by J. L. White
He nods. “But my parents are different. With them, it’s more...”
He hesitates. There’s something else brewing underneath. I want to know what it is. “What?” I prompt.
“It’s more about what I’m supposed to get out of it, or what they can get out of it. You know, the prestige and all that.”
He’s told me before about how hard his parents push him. It started when he showed promise at a very young age. His first piano teacher recognized it and referred him to Boise’s premier tutor, Mr. Lamont. Even being able to work with him was an accomplishment. Ever since then, Erik’s parents have taken a keen interest in things.
“But,” I say, “music isn’t about that for you, right? You’re not in it for the prestige.”
He shrugs and says, “I don’t know. I’ve... kind of always had it, so how would I know? Maybe that’s what I want, too.”
“Pshhh,” I say and he grins at me. “I’ve seen you play, remember? You can’t fake that kind of passion.”
He gives me a playful smile. “Gotcha fooled, huh?”
I lightly smack his shoulder and lean my head back against the seat, smiling at him.
He glances at me and gives me a wicked grin. God, he’s so good-looking. I smile more broadly and look down at our intertwined hands. I take my other hand and run my fingertips along his fingers. He squeezes me in response.
When he pulls into Sonic, he chooses a stall farthest from the building. My heart beats thickly, hoping he parked here for the same reason I would have if I were the one driving. We talk about music and order our treats—a sundae for him and a small chocolate shake for me—and continue to chat and laugh until the car hop brings us our order. A few bites in, he drops his spoon in his little plastic bowl, leans over, cups his hand around the back of my neck, and pulls me in for the kind of kiss my dad would flip over if he saw it.
He caught me off guard, but I recover from the surprise quickly, kissing him back. Our tongues are cool and sweet from the ice cream, but warm up quickly. Even though we’re both holding our ice cream, we continue to kiss. Erik tastes like heaven. Kissing him is like playing music: the world disappears and it’s only him and me, the soft sounds of our breathing enveloping us.
Slowly, I set down my cup, still kissing him, and he follows my lead. Ice cream abandoned, he rubs his hand down my back and over my hip, leaving a trail of electricity in his wake. Right there in the far reaches of the Sonic parking lot. I never would have imagined such a thing a month ago. But Erik is changing my life. He’s changing me. And I only want more.
Chapter 5
A month later, I’m curled up on Erik’s couch, my school bag and sandals on the floor next to me, and I’m watching him practice his piece for an upcoming recital. It’s a private recital his teacher puts on twice a year for his students and their families. Erik offered to ask his teacher if I could participate, but I wasn’t interested. I’m not paying for lessons; I shouldn’t be there. Erik’s still trying to get me to participate in something called Music Fest, though. It’s a twice-yearly competition for local, young pianists. Anyone can get in, so long as they pay the $25 entry fee.
“My teacher says it’s important to perform as much as possible,” Erik had told me. “It’s good experience.”
But I can’t bring myself to agree. As I sit here listening to him, I’m overwhelmed as I always am by the power of his playing. I just don’t know if I can get up on the same stage he does and pretend to think I belong there.
I watch his face and his hands as he plays. He’s so passionate about it. It’s one of the things I love about him. I may not be able to play like him, but love for the music itself is definitely something we share.
When he finishes I give a satisfied sigh. “I wish I could play like that,” I say smiling. I absently pull one of my braids around to the front and pull off the tie at the end. I tend to reset my braids once or twice a day. Mom thinks it’s a nervous habit, but I think it’s because there’s something soothing about running a brush through my hair. “You’re so good, Erik.”
He smiles and slides off the bench. “You’re just saying that because you like the way I kiss.”
I grin as I start running my fingers through the braid to undo it, working from the bottom up. “You’ll never know.”
“How’s the run in the middle sounding?” he asks seriously. “Better?”
I nod. “You’ve got it.”
“Mr. Lamont thinks I should use it for my Festival piece.”
