Caught up in the memory, in the way it seems to bring Charlie’s presence to me, I don’t notice that they’re running late until the knock sounds on my door and a guy with spiky dark hair pokes his head in. “You’re up next. Follow me.”
Grabbing my phone, I realize I’ve been playing Suzuki pieces for more than ten minutes. At least I’m not stressing about my performance.
Two hours later, I’m back in my hotel room, restless and coming down off the high of delivering what was probably the best performance of my life.
Apparently warming up with Suzuki tunes and fond memories of playing them with Charlie puts me in the right headspace to perform.
The judges, as always, gave nothing away. But I recorded my performance on an app on my phone and listened to it afterward. I also sent it to Dr. Weber once I got back to my room. He emailed back right away with, “Awesome! Congrats!” As though my winning is a done deal.
I know Lauren’s going to give me a run for my money, though. Still, I hope it’s me.
Feeling caged in my room, I make a spur of the moment decision and head down the hall.
After a quick knock on the door, it opens to reveal Charlie. When she sees me, her eyes light up and a wide smile stretches across her face. “Hey! Come in.”
My own face stretches into an answering smile, and I step inside.
“Well? How’d it go?” she asks as she closes the door.
A low laugh escapes me. I’m happier than I’ve been in a really long time. “Great. That’s probably the best I’ve ever played the Dvořák. The best I’ve ever played anything.”
Her response to that is to launch herself at me, her arms going around my neck as she lets out a happy squeal. “I’m so proud of you!”
My arms wrap around her out of instinct, but I don’t let go, enjoying the feel of her body against mine. She’s slimmer than she was before, but still curvy. Almost without my consent, my hands slide down her sides, over the swell of her hips, my palms finding their way to her ass.
Her breath catches as she looks up at me, her initial excitement morphing into something else. Something far more pliant. And seductive.
Ducking my head, I take her lips in a kiss. I don’t really mean for it to be a long, deep kiss, but that’s what happens. She responds immediately, kissing me back, pressing herself against me, her arms tightening around my neck.
I don’t remember whose tongue gets involved first, or maybe we do it at the same time, but our tongues are sliding together, mine sweeping inside her mouth before retreating and letting her into mine. It’s not a duel, neither of us fighting the other for control. More like a dance. Give and take, moving in time together.
We always did seem to find our rhythm quickly. Whether it was music, dancing, or making love.
And Christ, I miss that. All of it. With the long phone calls lately, making out with her in her hotel room during her surprise visit, holding her in my arms again, and the memories of how we started flooding my mind today, I know that all of that is within reach again. Even if only for right now.
Without breaking the kiss, I move us to the bed, turning so that I lay back with her on top of me.
She plants her knees on either side of my thighs, her sexy little skirt riding up her thighs, and I bite back a groan at the realization that with a minor shifting of clothes, I could be inside her.
Instead of pressing herself to where I’m hard and aching, she plants her hands next to my head, only lowering her face to mine, kissing me again. Sweet, gentle kisses. Nothing deep. Nothing aggressive.
And it’s driving me out of my mind.
Unable to bear it anymore, I wrap my arms around her and roll us over, settling between her legs. When her lips part on a gasp as I grind against her heat, I delve my tongue into her mouth. She arches, sucking on my tongue, pressing her hips against mine.
It’s my turn to groan. Breaking off our kiss, I drop my head into the space between her neck and shoulder. “God, Charlie. I want you so bad.”
Her fingers find their way into my hair, dislodging the elastic band holding it together, and she tugs so I’ll pull my head up to look her in the eye. She brings her knees up on either side of my hips, rubbing herself against my rock hard dick. “I want you too.”
At her admission, I dip my head and kiss her again. But now my hands are sliding under her shirt. Needing to find her skin.
That seems to be the permission she needs to do the same. As soon as my fingers find their way under the fabric of her top, her hands are rucking up my T-shirt, yanking it up to my armpits like it’ll burn me if she doesn’t get it off right away.
With a chuckle, I lift up, ducking my head so she can yank the shirt over it, then pull my arms out of the sleeves one at a time. She flings it away as I remove my glasses and set them on the bedside table, then her hands start sliding up and down my chest and around to my back, where she pulls me down for another kiss. This one hard and fierce. Needy. Hot.
My hand goes to her thigh, sliding down the outside, teasing along the edge of her panties, which only makes her rub herself against me more. She gets a grip on my hair again and tugs my head back, her chest heaving with her panting breasts. “Pants off. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I sit back on my heels, undoing the button and zipper on my jeans before standing and pushing them down as I step out of my shoes. She props herself up on her elbows, her eyes dark and hooded, watching me.
I lift my chin in her direction as I kick off my pants and underwear together. “Your turn. Get naked.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Come prima: like the first time; as before, typically referring to an earlier tempo.
Charlie
God, this man. His direct order to get naked makes me shiver with anticipation.
But I don’t move right away, wanting to look my fill first, his bronze skin stretched taut over his lean, lanky body, the silky happy trail leading to his erection, jutting out hard and long from the trimmed thicket of dark hair between his legs.
