Sonata by Moonlight

by A. E. Easterlin

  Brodie got down to business. His mouth tempted, nipping, soothing, tasting. She shivered under the onslaught of his passion. Her body heated, and a fine mist of moisture broke out on her skin. He caressed her with his fingers, finding each pleasure point, exploring every inch. She delighted in the sensation as his mouth cataloged the sensitive places on her body.

  Brodie smiled into her eyes as his hands palmed the plumpness of her breasts and rolled her nipples. Was that her calling his name as his mouth clasped her nipple, first one, then the other, and he suckled? Someone softly begged. Her? Yes, it must be. He responded, softly at first, then harder, taking her fullness into his mouth and teasing the sensitive buds with his talented tongue. She burned with need and groaned her pleasure.

  “Condom?” she panted.

  “Don’t move.” He left and came back in seconds, his jeans and a foil packet in his hand. He started to tear the wrapper, and she stopped him. “Not yet.”

  Allison reached down to touch him, to stroke and fondle the thick hardness where the skin was soft, like a brush of velvet against her palm. He was so very beautifully male. Muscles defined, shoulders broad and strong, belly taut and ridged. He was a real man…all man.

  “Baby, you need to stop. Otherwise, this is going to go fast.”

  Ally brushed her lips over his, took the condom, and rolled it over his long, hot length. His body surged and a hiss broke from his lips. She held him, guided him as he lowered himself over her, covering her, making her feel small and delicate. Feminine.

  Her hands moved up and she wrapped her fingers around his biceps, consumed by him. The smell of sex—the heated skin, the salty tang, the musky aroma of mating—engulfed her. This was a part of him, too.

  She raked her fingers through his scalp, and he growled, a deep guttural sound that made her gasp. “Brodie…I need…”

  “Ah, baby, I know what you need. Sweet woman, sweet, sweet girl,” he crooned.

  Settled between her thighs, he pushed in, filling her, joining them. She lifted her legs and crossed her ankles at the small of his back…and smiled. She closed her eyes as he began to thrust, and she reveled in every sensation, every exquisite push and pull. Brodie. Hers.

  “You okay?” he asked, his hair falling over his forehead.

  “Um-hmm. Better than okay. Oh… It feels so good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

  He leaned down to claim her lips. “I have no intention of stopping.”

  He rocked her, grinding, gyrating as he kept up the rhythm. She ran searching fingers across the rock-hard muscles of his neck and back as they rippled beneath her hands. Strong shoulders. Powerful. She squeezed, and dug her nails into his hot, warm flesh before smoothing over his biceps down to cup his forearm and hold on as he drove them both wild.

  It amazed her that he had such gentle power, that with a simple touch, a simple stroke, her entire body came alive. Tracing the outline of her lips, he softened the assault of his passion, extending the tension, and she drew in a choppy breath.

  “You’re not playing fair,” she murmured, and thought of the music. Brodie played her as an artist played a beautifully crafted instrument. Left alone, it remained cold and dormant. When touched by a master, it took on a life of its own. The adagio had begun, the introduction to the magic, the counterpoint of rhythms laying the foundation for their passion. The allegro, the bright, compelling crescendo toward the climax, whirled her in its vortex. Around and around she whirled as the tension built, and Brodie anchored her as she flew. She anticipated what came next. An explosion. White heat. A fracturing of spirit and soul. And the room began to spin as she held on. That’s all she could do—genius was at work.

  “I’m not playing at all,” he answered, gazing down at her with hot, heavy-lidded eyes. Faster. Harder. His back arched, and she felt the hot spurt of his seed filling her womb. They rocked together in mutual pleasure until he fell in a heaving, sweaty mass in the cradle of her arms.

  “I’m too heavy,” he said as he tried to move.

  “No, not yet. You’re not too heavy.” She held him tightly, enjoying the meltdown of her senses and the weight of his body on hers. She’d dreamed of this moment—she wanted to experience every second, every sensation, every touch.

  He was magnificent.