“I thought you wanted to play the Mozart one.” That’s the piece I’ve been working on the last week or so and I’m in love with it. Erik’s mentioned wanting to learn that one next.
“I was thinking you could play the Mozart piece for Music Fest.”
I sigh. I’ve finished undoing the first braid and pull around the second one. “Erik—”
“Just hear me out,” he says. He gently takes my braid out of my hand and slowly pulls out the tie. I sigh again and sit forward on the couch a bit, giving him room to work. He’s loves playing with my hair—and I love him doing it—so I get the sense he’s trying to soften me up.
“You’re working it up into this big thing,” he says gently, running his fingers through the braid and making me go all mushy inside. He’s totally not playing fair. “But it’s not as scary as it sounds. The competition part really isn’t that big a deal. Really. Most kids at Music Fest don’t place. It’s more about getting experience playing in front of an audience.”
Oh my gosh, even the word audience makes me feel all jittery. “I don’t know.” I reach into my bag, retrieve my brush, and hand it to him just as he finishes undoing the braid. He runs his fingers through my hair first, then takes the brush and starts running it over my scalp and down through my hair. I close my eyes. It feels twice as good when he does it.
“Come on,” he says. “It’ll be good for you. It’ll help you not be so afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He laughs softly and leans in to whisper in my ear, “Liar.” The sound of his voice tingles through my body.
He returns to brushing my hair and I look back at him. He’s smiling at me. I turn away. “Okay, fine. I’m scared. I don’t have the experience you have though.”
“Well, this is how you can change that.”
“Stop pushing me,” I say in a teasing voice.
“You need someone pushing you.” He’s being light too, but I hear the seriousness underneath. His parents push him, so that’s all he knows, but I find that hard to relate to. No one pushed me to watch all those YouTube videos or spend hours of my free time practicing at school. I did that all on my own.
I think Erik has his own wings, too, and would probably be exactly where he is now whether his parents pushed him or not. So part of me wants to resist him.
Yet.
Whether I’ve pushed myself or not, here I am afraid to step foot on a stage.
“You gotta start somewhere, Ashley.”
I sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Well...” he runs the brush through my hair again, root all the way to the tip. “Think about it. Okay?”
I don’t answer. I don’t want to think about it. But I am.
He continues to slowly brush out my hair, and neither one of us speak. He’s making me want to make out with him, but I wait, enjoying the anticipation. I never knew brushing hair could be so sexy until Erik first did it. By the time he places the brush on the floor, my heart’s pounding and my breathing is shallow.
I turn to face him and he pulls me into the crook of his arm, a sexy look on his face. He leans backwards and brings me with him, out of sight of the windows.
On top of his body now, I look at him as my hair falls down around us on either side. We’re in our own little world again. We hold each other’s gaze. He brushes the back of his fingers along my jawline, then gently hooks a finger under my chin and brings my lips down to his.
It’s a sweet kiss at first. Not the te
ntative kind that marked the start of our relationship. It’s the kind of sweet kiss that seems to say something.
For the first time, it occurs to me that I might be falling in love with Erik Williams. But how would I know? I’ve never been in love before.
He parts his lips slightly and I part mine too. The tips of our tongues touch and it’s electric. His hands on my back increase their pressure, and I press into him too, with my whole body. We slide into a deeper kiss then, our eagerness for each other rising. His hands begin to wander, running under my thick hair. One hand dips down and curves around my rear end.
My hands are wandering too. I slip one under his shirt, the heat in my body rising as I run my fingers along his firm abdomen and up to his chest. He slides his hand under my shirt too. His touch leaves pulses of pleasure on my bare skin.
Our tongues taste and swirl around each other with more intensity. He fumbles with the hook on my bra for a moment, then I feel the release that indicates success.
His arms tighten around me and we break our kiss as he rolls us over so he’s on top of me. I feel his erection on my upper thigh. He brushes back the loose strands of my hair to expose my neck and drops his lips to it.
