She always would, he knew that now. No way could he change that. But he had to remember she couldn’t come with him. He couldn’t lay a claim to her. When they were done here, he had to let her go. He wanted her in his bed every night until he had to leave. He was already mentally going through the tour dates to see if he could fly over to visit her while they were in Europe.
More of this. He’d follow her like a devoted pet if she’d give him this. The way she looked at him, her sweet, pretty breasts, the way she caressed his cock—everything.
When she lifted herself up on her knees, he watched her avidly, loving her engorged clit and the way it peeked through its protective lips. Like her breasts, it was pretty. The prettiest he’d ever seen. Her nipples tilted, pointing out and up, and her skin gleamed in the light of the bedside lamps. Unable to resist, he grasped her waist and lifted.
She laughed, delight ringing around the room as she kept hold of his cock, guiding it to her pussy as he brought her back down.
Her inner walls enclosed him, enveloping him in her hot, wet spell. His head went back against the pillows and he gave a wordless cry as she sank down, down, down, until her pussy met his balls. She wriggled. He moaned, then found his voice. “You are amazing.”
She returned his scrutiny with a smug smile. “I am, aren’t I?”
Then she started to move. Planting her hands on his chest, she began the rhythm that would take them both high. Her knees tightened against his rib cage and her hands pressed down on him. He could support her easily but he wouldn’t have complained if she’d weighed more or threatened to squash him as she fucked him. “I’m yours, to ride and to take whenever you want.” He meant it too.
“When you’re on stage?”
“If you want to.”
“When you’re in your mother’s house?”
That gave him pause, but not for long. “In her office, on her desk if you ask for it.”
She laughed again. What a great sound. As was her voice. She had an accent, to his ears definitely Icelandic, as if she were a nymph born of ice. Her pale skin emphasized his whimsical thought. Her voice had a slight nasal tone, not as pronounced as most deaf people but she’d just explained that to him. Occasionally her tone varied, louder or softer than she’d probably wanted, but he loved that too, because it made her distinctively Sabina.
He lifted his knees, sliding his heels down the bed to give her support, but she chose not to take it. Instead, she bent forward and increased her pace. Their bodies slapped together. Every time she came down on him her ass pounded his balls, sending ragged strikes of sensation deep into him, up and around and fuck, she was good.
Harder and faster. He held her steady, watching her breasts bounce, and let her have her way. “Oh fuck, you’re killing me.”
“Good. Count it as revenge.”
If this was revenge, it was worth leaving again for six years. Almost. Reaching up, he cradled her breasts, tender and delicate, savoring the jiggle when she slammed her body down onto his.
Close, so close now. But she was too. Her body tensed and she straightened, lifting her hands from his chest and flailing until he caught her hands in his, holding her steady.
Did she know she screamed so loudly when she came? He adored that, hearing her cry and knowing he’d driven her so crazy.
Hot liquid flooded his balls. No more, he couldn’t take it and when that clenching started again he grabbed her waist, sat up and held her tight while he pulsed deep and sure inside her.
Almost as soon as they’d finished, he wanted to do it again. But that was his problem. She was obviously exhausted, snuggling into him limply, letting him cradle her close.
This time when he went to the bathroom, he took her with him, letting her walk but holding her close, almost carrying her.
He used one hand to switch on the shower, waiting until the water had warmed. That gave him time to pull off the condom and dump it in the toilet, something she barely noticed. She had one arm around his waist and followed him into the shower.
Hunter enjoyed washing her. It was a glass shower, the doors frosted up to waist level, fading into clear glass above, a design he liked and noted for future reference. He had a decent apartment in London, one of the first things he’d bought when the band had sold enough of their first album to pay themselves a salary. He’d like glass like this there, so he could see Sabina as she showered and she could have fun teasing him with glimpses of her body. Oh yes, he’d get her in that apartment for sure. It became his new ambition in life.