When my slow perusal travels back to his face, my breath hitches at the way Damian’s heated gaze travels over my body, searing everything in its wake. Scorching as the look on his face is, it doesn’t manage to incinerate my clothes.
Scooting back, I sit up, crossing my arms to grab my top by the hem and pull it over my head, my eyes immediately reconnecting with his as I toss it to the side.
He licks his lips, leaning over me, his hand traveling up my side to cup my breast, his thumb brushing across my nipple, making it grow harder at his attention.
My eyes fall closed, and I let my head drop back. “I love the way you touch me.”
He hums in response, his head dipping to feather light kisses over the swell of my breast along the edge of my lacy bra. He reaches behind me to unhook my bra, pushing the fabric out of the way so his tongue can swipe over my nipple.
His head lifts at my sound of appreciation, and he gives me a wicked grin before doing it again, then moving to the other side and sucking that nipple into his mouth, the edge of his teeth just grazing my hardened flesh. God, his mouth.
Releasing my nipple with a pop, he sits back again, a crooked smile on his lips as he stares at my chest. Then his eyes wander up to mine again. “I thought I told you to get naked.”
I huff out a laugh. “You weren’t making it easy on me.”
He shrugs, unrepentant. “I’ve always had trouble resisting you.”
“I remember things a little differently,” I retort as I pull my arms out of my bra straps and undo the button on my denim skirt.
Damian’s fingers hook in the waistband and start tugging as I lift my hips. “Just because I managed to resist for a while doesn’t mean it was easy.”
He leans forward, kissing me again, robbing me of whatever words I may have wanted to say next. My senses are all caught up in the feel of his skin on mine, the way he lays me back, propping himself next to me on one arm, his other hand traveling up
my inner thighs, his fingers tracing delicate lines up and down, barely firm enough not to tickle.
On each upward stroke, he travels a tiny bit closer to where I want his fingers, and I lift my hips, hoping he’ll give in.
When his fingers finally slide into my wetness, I gasp, and he slides his tongue into my mouth, swallowing my sounds of pleasure. He’s as thorough as I remember, his fingers playing me, alternating soft and hard, taking me to the edge and sending me flying over.
He shifts, his hand sliding out of me, and he climbs between my thighs, nudging them apart with his knees. Reaching down to the floor, he produces a condom and rolls it on before lining himself up with my opening.
His dark eyes lock on mine, heavy with lust and … I can’t bring myself to guess what else I see there. He braces himself with his forearms on either side of my head, his eyes never leaving mine as he presses inside me.
My hips lift without my conscious direction, meeting his, welcoming him back.
He lets out a sound that’s half sigh, half moan as he holds himself inside me without moving.
I drag my hands down his back, digging my fingers into his ass, squeezing him with my inner muscles and clamping my thighs around his hips.
A grunt rumbles in his chest, and his ass flexes under my hands, pushing him just that much deeper inside me. And then he starts moving, as ever keeping his rhythm slow and steady to start with. Apart from quick, stolen kisses, his eyes never leave mine. I’m trapped by his gaze, locked in an eternal present where nothing exists outside of us, now, the feel of his skin sliding against mine, his cock dragging in and out of me.
Everything about our joining is both familiar and new. The same dedication to our pleasure, the same intensity, the same cadence to our lovemaking.
And yet …
No words pass between us. No whispered declarations of love. No long, deep kisses as we find connection and release in each other.
He’s different in some slight, yet significant way. Or maybe I am.
It’s not until he nears his own orgasm that he lets me look away. He buries his head against my shoulder, and I close my eyes, holding still as he pistons into me, each stroke hitting me in just the right spot to send my pleasure spiraling higher and tighter until it bursts in a shower of incandescent sparks flaring along my nervous system.
He’s right behind me, letting out a muffled groan as he trembles over me, pressing himself as deep inside me as he can get.
Wrapping my arms around him, I hold him close, tallying up the ways in which this changes things for us.
Talking on the phone and occasionally kissing is one thing. But I know what sex means for Damian.
Except he hasn’t told me he loves me. At all. Not since we were at Jonathan and Gabby’s wedding.
Which begs the question … what does this mean?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Syncopation: a disturbance or interruption of the regular flow of downbeat rhythm with emphasis on the subdivision or upbeat
Damian
I carefully peel myself off Charlie’s body and go to the bathroom to deal with the condom. Propping my hands on the counter, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, a little fuzzy without my glasses.
What the fuck am I doing?
This isn’t like me at all.
But it’s Charlie.
No matter how much I was hurt and betrayed by her secrets, how much I wanted to move on, the reality is that I haven’t. I can’t. I doubt I would have been able to even if she’d stayed away.
I still love her. That’s the unvarnished, unpleasant truth. And I think I always will, even if she ends up destroying me completely.
Because the other truth is that she most likely will destroy me in the end. Our love has always burned hot and fierce, and with our opposing life choices, I see no other way for us to end than in a spectacular explosion, a supernova that leaves a black hole in its wake.
