Symphony in Blue

by M. J. Duncan

  As soon as her trembling began to ease, the fingers inside her curled, sending stars shooting across the backs of her eyelids, and it was all Gwen could do to reach down and grab the wrist nestled between her thighs. “No,” she rasped, shaking her head. “My turn.”

  Dana’s answering smile was more than a little impish as she twisted her wrist and deftly scissored her fingers inside their velvet sheath. “You’re not enjoying this?”

  “Oh, I am,” Gwen assured her, lifting her head to taste the smile curling Dana’s lips. “But I want to touch you,” she whispered huskily as she pulled Dana’s fingers from her.

  Dana blew out a shaky breath. “Gwen…”

  The hesitancy in Dana’s expression was plain, and Gwen faltered as she tried to force her tequila-and-orgasm addled mind to discern why. “I don’t…” She frowned. “Do you not want me to?”

  “It’s not that,” Dana said quickly, pushing herself up onto her knees and running her hands through her hair. She sat back on her heels and sighed, her eyes glued to the spot behind the bed where the wall and ceiling met. “I can’t take my pants off without taking off my leg.”

  Gwen nodded. “Okay…”

  “I don’t want you to be weirded out by it.”

  The fact that a woman as stunning as Dana could harbor such insecurity sent a ripple of affection through Gwen’s chest, and she shook her head as she sat up, ignoring the way the movement made her head spin. She bent her knees around the subtle flare of Dana’s hips as she cupped her face in her hands and pulled her down into a kiss that was the softest they had traded yet. Her pulse throbbed between her legs at the taste of Dana’s small whimper of submission, the blind lust she had felt earlier replaced with something else.

  Something just a little bit gentler.

  She trailed her fingers over the column of Dana’s throat, bumping lightly over the defined line of her collarbones, and moaned as she took Dana’s breasts in her hands, her thumbs stroking lightly over semi-erect nipples. The half-crunch position was not the easiest to hold considering how drunk she was, and Gwen smiled against Dana’s lips as she shifted onto her knees so they were mirroring each other. “I want you,” she murmured. She kissed her again, easily plying her lips apart with the tip of her tongue. The kiss was slow and deep, hesitancy gradually replaced with the blind need that had brought them here in the first place. “Please let me have you.”

  “Christ…” Dana whimpered, swallowing roughly as she pulled away. Her bright eyes were dark with lust as she reached for the clasp on her slacks, and she licked her lips as she flicked it open and began tugging them down over her hips. Gwen moved the help speed things along, but froze when Dana shook her head and whispered, “Please, let me.”

  Gwen nodded and settled for touching Dana’s chest, her arms, her face, kissing her lips and cheeks and chin as she undressed. She bit her lip and watched, unsure of what to do, when Dana rolled to a sitting position at the edge of the bed, her slacks and underwear puddled around her ankles as she quickly untied her right shoe and toed it off. Something stirred inside her as she watched Dana take a deep breath, her muscular back lifting with the influx of oxygen, the moonlight spilling into the room caressing her bare skin, making those spots that never saw the sun glow with an achingly preternatural beauty.

  Unable to resist, Gwen moved behind Dana, pressing against her back as her hands once again sought petite breasts and tight, light pink nipples, and her lips found the sweet hollow beneath Dana’s ear. She smiled at the sharp intake of breath her touch elicited, and fluttered her tongue over the sensitive skin. She peppered the side of Dana’s throat with kisses as she shifted beneath her, and a moment later there was a quiet thud of her prosthetic hitting the floor.

  Dana turned toward Gwen, her right hand reaching for Gwen’s cheek as she planted her left on the mattress beside her hip.

  Gwen’s eyes raked over Dana’s body and she felt her throat go dry as her gaze dropped to the swath of smooth, pale skin beneath the defined arc of lower abdominals and jut of her hipbones. A small tattoo was framed perfectly in the strip of white across the front of Dana’s right hip. The three asymmetrical crescents that seemed to curl around an invisible central point were eye-catching, and though Gwen was curious as to the symbol’s meaning, she was far too interested in finally having the woman who wore the mark to stop and ask about its meaning.