Now he concentrated on washing her as gently as he could. Reaching up, he adjusted the shower so it fell in gentle rainfall instead of the needle point he preferred in the mornings. He needed something to wake him up, although since he’d stopped drinking to excess, he didn’t need it so much.
Disdaining the washcloth, he grabbed the soap labeled jasmine and used it to work up a lather between his hands. He started with her pussy, as gentle now as he’d been ruthless before, probing gently into every nook and cranny, pushing inside her slightly. The waxed skin felt so good under his hands, not a hint of stubble to scrape against his palms. “That is the definition of feminine,” he told her, and received a sleepy smile in return. She’d half closed her eyes, but although his cock responded to the sexy, sultry gaze, he ignored it. She was obviously past tired and while he knew she’d welcome him for a third bout, it could wait.
He guessed she’d worked herself into exhaustion, working and worrying. In his opinion too much. She should trust herself more. A huge decision like the one she was about to make probably needed a lot of concentration.
He couldn’t imagine changing his life that much. He lived with change, reveled in it for the most part, but then it was for pleasure and profit. Not his health.
“Will you come with me to Malmö?” he asked, striving for a casual tone.
“Yes, I’ll come.”
He rejoiced. More time together.
Once he’d cleaned her pussy, although he wanted to linger, he washed the rest of her just as thoroughly. Her breasts felt just as gorgeous when they were soapy, but he regretted he couldn’t lick off the suds. He knew edible soap existed—he’d have to look into getting some.
He used the washcloth to wipe himself down with efficiency rather than anything else. After he’d shut off the water, he wrapped her in a warm towel. She gave him a smile and a husky word of thanks.
Once they were dry, he unwrapped them both, dropped the wet towels to the floor and swung her into his arms, carrying her to the bed and laying her on the rumpled sheets.
He straightened and glanced around the room, remembering that he hadn’t locked the door when they’d come in, too eager to get to the bed and see her naked. As he crossed the room, he saw the abandoned cart with two cold cups of coffee resting on it.
Recalling what had started this, the way she’d looked at the sweets and then at him, obviously struck with the same idea as he was, he picked up the desserts and stowed them away in the fridge. The raspberries would look wonderful balanced on her nipples, inviting him to taste the sweet juice, lap her up. The thought made his mouth water but he stopped only long enough to chug down a glass of water because his lady was waiting for him in bed.
Another time, they’d play. He promised himself that treat.
He fell asleep holding her close, listening to her gentle snores and trying to memorize the way she snuggled in close to him. This time he wouldn’t cut communication. He’d stay her good friend in everything.
And when the time came to part, he’d try to pretend he didn’t want more than her friendship.
Chapter Five
In the car on the brief journey to the venue at Malmö, Sabina clutched Hunter’s hand as if it were a lifeline. Darkened windows showed a horde of people outside the car, kept at a distance only by beefy security guards. He turned his head to her. “Scary,” she mouthed.
He smiled. “You get used to it.” She saw his throat working and realized he was speaking f
or real.
A tap on her leg told her that Emmelie, sitting on her other side, was displeased. Sabina faced her. “You should not speak aloud,” Emmelie signed. “It puts you at a disadvantage.”
Sabina released Hunter’s hand and answered in the same method, difficult because she didn’t want to move away from him. “It doesn’t when I speak with Hunter. You know I can speak verbally.” She felt more comfortable using her hands like this, ignoring the muffled pandemonium going on outside. “In your house I will respect your wishes.”
Emmelie smoothed her perfectly coiffed blonde hair then signed again. “They will laugh.”
Sabina frowned. Had they laughed at Emmelie? Unlike her, Emmelie had been born deaf, so her intonation would be awkward. She’d never heard Emmelie articulate anything except sighs, sounds of exasperation and the occasional laugh. Her laugh had a braying tone to it, but it occurred so infrequently that most people were glad to hear it.