  A quick kiss later, he left her, to dispose of the condom, and when he returned, towering above her, he stood like the statue of Vulcan. Massive, sculpted muscles, powerful thighs, his sex now hanging heavy against his thigh.

  She leaned on her elbows and smiled at the mouthwatering man before her.

  “See anything you like?” he asked.

  “Everything. I like everything,” she tossed back, and cocked her head, enjoying the show.

  “That’s my girl.” He grinned and took one step closer to the edge of the bed.

  “Thought you said you didn’t play,” she teased.

  “Not what I was talking about, and you know it.”

  ****

  Thoroughly sated, she watched her Vulcan, the God of the Forge—the blacksmith, his massive muscles sculpted in bronze, tall, strong, and powerful. Planted right in front of her like the statue on top of Red Mountain.

  She fell back on the mattress with a groan. Boneless and spent, she only had enough energy left to breathe.

  Brodie growled something resembling a laugh and fell down next to her. She lay on her back, then turned to face him. He met her gaze, eyes dark with passion.

  “You’re so beautiful. I want to touch you,” he whispered, and rolled to his side, gently tracing his fingers over the bones of her face. He leaned over, and she thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t. He simply breathed over her as he rubbed his forefinger over her heated skin, tracing the lines his mouth had explored. Taking his time, running his palms, then the backs of his hands against her skin with the slow, sweet strokes of an amazing lover, he petted her, savored her.

  She stroked gentle fingers through his hair, enjoying its silkiness and the freedom to touch him so intimately. He buried his face in the valley between her breasts and inhaled. “You smell so good. It’s always the same…your fragrance. What is it?”

  “Jo Malone. Peonies, my favorite flower. Gram grew them.”

  “They will always remind me of you. You’re perfect, Ally…everywhere.” He closed his mouth around her nipple, circling the pebbled aureole, rolling her peak, nibbling, sucking, biting, stinging. She hissed in a breath and melted under the ministrations of his talented mouth. He lifted his head and looked at her, eyes dark with desire. Hot air blew against her moist skin; his rough tongue licked as she shivered. First one breast, then the other. The sensations tugged at her core, and she buried her fingers in his hair, holding his head tightly to her, urging him to suckle her harder, not able to get him close enough.

  Kisses trailed down the quivering soft swell of her belly, his tongue humming its way to the apex of her femininity. His hands gently spread her legs, and she gasped. The overwhelming intimacy of the act took her breath away. She squirmed, a little uncomfortable, a little afraid. But on fire, a blazing inferno of a fire.

  “Shh…relax. I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” The first long stroke took her by surprise. She jumped, and he reached a palm to rest against her belly, holding her where he wanted her. She could hardly breathe; she’d never experienced anything like this. His mouth, firm, hot, and wet against her—she bit back a moan at the exquisite sensation of breath, tongue, lips loving her. “Oh,” she whispered in the night, the soft exclamations drawing out. “Oh…oh…oh…”

  “Let it out, Ally. Let it happen. It’s just me and you.” She writhed. The music in her head, the unstoppable crescendo, reached to the edge of ecstasy and burst. Every throbbing pulse unleashed waves of pleasure, and she rode the crest, softly crying his name, knowing this man had the power to rock her world, change her world, become her world.

  The adagio was so sweet, so tender, so achingly perfect. He held her until th
e aftershocks of her orgasm began to abate, then crawled up beside her and pulled her close, his hands caressing her arms. He was hard and fully aroused again. He needed release.

  She slid her hand over the soft hair that covered his abdomen, loving the ridges and valleys, the cut definitions of his abs. He closed his hand over hers and showed her how to stroke him. This time it was her mouth trailing wet kisses over his chest, her tongue teasing the quivering muscles, her touch that caressed and explored until the madness drove him insane with want.

  “Mmmm,” she murmured as shards of heat sliced low in her belly. She kissed him, her mouth warm and seeking, signaling him it was time for the next movement. She raised her head and smiled, and he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her into oblivion.