  “You sure you’re okay with this?”

  For a moment Gwen’s heart ached at the thought that Dana would have a reason to ask her that, but she brushed that thought away as she captured Dana’s lips in a searing kiss as she pulled her back onto the bed. “God, yes,” she whispered roughly as she spun them around, pleased that Dana allowed her to take control so easily.

  Strong hands on her ass pulled her closer as she settled between Dana’s thighs, and Gwen’s breath caught in her throat at the feeling of Dana’s arousal, so hot and slick, against her skin. “Want you,” she murmured as she thrust against her.

  Dana’s eyes fluttered shut and she nodded. “Please…”

  The smokiness of Dana’s voice was deeper, throatier than she had ever heard it before, and Gwen licked her lips as the urge to see just what sounds she could coax from her lips swelled inside her. She dipped her head to kiss Dana as she braced herself on her left hand, letting her right wander between them until she was lightly caressing smooth, silken folds. The hitch in Dana’s breath when she first brushed over swollen nerves was delicious, the low moan that rumbled in her throat when she pushed inside her more layered and nuanced than the most carefully crafted symphony. Gwen smiled as she dipped her head to taste the sweet music spilling from Dana’s lips. She had played many instruments over the years, everything from the most basic level of craftsmanship to cellos that were, in and of themselves, priceless works of art, and as she pulled out slowly, curling her fingers to skim over hidden ridges, drawing a ragged, “Oh, fuck,” from Dana’s lips, she could not help but think that Dana Ryan may just outshine them all.

  SIX

  It was the bright morning sunlight against her eyelids that woke Gwen the next morning, causing her head to throb painfully in protest. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut tighter against the pain as she buried her face in her pillow. She became aware of how cold she was at the same time the rancid taste of stale tequila registered in her mind, and she whimpered softly as she blindly reached down in search of something to cover up with. Instead of the cool cotton top sheet she had been expecting to find, however, her fingers glided across smooth, warm skin.

  Gwen froze as her mind raced, trying to recall what, exactly, had led her to this point. The events from the night before flickered across her mind like a disjointed, stop-motion video, each scene blending together to paint a hazy picture that provided more than enough detail for her to remember everything.

  Dana, looking like a model in her suit, shirtsleeves rolled to just below her elbows and her untied bow tie hanging loosely around her neck, her eyes glittering in the dim light of the tiki torches around them. Music. Tequila. God, so much tequila. Dancing. Strong hands on her waist, guiding her to the beat of the music thumping over the dance floor. A look laced with so much desire that it stole the breath from her lungs. Lips, at once both soft and desperate against her own.

  Gwen sucked in a deep breath through her nose as she remembered making out with Dana on the dance floor at the wedding reception, in the elevator, against the wall, in bed.

  Her pulse raced as she dared to look at the woman sprawled beside her, mouth slightly open as she slept. Even in her shock she couldn't help but drink in the sight of Dana’s exposed body, her eyes raking slowly over her powerful shoulders and muscled back, past the taut curve of her ass to strong thighs. Her stomach clenched as she remembered the hesitancy Dana had shown about truly revealing herself, the look of painful vulnerability that had clouded her expression as she anticipated Gwen’s rejection.

  The memories of what followed that moment—Dana writhing aga
inst her mouth, hands desperately fisting the sheets, her breath falling in short, breathy gasps as she arched off the bed, her body straining to find the angle, the touch, the pressure that would send her tumbling into release—were enough to make Gwen feel dizzy and sick at the same time.