But I’m already caught in her gravitational field. Its force is irresistible.
I don’t know what to do at this point, how to play this, but I can’t hide in the bathroom forever.
“Hello?” Charlie’s voice is soft through the crack in the bathroom door.
At first I think she’s talking to me. “Hey,” I croak.
But when I open the door and walk out, she’s holding up a finger, her phone pressed to her ear. “You want to do dinner together again?”
I hear a voice on the other end, but can’t make out what it’s saying.
Charlie pulls the phone away from her mouth, keeping the top pressed to her ear, and mouths, “It’s Lauren.”
I nod my understanding and sit on the bed, waiting for her to finish talking.
“Okay. Hang on. Damian came by after he got back, and he’s still here. Let me check with him.” Lauren says something that makes Charlie give her reflexive fake smile. Her eyes flick to me and away again. “Ha. Right. Sure, Lauren. Hang on a sec.”
Pulling the phone down, she taps the mute button, blows out a breath, runs a hand through her hair, and finally looks at me. “Lauren wants to have dinner together again.”
I smirk. “I gathered. What else did she say? There at the end.”
Charlie purses her lips and shakes her head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Do you want to have dinner together again? Or should I … make some excuse?”
I study her for a second, trying to figure out what’s wrong with her. I mean, I know what’s wrong with me, but I didn’t expect this avoidance from her. Though I probably should’ve. Deflection is her second language, after all.
But if she can deflect, so can I. “What do you think?”
She fixes me with a glare that she must’ve perfected while living with Lauren—same arched brow, same pursed lips, and I have to hold back a smile. “That’s not an answer.”
Dropping my gaze, I smooth my hand over the duvet, still rumpled from our recent activities. “You’re the one with a performance tomorrow.”
“Oh, please. It’s a small show with a small audience. No pyrotechnics. No grueling rehearsals with backup dancers and all that. It’ll be a piece of cake. Natalie and I visited the venue and made sure everything was set. The piano will be delivered and tuned tomorrow morning. I’m not worried at all.” She sucks in a big breath, holding it for a second before letting it go. “The question is”—her voice is softer now, the dismissive quality gone—“do you want to cut short our time alone? Or do you want me to make an excuse to Lauren? I could tell her I need to prepare for the show tomorrow or something.”
Needing something to cover my discomfort, I reach for my underwear. “Don’t lie to your friend.” You’ve already lied to me enough for everyone, haven’t you? But I keep that thought firmly inside. It’s not fair.
Charlie’s quiet, and I swear I can feel her eyes on me, but by the time I pull on my jeans, standing to zip and button them before turning to face her, she’s turned away, the phone to her ear again. “Yeah, let’s do dinner together in my room.” Pause. “No. Yeah. Everything’s fine.” Pause. “Yeah. I’ll text Natalie to let her know we’re doing a repeat of last night. Do you want the same thing? Or would you rather try something different?”
She looks up at me then, seeming to include me in the question. I shrug in response, and she rolls her eyes. “Damian just shrugged, so he’s no help. Come on over, and we’ll decide what to do when you get here.” She stands and starts quickly grabbing her clothes while she says goodbye to Lauren.
Darting past me, she heads for the bathroom. “She’ll be here in just a sec, so put a shirt on. I’m putting myself back together in here. God, I have sex hair.”
I can’t help chuckling at Charlie, but when my eyes dart to the mirror in the room, I realize I have sex hair too. Even without my glasses, I can tell. I yank my shirt on and look around on the floor, finally locating the black hair elastic next to the bed. Dragging my hands through my hair, I manage a respectable ponytail. My usual. Picking up my glasses from the bed
side table, I put them on, checking myself out in the mirror. I think I look put together enough to pass for hanging out with friends and not freshly fucked.
In any case, there’s no time for anything else, because a knock sounds on the door. I wait for a second to see if Charlie’s going to get it.
But she shouts, “Hang on!” and the lock clicks on the bathroom door. Guess she’s not done in there yet.
When I answer the door, Lauren looks me up and down, a smirk coming to her lips as her eyes linger on my bare feet. She raises her eyes slowly to mine, brows raised, obviously cataloguing my appearance. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
I step out of the way to allow her in, and she looks all around the room, finally coming to a stop facing me with her arms crossed. “Where’s Charlie?”
“She had to use the bathroom.” Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I tilt my head toward the bathroom door.
Lauren stares. “Why does Charlie needing to use the bathroom make you blush?”
Clearing my throat, I look away, trying to force the heat to recede from the tips of my ears. That doesn’t work, unfortunately.
But Charlie bursts out of the bathroom with a smile on her face directed at Lauren. Stepping around me, Charlie laughs and gives Lauren a big hug. “Quit hassling Damian. We’ve just been hanging out waiting for you to get back. How’d it go?”
Not so easily dissuaded, Lauren looks between Charlie and me as she pulls back from their hug. “Hanging out, huh? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
Counterpoint and Harmony Page 11