  She moaned as he slid a thick finger inside her. This sensation was different from the last, but just as exciting. His finger circled, finding every erotic spot that enhanced her pleasure. She rocked into him, meeting each thrust, her need building again.

  He reached over the nightstand and grabbed another condom. She watched, fascinated, as he tore the package and covered himself. Her gaze traveled up to his. And then he was there. At the center of the universe, and he filled her body once more, and filled her heart with all of him. And the earth moved.

  “Brodie.”

  “I’m with you, sweetheart. Don’t stop. Just don’t fucking stop,” he said, then kissed her, his mouth hot and rough and wet.

  Over the edge. Gone. Done. Through the span of time and space and into infinity. She flew, the intensity and beauty of it beyond description.

  Allison stood on the precipice of a great divide and suddenly hurtled over the edge with no thought of landing, just soaring forever and ever. Wherever she stopped, he’d be there to catch her. Her fantasy, her friend, her lover…her own.

  Brodie.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Allison had a therapy session at ten and a class at one. As much as she wanted to lie in bed with Brodie, she had to go to work. She also needed time to process what had happened.

  Waking up to him was something she could get used to. She’d felt him prodding against her backside this morning, and one thing led to another. Before she knew it, they were involved in a little coda section that was as magnificent as the sonata the night before.

  She’d expected to feel awkward, especially as she’d never spent the entire night with a man before. She loved feeling his warmth next to her, his arms holding her safe and close, his random touches when she woke. That he was in her bed made her smile. Last night made her happy. He made her happy.

  Mary Leo was waiting for her when she reached their floor. Her uncanny ability to read what was going on with another person had Allison squirming. She didn’t doubt that dear Dr. Leo could take one look at her and know exactly what she and Brodie had been doing.

  “Well, don’t you look rested this fine morning. And that’s not a question, by the way. Something certainly agrees with you.” She leaned in, blue eyes twinkling. “You must have been busy last night. I called three times.”

  Oh, boy. Her face grew warm, and she struggled to maintain her composure. Not that her friend and colleague would judge, but what happened between her and Brodie was fresh and new, and her world was still spinning full tilt. She wanted to hold this feeling in her heart for a while, savor the idea of them together—a couple. They were a couple, right? They’d loved the night away, enjoyed the intimacy of each other’s bodies. He’d staked a claim on her. Beyond that, she wasn’t certain.

  Allison mentally shook herself and tried to pay attention to what Mary Leo was saying. “Did something happen? If you called three times, there must have been an emergency.”

  “No emergency. I’ve been thinking about your ideas for a residential facility for the men needing around-the-clock care. I contacted the director of the unit in New England. She was extremely helpful, and she e-mailed me copies of their start-up costs and procedures. I’ve had my eye on an old Victorian not too far from campus. A big old house with lots of bedrooms, common rooms, and a kitchen would be ideal. A comfortable, homelike setting where the men could relax, be themselves, get to know each other. We could have music playing all day, with an hour or two of live music to stimulate their brains.”

  Her heartbeat kicked into high gear. With Mary Leo on her side, her goals might just be achievable. She pumped a mental “yes!”

  “We’d have to do a renovation, add some bathrooms—those old houses usually had only one or two baths at the most. But you’re right. A live-in facility would be ideal, especially after their hospital benefits expire. Ordinarily, they’d have to go home, ready or not. This option would give them extra time, maximize the results of their therapy. Four to six weeks would make a huge difference in their outcomes,” Dr. Leo continued.

  “It’s a wonderful idea.”

  “Buying the property wouldn’t be too expensive—it’s old, needs work. We should be able to get it for a good price. The renovations would probably double the cost. Then, we’d have to budget for the usual things—utilities, insurance, maintenance. Staffing would be handled by the hospital, and HR would take care of the hiring. A couple to serve on site could live there full time. You and I could schedule the hour-long therapy sessions around those we’re committed to at the hospital. Maybe two a day.” Evidently, Mary Leo had already invested a lot of time planning the project.