No sign of a laugh today. Emmelie had boarded the plane that morning with what seemed to Sabina suspicious equanimity. She’d brought work with her and spent a lot of time texting during the short flight to Malmö. At the airport, she’d stepped into the car that took them to their hotel without complaint.
Now, a few hours later, they were on their way to the concert. The stadium held nearly twenty thousand, so the roads were filling up. The band had stayed put after the sound check, but Hunter had come back to pick them up.
Sabina decided to go with the flow and drank up the new experience, her excitement steadily increasing as they approached the stadium. The slow inching through the crowd in the car with darkened windows felt to her like something out of a story, but Emmelie took it in stride, busy on her phone once more, until she’d stopped to talk with her son.
“They will not laugh,” she signed now. “If they do, I’ll turn my back.”
Hunter waved his hands before he signed. “They will not laugh at her.” He moved his hands as strongly as he could in the confined space. “I won’t let them.”
“You can’t stop them. You will not be here to do so.”
He dropped his hands, only to lift them again. “I don’t have to be here. She has the courage to work through this.” He paused, his hands in midair, not saying anything for a moment. “She must do as she wishes.”
Emmelie signed, more agitated than usual, emphasizing her words by slapping her hands against each other. “If you have the operation, that won’t make you his equal. It’s experimental. It will not work.”
When Hunter started to reply, Sabina knocked his hands aside and signed for herself. “I haven’t made up my mind. Don’t try to make it up for me.” That morning she’d received a definite offer. She could have the operation if she wanted it. She had to tell them soon.
Emmelie hadn’t finished. Her face became more animated as she spoke, and her hands moved fluently. “If you do, the deaf community can’t welcome you. After next week, I will have no hearing people on my staff. I have no choice.”
Hunter lifted his hands once more. “What do you mean, ‘after next week’. What’s happening next week?”
The car stopped, but as someone opened the door on his mother’s side, Hunter reached across and put his hand on her knee, stopping her getting out. Their eyes, so similar in color and shape, met.
Emmelie sighed. “I’ll publish my manifesto for the new political party. The Deaf Aware.”
Sabina disagreed with Emmelie’s stance, but as a prominent deaf separatist, Hunter’s mother had to make the decision. She had no choice unless she decided to moderate her stance. Already she had compromised her position by employing Sabina with her residual hearing. “I would be a bridge between the worlds for you if I have the operation.”
She’d done all the research, and now she planned to let it lie in her mind until after the concert. Even though this was an experimental procedure, people were lining up for it. Right now, thinking about it made her feel sick. Going on as she was, continuing with a career that paid well and gave her independence and a place in the world, or starting again, but with her hearing. She bounced from one extreme to the other, undecided.
Emmelie dropped her bombshell right on Hunter’s head. “You know I’m busy, and to invite me to something where sound is important is unfair. I have no interest in music. I have never heard it, and I will never do so.” She paused. She’d made all this clear more than once since Hunter had asked her to come. She could see no reason to do something for her son, to watch him do what he’d made such a success of doing. Not unless it held something for her. Emmelie’s movements slowed down. “I’ll launch the party tonight, at the press conference after the concert.”
So that was the reason for the constant texting. She was getting everything in place.
Something else jolted into Sabina’s awareness. Emmelie had planned this without her. Hadn’t asked for her help or hinted that she planned to do anything more than watch her son conquer the land he was born in.
“You didn’t tell me,” she signed.
Emmelie stared at her. “No. You’re sleeping with my son. I can’t trust you not to tell him,” she signed before she turned and left.
That put her in her place.
Outside, to be precise. Already, Emmelie was sidelining her.
Sabina shook off Hunter’s hand when he tried to help her out of the car but she did alight on his side. Made to choose between Hunter and his mother. Her life seemed full of unwelcome choices recently. Already weary from so many sleepless nights, worrying about her decision, she had a moment of weakness. She just wanted her decision over with, her life set on its new course.
