dinner, and now helping her up from the chair with the pretense of taking her to my studio.
“Yes.” Ru clapped his hands. “I would like to see your studio too.”
“No.” I held Simone’s hand. “I’ll show you tomorrow. This is my sacred space. I want to show her first. It’s a creative thing.”
Ru smirked. “A creative thing, huh?”
Simone let go of my hand, walked up to Ru, and gave him a half hug. “Thanks for coming today. I know you’re busy. You should get some rest anyway.”
I didn’t like the exchange although it appeared brotherly-sisterly. He’d been watching over her for five years. I was sure she saw him as nothing more than a manager/big brother in the industry. Meanwhile, it was clear as she hugged him that he wanted her bad. He held his breath and closed his eyes.
When she backed away, he opened them.
Yeah. He must go, and she needs a new manager.
“You’ve been traveling all day. Get some rest,” she said. “We can catch up tomorrow.”
Ru looked down at her. “Maybe we should catch up tonight. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” She returned to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I grabbed that hand again, not enjoying being too far from her.
She had her back to Ru as he glared at me with so much fucking hate I almost knocked the shit out of him.
Instead, I smiled, “You have a good night, Ru.”
I could’ve sworn Ru cursed behind us, but I didn’t care. While he was supposed to be her manager and look after her, he was taking it a bit far. There was no doubt that he was attracted to Simone. His gaze stuck to her the whole night. I could see him undressing her with his eyes.
And how could I blame him with all those beautiful curves barely hidden under that dress? But he’d fucked up by sending her music to me. How could he think that I would not fall in love with that voice and talent? He must’ve really believed me to be that shallow—that unfit as a man—to only be interested in pussy and tits.
That was your mistake, Ru. You did a bad job of hiding her.
Chapter 13
Simone
They teach you
there's a boundary line to music.
But, man,
there's no boundary line to art.
~Charlie Parker
Gio’s studio was in a building away from his massive house. He sent one of his staff members to get my coat. I quickly put it on and followed him outside, my heart pounding the whole time.
The moon lay in a dark, snowy sky. Flakes had not stopped falling since I’d woken up. Still, there was a freshly shoveled path to his studio as if Gio had ordered someone to do it, in anticipation of us coming out there tonight.
He firmly held my hand as we made it to his studio in no time. The wind bit at my skin as my teeth rattled, flakes landing on my hair and shoulders. My poor blow out would be a wet, curly mess by the time we got to the studio, but I was too excited to see it and didn’t care.
Once we arrived, he used a key to open the door, flipped on the switch, and guided me in. “Are you cold?” he asked, stomping his boots and shaking the snow from them on the front door mat.
“No. I’m fine.” I took his lead, doing the same, not wanting to track snow into his studio.
I followed him in before pulling off my boots and placing them by the door. He did the same, keeping his back to me as he did so. I couldn’t help but stare at his broad shoulders. I thought he'd be a big guy from all the times I’d seen him on TV, but he was even bigger than I imagined.
He turned his head a little, glancing over his shoulder at me. That black hair fell over the other side of his face and blocked my view a little. One deep blue eye met mine, and I yearned to see more of him, even though I’d been watching him all through dinner.
The studio came alive b
efore me, filled with everything that any millionaire musician would want. It made my pitiful little living room studio look like a crack den.
And the flowers. They were all over the place. There must’ve been over a hundred types decorating every free space. Roses danced around lilies. Irises wound near sunflowers. Daffodils stood next to marigolds. Tulips tickled daisies. It was a garden inside a studio.
“Whoa.”
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“I love this. I’m going to have flowers filling up my studio too.”
“Good. I got them for you. I’ll make sure the staff keeps fresh ones around.”
“You’re...you’re fucking awesome, Gio.”
He sat down at the piano and his long hair fell along the side of his face again, only showing me half of him. Not even thinking, I took a step toward him, unable to stop myself from reaching to move the hair.