I exhale a shaky breath as he starts sucking on the sensitive skin on my neck. God, this is almost my favorite thing. His hand runs up my bare stomach, slides under my bra, and caresses my breast. This is my favorite thing.
It’s funny how quickly we get to this place these days.
I hold him tighter and dip my mouth down so I can taste his neck. He breaks contact with my neck and arches his head back, exhaling. I always get so heady when I know I’m giving him pleasure too. I increase my attentions on the crook of his neck, where I know he likes it best, and actually get him to moan.
He’s still caressing my breast and sending shivers all over my body. At the same time, I’m hot everywhere. I pull up his shirt to expose more of his skin, and feel our bare stomachs press against each other.
He rearranges his hips slightly and angles into me. His hardness presses against the area between my leg and my sex. I’m taken aback a bit, because he’s never done that before. When he does it again, I surprise myself by angling my hips to match his pressure against me.
With that, we kick into a new gear. He returns to my mouth and we kiss each other eagerly. He pulls my shirt up further until my bra is exposed. Then he pulls up my bra. I’m panting and dizzy with the heat of what we’re doing to each other. I bend one knee and hook my ankle around his leg. We grind our pelvises together again and now I’m the one moaning.
I’m starting to feel carried away into an area I’m not sure I’m ready for. But as he kisses my neck and slowly starts working his way down, I don’t want to stop him either. In fact, I really, really want him to keep going.
He reaches the top of my left breast and I rub my hands along his firm shoulders, my eyes closed and my head arched back. He slowly works his way down, maybe proceeding with caution. I could tell him to stop, but I don’t. He keeps going and my breath hitches in my chest. He’s so close. Closer, and I open my eyes to look down at him. My breasts are exposed, my nipples hard and erect, and his eyes are closed as he kisses my skin, his tongue gently sucking me. He stops just before he gets to my nipple. Maybe he’s not sure if I’m okay with this. I press his shoulders down slightly, and raise my chest slightly. I want it.
He takes my nipple in his mouth and my head falls back, my eyes closed, my breast aching and tingling more than I ever thought possible. He sucks on me again and again and I wonder how he knows what to do down there. My other breast starts to ache.
That feeling that maybe we’re going too far increases a bit, but so does my wanting more of his touch. He runs his tongue around my nipple and I think I’m going to die, it feels so good. It makes the ache in my other nipple spike. He breaks contact with my breast and I watch as he kisses the area between my breasts once, twice, before going for my other nipple. I gasp and grab the hair on the back of his head as he satisfies my need for him to suck on me there.
We kick into yet another gear. Part of me needs to stop, but the other part of me needs to keep going. Our hands aren’t caressing anymore, they’re groping. He sucks on me a bit longer then comes back up to kiss me and our mouths meet with a different kind of urgency than we ever have before. We’re kissing so deeply and panting and rubbing our hands all over each other. I realize his erection is right over my tender place and I’ve wrapped both of my legs around his thighs. I don’t remember bringing them up. Now I really do feel swept away by something that’s too much. It’s way too much.
I bring my legs down and break our kiss. “Okay,” I say panting. I kiss him again, mouth closed. I’m still fighting the urges in my own body, but I’m decided. “Okay,” I say again.
He lifts off me slightly and readjusts so his hardness isn’t pressing on me anymore. “Sorry,” he breathes. He’s panting too.
“No, it’s okay,” I say, and kiss him again. “I just... I need to stop.” I give him a smile that’s half embarrassment, half I really liked that.
He grins back and lifts off me more. We shuffle around as he pulls his shirt down, and I get my bra back in place and pull my shirt down with my bra still unhooked. I’ll have to sit up to set that right again, but I’m not ready to get up just yet.
I give him another kiss. It’s open, but gentler than what we were just doing. It feels more like a conclusion than a restart. He settles his weight on me again and kisses me back. When we finish he pulls away and scoots so he’s more to the side of me, only partially laying on me. One of his legs is slightly bent and laying over mine. He props his head on his hand and smiles down at me. I wonder again if I’m in love with him. What does being in love feel like? Does it feel like this? Because this feels pretty incredible.