All she’d wanted was a respite tonight, a chance to enjoy herself without fretting. Now she had mother and son at loggerheads, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d become the bone between them. Dear God, should she just hide her head under a pillow and hope they all went away?
Muffled sounds intruded on her consciousness and she looked around to see people clustered behind a wire fence, waving pieces of paper, their mouths open, presumably yelling. She couldn’t see what lay beyond the people, they completely obscured the view.
When Emmelie had come around the car to join them by the stage entrance, Sabina signed to both of them, speaking the words to emphasize her position. “I will make my decision myself. Nothing will alter it.”
Hunter caught her hands once she’d finished and spoke. “I don’t want to. I want you to make the decision yourself. You’re strong enough to do this.”
She only spoke now, although Emmelie could lip-read well enough to interpret her words. “Don’t you want me to have the operation?”
He shook his head. “Only if you think it’s right for you.”
Her family for, her employer against, and all of them forgetting that she was making this decision that would affect her life most. Except Hunter. She had no idea how she would earn a living after the operation. She’d have to develop a new network of people who wouldn’t object to a hearing person signing for them. Once she’d recovered, she’d have to work somehow. No way on earth would she impose herself on her family, or Hunter.
She’d cope. She needed to stay close to Uppsala for a while because of the aftercare and therapy, but she’d find something. Hunter remained with her, waiting for her to enter the building, ignoring the fans. Emmelie faced the crowd. They’d take photos and identify her.
How dared she use her son’s night of glory to steal the publicity that should rightfully be his?
“How could you let her do this?” she asked him.
He half turned so his mother couldn’t see his words. “Wait and see. There’s a man inside I can’t wait for her to meet.” He smiled, then took Sabina’s hand and led her inside.
She blinked as she confronted one of the largest men she’d ever seen. Not fat exactly, simply large. He towered over her and his generous build gave him a presence nobody could ignore. He smiled down at her and said something, but she wasn’t attuned to
the accent or the way he spoke, and his dark beard and mustache didn’t help.
Hunter moved forward enough for her to see him speak. “Sabina, this is Chick Fontaine, Murder City Ravens’ manager. Chick, meet Sabina Laugasdottir.”
Chick enveloped her hand in a large, warm embrace. “Pleased to meet you.” She saw what he said that time. He opened his mouth more as he spoke.
“Pleased to meet you too.”
He didn’t show any sign of her voice being unusual. She knew it was, despite her efforts to keep it as normal as possible.
“I’ll remember to speak clearly and face you. Is that what you need?”
Immediately she warmed to him. Chick was a bear of a man. She suspected he could show the bear’s savage side too if crossed. But she had no intention of provoking that. “Thank you, yes, at first. But I’ll get used to your way of speaking.”
“I told the guys this afternoon,” Hunter said. “If you can’t understand them, ask them to repeat what they’re saying.”
“Thank you.”
She stood aside while Hunter introduced his mother. Emmelie signed and Hunter interpreted. This time she deigned to lip-read, but only because Hunter showed signs of wanting to hurry her through. But she would never speak.
Hunter glanced at his mother before he kissed Sabina, taking his time. Despite her uneasiness, he coaxed her into responding, lifting her hands to rest them on his powerful forearms. He held her tenderly, enclosing her in his arms and making her feel completely safe. Even though she knew the sensation was an illusion, she gave herself the minute’s respite in his arms.
He finished the kiss slowly and then touched his lips to her forehead. “Chick will look after you now, show you to your places. I need to finish a few things.”
“And get into the zone.”
A wry smile curved his lips. “That too.”
She lifted her face for another swift kiss but then stepped back. “Go.”
He went, leaving her with Emmelie and Chick.
Chick showed them to the public area backstage, already laid out with tables of refreshments and plates of sandwiches covered with plastic wrap. “Help yourselves,” he said. He glanced at Emmelie and shrugged. “I’m sorry, I can’t sign.”
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