  She clenched her jaw against the memories of what had happened next. Her wrists gently pinned beneath one of Dana’s hands as the other teased her to mind-blowing heights again and again and again. The feeling of Dana’s hair between her fingers as she guided the hungry mouth between her legs to where she so desperately needed it. Dana spread before her, gasping, begging, clutching at her arms, her shoulders, her ass. Dana on her knees, her head thrown back in ecstasy, moonlight caressing the supple curve of her spine as she arched against her. The way Dana had cried out when she came, the sound so raw and powerful and decadent—more beautiful than the most intricate compositions known to man.

  Just the memory of that unbridled cry of pleasure made Gwen’s nipples tighten even now, hours later, and she shook her head as the weight of what she had allowed to happen—of what she had recklessly sought—crashed into her. She could not remember the last time she had enjoyed sex so thoroughly; could not bring to mind even one other encounter that had left her feeling so completely boneless and sated. Her stomach clenched painfully as she watched Dana shift slightly in her sleep, mumbling incoherently, her lips quirking in a small smile as she rubbed her cheek against the bed once, twice, before falling still again.

  Gwen closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.

  She should have never allowed this to happen.

  She should have never put herself in a position where it could.

  The urge to run surged through her, and Gwen watched Dana’s face to make sure she did not wake her as she slipped carefully from the bed. She needed to get out of here. Needed to put some space between herself and the woman who had made her feel all the things she had no right feeling.

  It was cruel to leave without saying goodbye, but that did not stop Gwen from hurriedly pulling on her clothes and silently rifling through the pockets of Dana’s slacks for her room key.

  Dana snored softly, and Gwen took a deep breath as she looked at her, so open and vulnerable in her sleep.

  She wanted to run, needed to escape, but she did not have it in her to just leave. Gwen tucked her hair behind her ears as she reached for the small pad of paper and pen beside the phone on the nightstand, and held her breath as she hurriedly scribbled two words that she knew would provide little solace, but which were also all she had the strength to write.

  I’m sorry.

  She tore the paper from the pad and laid it on the bed beside Dana, selfishly allowing herself one last lingering look at the woman who had made her feel so alive and wanted before she turned on her heel and headed for the door. The hallway beyond was empty, a fact she was thankful for as she gently guided the door behind her shut so that it wouldn’t wake Dana. The moment the door was shut, she headed for the emergency staircase at the end of the hall, desperate to avoid the elevator and any memory of Dana Ryan.

  SEVEN

  As it turned out, there was no escaping the memory of Dana Ryan. Despite the fact that Gwen wanted nothing more than to forget everything that had happened, she spent the entirety the five hour flight from Maui to Los Angeles reliving the most minute details of her interactions with Dana. Everything from the way they’d met in the elevator and then on through to the way she’d left her in bed earlier that morning had played through her mind on repeat during the flight, and she had reached the point where she was almost comfortable with the hollow sickness that filled her.

  Gwen stared blindly out the small, oblong window at the air control tower at Los Angeles International Airport and the iconic UFO-shaped restaurant beside it that were cast in the warm, golden hues of the sun that was beginning its final descent to the horizon, grateful that her cello occupied the seat beside her and that she had not been forced to make polite conversation during the flight. The cost of purchasing a ticket for her cello was always worth the added expense just to know that it would arrive at her destination undamaged, but in this case the instrument filling the aisle seat provided a much-needed buffer between her and the world.

  Never mind the fact that even if someone had tried to talk to her, her throat was too tight to properly form words.

  She turned her phone back on as the pilot came over the speaker to announce the local time and temperature. Bile crept up her throat as the screen came alive with a text notification from Mallory a few hours before, and she swallowed it back as she opened the message—BIG news! Details still coming in, but it’s going to be GREAT! Will tell you all about it tomorrow @ rehearsal!

  She took a deep breath as she turned off the screen, and closed her eyes as she leaned her head against the bulkhead beside her window.

  God, what have I done?