“Thank you.” He didn’t move, and I couldn’t seem to form any words with him so close.
“Sit with me, please,” he said. “Play with me.”
Once again that deep, sensual voice had me. I was at his command.
“Sure.” The word came out breathy, and it took every muscle in my body to stop myself from leaning into him as I sat right next to him. I wanted to rub against him like a cat in heat, but I got control of my hormones.
Still trapped in his hot gaze, I asked, “What should we play?”
Gio’s eyes darkened even more, exuding strong sensuality and masculinity. When he spoke, his words were husky, sexy, and clear. “I want you, Simone.”
It wasn’t what he said, but how said it, and how he looked at me while he did. Then to top things off, without warning, the most devastating smile caught the corners of his mouth and extended deep into his eyes. His gaze told me he was as serious as a heart attack and just as lethal. The four words he had spoken suddenly changed the rhythm of my heartbeat and sent a jolt of desire through my body.
His gaze was like an intimate caress. “Any response?”
I was glad I was sitting down because my knees felt like rubber.
He leaned toward me. Twin dimples indented his features as a slow smile spread across his lips.
Why hadn’t I noticed those before?
“We can keep it all business,” he said softly. “No pressure. Sex has nothing to do with our contract. I just had to tell you how bad I needed you.”
Unexpected warmth rode up my legs, beginning at my toes, and settled in my center. I inhaled deeply and had to pull myself together. Gio was almost too much to handle. The soft huskiness of his voice and the determined intensity in his eyes stirred something to life deep within me.
“Not now.” I cleared my throat. “Not until after we’ve done what I came here to do.”
“Make music?”
“Yes.”
“So...” He licked his lips. “So, you’re not saying yes or no?”
“Exactly,” I whispered. “I’m saying, maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, pierced me with a heated gaze, and then sang so low and slow the notes vibrated through me. “Maybe.”
He placed his hands on the piano and played around with the keys, going higher and then lower. I curved my lips into a smile, loving his voice and the way he controlled the notes with pure perfection.
The piano and he found a melody that was a slow groove. It filled the room, yanking me out of the studio and into a dark night club with a low, red light glowing crimson rays in the center.
“Maybe.” His voice transported me.
In my mind, he stood on stage with his shirt off as everyone swayed in the audience. The earthy aroma of weed smoke and warm sex swarmed around me. Heat spread across my flesh. My breathing shifted to panting. I licked my lips, needing, craving, yearning to taste the notes dancing under his fingertips.
He raised his voice with each word as he played. “Maybe. Maybe, she’ll always be mine. Maybe, I’ve finally found forever. Maybe, our love would shine.”
My heart hummed with the groove.
“Oh, maybe.” The piano climbed with him. “Maybe, I can be on her team. Maybe, she’ll never love another. Maybe, I’m the man of her dreams.”
Delicious shivers ran up my spine. My panties were wet. My body was melting.
And then he took it to church. He blew me away as his voice climbed higher and higher, bouncing up and down like a gospel singer bellowing about their love for Jesus on the altar. “Oh yes! Oh yes, maybe! Maybe, I can give her the crown. Maybe, she’ll be my queen. Lick her body up and down.”
His fingers danced on the keys. Silent, he let the piano speak for him as he licked his lips and continued to play and stare at me, undressing and caressing me with his gaze.
My nipples stiffened. Desire pulsed in my blood, but it wasn’t all sexual. I went wild. A lioness appeared in my core, raising her head, getting into position to pounce, and tracking her prey to hear more.
He played.
And I began to play too, catching his melody in a higher key and letting my fingers dance on the piano.
“Damn,” he whispered. “You’re a fast learner.”
“I try.”
“You’re only making me want you more, princess.”
Smiling, I played his notes and sang to him, “Oh, maybe. Maybe, this time I’m not wrong. Maybe, he’s the melody. Maybe, he’s the perfect song.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” He pressed harder on the keys, pushing more emotion out the piano.