  “Wow! You really have been giving this a lot of thought. I know a few people who play in the symphony—there are quite a few civic-minded individuals who would volunteer their time to perform for the vets. The POPS Orchestra, even the Civic Opera—the same. There is a multitude of untapped talent in our community, as well. Students majoring in the arts at UAB, Samford University, Southern—all the colleges and universities. We could get the entire community behind this.”

  “You’re right, Allison, and I know just the way,” Mary Leo leaned over her desk and stared directly into the face of her co-worker.

  She should have known something was up. But it was her idea, after all. “Well? Give it to me. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

  “It all begins with you. A Night with the Masters. Think about it. You’ll revive your concert portfolio. We’ll sell tickets, serve drinks, maybe have a sit-down dinner at an exorbitant price per plate, a silent auction. You choose the music—but play something spectacular, perhaps with a theme or selections featuring the works of one particular composer. Oh, Allison, we could raise thousands!”

  Allison’s heart raced, but doubts crowded in and planted a frown on her face. “I’m not sure I could attract enough of a crowd, Dr. Leo. I’ve been out of the public eye for years. Classical music is an insular community; thousands of dollars might be optimistic. Of course I’d be willing to perform, after some practice, but we need more of a draw. Give me a few days to think about it, come up with a program, pull some strings, and make a few calls to old friends. I know we could put something wonderful together.”

  “I have a meeting with the hospital administrator this afternoon, and everything I need to make the pitch. I contacted the realtor yesterday, and if you’d like we can do a walk-through together. Once I get the green light, that is,” she said.

  “I don’t see a down side to this, if you can persuade the board. And if we don’t put the touch on them for all of the funding, why wouldn’t they say yes?”

  “So you agree? We should proceed?” her colleague asked.

  “Without a doubt.” There were so many ideas running through her head, she couldn’t focus.

  The rest of the day sped by in a haze. When she pulled into her driveway, she noticed a small billow of smoke rising from her back patio. The aroma of grilling meat assaulted her senses, and her stomach growled. She grinned. Her own personal chef was at work. Dinner tonight was on him, and it smelled like heaven.

  She dropped her keys by the front door and called, “Anybody home?”

  “Out back. I just put the steaks on the gril
l. Why don’t you change into something comfortable and pour us a glass of wine? I opened a bottle of Cab. It’s breathing in the kitchen,” he answered.

  First things first. She walked out to the deck and put her arms around his middle. Rock solid abs. Rock solid man. God, she loved this guy.

  “Hey, had a hard day?” he asked.

  “A great day. I can hardly wait to tell you about it.” She reached up to receive his kiss, her lips lingering and savoring the taste of him.

  “I can hardly wait to hear. Don’t you want to change?”

  “On my way. I just wanted to say hello first,” she said.

  He kissed her again. “Well, hello.” He put down the dish he was holding and turned into her for a proper greeting. Pulling her near, he covered her bottom with his hands and did a little sexy dance against her. “Hmmm. This is what I call one damn fine welcome home. I could get used to this.”

  She smiled against his lips. “Yeah, me, too.”

  “Get changed. We have a little time before the food is done,” he ordered.

  She freshened up and put on a strapless, knit maxi-dress. No bra. No need. Her nipples pulsed just thinking of his hands on her, how he’d touched her, played her body like a fine old grand.

  Pouring them each a glass of Cabernet, she noticed he hadn’t started on one before her. He wasn’t drinking as much as he had. That was a good sign. In fact, there were many good signs he was getting better. He looked more in control, relaxed, less on edge. She chuckled. Part of it could be getting laid…but it was more than the sex. He hadn’t mentioned nightmares in a while, and he wasn’t sitting around all day brooding. It occurred to her she didn’t know what he did with his days. She saw him occasionally around the hospital, but for the last week he’d been nowhere to be seen.

  She handed him the wine. “I was just thinking… I haven’t seen you around much this past week. I mean, until last night.”

  Smiling over the rim of his glass, he wagged his brows. “You’re right. You haven’t.”

  She waited. “Well…what’s going on? Come on,” she urged, wrinkling her nose. “Tell mama what’s going on.”