  She had asked herself that same question countless times ever since she had fled Dana’s hotel room, but she was still no closer to finding an answer. She wanted to blame the tequila, or the aching loneliness that Dana had somehow seemed to soothe, but she could not lay the blame anywhere other than where it belonged—on herself. She might have passed the point of being madly in love with Mallory Collingswood, but that did not negate the fact that she was still returning home to a girlfriend she had just drunkenly cheated on.

  Once the plane had reached its gangway, she remained seated until the plane had emptied, not wanting to deal with carrying her cello through the narrow walkway crowded with people anxious to make their escape, and she sighed heavily as she retrieved her small carry-on from the overhead bin. She smiled tiredly at the flight attendants as she shouldered her cello case and pushed the rolling suitcase in front of her down the aisle.

  The hub at the end of the terminal where a half-dozen flights loaded and unloaded passengers was predictably crowded, and she kept her eyes on the polished tile in front of her as she made her way toward the exit.

  She just didn’t have the energy to deal with people at the moment.

  A rush of noise and heat smacked into her when she walked out the sliding doors from the baggage claim to the pick up/drop off loop that ran along the airport’s lower level, and she sucked in a deep breath as she fished through her purse for her car keys as she waited for the crossing signal to change. The noise and activity was overwhelming, but it did prove to be an excellent distraction from her thoughts, and she was almost disappointed when the signal changed and she was able to hurry across the street to the parking garage where she had left her SUV.

  The spaces on either side of her white Pilot were empty, which made it much easier for her to maneuver her cello into the backseat and buckle it snugly into place. Since trunks and cargo areas were designed to act as crumple zones in case of an accident, no professional musician worth their salt ever dared travel with their precious instruments in the far rear of their vehicle. Her carry on suitcase went on the floor in front of the cello, and she shook her head as she slammed the rear driver’s side door shut.

  No matter how much she wished otherwise, she was going to have to not just face up to what she had done, but also somehow find a way to come to terms with it. Twenty-four hours ago, she would have sworn that she would’ve never been capable of adultery.

  Twenty-four hours ago, she could look at her reflection and feel something beside complete disgust.

  She dug her sunglasses out of her purse as she started the car, and propped them on the top of her head as she shifted into reverse and began backing out of the parking space. Once she had paid and the arm of the barrier lifted out of the way, she slipped the glasses into place as she eased her way into the flow of traffic leaving the airport. Sepulveda Boulevard was exactly the disaster she had been anticipating, though it was much better than the 405, and she was almost glad when she made the crawling transition to the 10. Traffic on the 10 and the 101 was blessedly fluid, however, and a little more than hour after sh
e’d left the airport, she was pulling into the garage of her house in the Hollywood Hills.

  Even though she wouldn’t have time to practice before rehearsals in the morning and it would have been much easier to leave her cello in her car in her house’s tuck-under garage, she still shouldered the hard case and carried it up the steps with her. Her neighbors were B- and C-list celebrities and white collar professionals who pulled in a more than comfortable salary, and odds were good that the instrument would have been perfectly safe in her car overnight, but she always slept better knowing that the source of her livelihood was in the room next to her own.

  After closing the garage door with the coded remote attached to the frame, she trudged slowly up the stone stairs that led to the narrow stone terrace that fronted her stunning 1920s country English-style house. The carriage light above the alcove that framed the black painted front door was a warm beacon welcoming her home, and she sighed heavily as she slipped her key into the deadbolt. The only good thing she could see about her situation, she thought as she pushed the door open and turned off the alarm system, was that she wouldn’t have to face Mallory until the following morning.

  She knew that she had to tell Mallory the truth of what she’d done, that she had no choice but to lay her sins out on the table and accept whatever came her way as a result. But the part of her that hated confrontation and that actively avoided doing anything that might spark even the tiniest of fights, kept her wondering—What if I didn’t?

  It was wrong, she knew it was wrong, that she had been wrong and that Mallory deserved the truth, but at the same time… She was never going to see Dana again. It was a one-time thing. A mistake. Just a moment of her reaching out for a sense of connectedness, of needing to feel good.