I smile at him. “I really like you.”
He grins and gives a little laugh and says, “I really like you too,” as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. I pull up and give him an enthusiastic kiss.
We started playful, but before I know it our kissing is heating up again. Grinning, I pull away and push lightly on his chest. “No, no, no. Let’s don’t start that again.”
“Are you sure?” he says with a wink, but he crawls off me and grabs both my hands to pull me into a sit.
We both take a deep breath then kind of laugh and grin at each other, as if to say, “Well that was an experience.” I reach back under my shirt to tend to my bra, and am glad when he looks away to give me my privacy.
“Your turn to play,” he says, meaning the piano.
“You go. I need to do my hair.”
At the same time he’s getting up, he smooths back a section of my hair and gives me a peck. “We mussed you up a bit,” he says grinning. He heads to the piano, and I gather up my ties and brush and head to the bathroom. When I see my reflection, my eyebrows raise because my hair really is embarrassingly messy. That teaches us to make out that heavy with my hair down, I guess.
I run a brush through it and rapidly work my long tresses into a double braid. I hardly have to think about it, I’ve had so much practice. When I come out of the bathroom, he’s at the piano but still hasn’t started playing.
“What have you been doing?” I ask.
“Just getting your music ready,” he says. “Come on. It’s your turn.”
I sit down and see he’s set up the piece he wants me to play at Music Fest. I purse my lips but say nothing. Instead I play. For the first time, the fact that he’s sitting next to me flows into my awareness of the music and becomes part of it. It’s the song and it’s Erik and it’s us and it’s amazing.
I think I’m in love.
My hands fly over the keys and I smile. His hand rests lightly on my back.
“What’s this?”
The voice that booms out in the living room is so deep and loud and carries so well it brings everything to a halt. My hands flinch off the keys and I look up to see Erik’s da
d standing in the entryway to the living room, frowning at us.
Erik’s hand leaves my back and he puts his hands on his lap.
“Hi, Dad,” he says calmly. Like, crazy calm. I feel like I’ve been caught doing something horrible and cringe to think what would’ve happened if his dad had walked in ten minutes ago. My mind fumbles around trying to get a grasp on things. I vaguely wonder if it’s past dinner time or something, but it’s still light out and I know it’s maybe only five o’clock. I’ve been seeing Erik for almost two months now and his dad has never been home this early.
“This is my friend, Ashley,” Erik says in the same calm voice.
I smile and offer a weak, “Hello.”
Erik’s dad is still frowning at us.
“She’s a piano student too,” Erik says. “We’re just practicing.”
His dad offers a stiff, formal “Hello” that has ‘prosecuting attorney’ written all over it. He’s not frowning any more but he doesn’t exactly look friendly either. He comes into the living room and sits down on the big, fluffy armchair, still scrutinizing me. He pulls one ankle onto his opposite knee and settles into a position of authority. His dress shoe is a hard leather and shiny. And expensive looking. I’m in old jeans and a tee shirt. “Do you go to the Academy, Ashley?”
“No,” I say too soft.
“What’s that?” he says. Man alive, this guy has an intimidating voice.
“She goes to the high school, Dad,” Erik says.
Mr. Williams looks at Erik. “How’d you meet?”
“She lives in the area,” Erik says vaguely, but this only brings Mr. Williams’ gaze back to me.
“In Stonehaven?” he asks.
I find my voice then. I refuse to be ashamed of where I live. “No, in Brookside,” I say strongly.
“We met on the Greenbelt,” Erik says, “and found out we both play. We’ve been practicing together some.”
Mr. Williams looks at Erik. He seems composed, but I see a sharpness in his eyes.
“Just a few times,” Erik adds.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ashley,” he says, though it hasn’t felt nice at all, “but it’s probably time to get on home.”