I showed off, hitting higher notes. “Maybe. Maybe, I can give him my heart. Maybe, he’ll be my king. Maybe, we’ll never be apart.”
“Damn.” He played the melody again, stopped, grabbed his notebook, and dove into writing. I grinned. He remined me of myself—addicted to the process, always scribbling notes, always writing a song.
Without looking up from his writing, he said, “I thought I told you not to work until you’re okay.”
“You started the song.”
“You inspired it. Stop it.”
“You stop it.”
He looked up and licked those lips again. “I think we will make beautiful music together.”
“Me too.”
“But, we’ll focus.”
“We will.
And then he directed his gaze to my breasts. I did too and noticed my nipples poking through the knit material. Embarrassed, I covered them with my arms. “So...I should go.”
He grunted.
I rose.
He drank me in, not even pretending to not enjoy the dress hugging my body.
Damn. Gio. Why are you so fucking irresistible?
I backed away. “I will see you tomorrow?”
He smirked. “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” I whispered and walked away.
“Wait,” he said.
I stopped. My will was slowly cracking. If he pushed the topic of sex any further, I would be butt naked and moaning all over his piano.
Why the hell did I say ‘Maybe?’ I mean, can’t I let go just this once?
I turned around. “Yes?”
He rose from the piano and walked over to me. “I wouldn’t be a good host if I didn’t walk you back to my bedroom.”
The way he said his bedroom made it clear to me that he expected me to sleep there tonight. Even crazier, there was a ferocity to the words that set my skin on fire.
“Okay,” I said in a low voice. “But we said last night was going to be the last time I would stay with you—”
“Stay in my bed again, princess.” He got in front of me and leaned my way. “Please, stay.”
With him so close, I could barely calm my hormones.
He slipped his gaze over my face. “Mmmm. Are you nervous about sleeping in my bed?”
“No,” I whispered.
“I can behave.”
“You’ve shown me that.”
“Have I?” He pulled me toward him.
My brea
thing increased.
When he leaned over and kissed me, I didn’t resist. With those lips and sexy words, how could I?
There was a restrained yearning in his kiss, as if he’d never touched another’s lips, and had waited all his life to devour mine.
God, his kisses are addictive. I want one every day.
All other thoughts left my mind. I kissed him back, tasting wine on his lips. He traced my lower lip with his tongue and it pushed me over my ledge of control. Primal need hit me. I moaned in pleasure.
“Mmmm.” He leaned away, caressed my face with his fingertips, and whispered, “Still, maybe?”
I couldn’t even respond as I struggled with catching my breath.
He stepped away, right as I thought he would kiss me again.
Maybe? Who am I kidding? I want him right now.
But Gio didn’t press the matter any further or try to kiss me. His face said cool confidence, while the front of his pants screamed hard and horny.
“Simone. Simone.” He shut off the lights, locked up the studio, and walked me back to his bedroom. I figured he would continue our sexy conversation, but instead he asked me more about my parents.
“Why didn’t you spend the holidays with them?” he asked.
“I’m trying to make it. I’m working, when others play. I’m writing, when others sleep. I’m trying to win.”
“You will. In some ways, you already have.”
“How?” I asked.
“You’re here. I won’t stop until everyone knows your name, even though...”
“What?” I asked.
“Even though I really don’t want to share you.” He opened the back door for me to his house. “Still, when’s the last time you’ve seen your family?”
“I’m embarrassed to say it.”
“Go ahead. No judgment here.”
“Three years. I call every week, but the last time I could afford to take off and see them was three years ago.”
“We’ll have to change that.”
“How?” I asked.
“I’ve got my surprises.”
We got to his bedroom and it should’ve been odd, but I felt right at home in his space. I took my small luggage bag into his bathroom and changed into a comfortable nightgown, nothing too frumpy looking or even sexy.
