by Imani King
Momentarily he pondered if she ever felt the same. Probably not. She must’ve chosen the life of a classical musician. For him music was so different – it was a release, throwing off the bonds of his inherited life. Freedom. Recklessness. Thousands upon thousands of screaming fans, all wanting him. Not bar lines, dead composers, dusty, crumbling sheet music. Everything that came out of his mouth they cheered. So what if he was alone in the end of the day? What did it matter anyway? Like they say, you don’t pay a hooker for the sex, you’re paying her to leave afterwards.
At least that’s what Nigel always says – and he’ll be single forever. And that is the way to be.
It’s too bad this wasn’t one of Origin of Species’ concerts, and not this string quartet, he thought, his cock still straining at his jeans. I could use a groupie right about now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jasmine and Leo
The ceremony was underway. Jasmine trembled a little on the stage, and it wasn’t just from stage fright. She was doing her best to avoid the relentless stare of Leo, who’d had his eyes fixed on her for the entire ceremony thus far. It was all she could do to stop herself from putting down her cello and going over to straddle him, put her arms around his neck and kiss him hard.
In her mind, she could almost feel him underneath her, hardening, his hands coming around to snake his fingertips slowly up the front of the bodice of her dress. Her face flushed. She could sense her heart rate rising as she stared at her music, her bow trembling in her hand.
She had never felt like this about anyone before. Nobody had really made a dent in her before this man, who had barely spoken ten words to her. But it wasn’t about the words, the ceremony, the man. Even if he were devastatingly handsome. It was about the way she felt when she looked at his face.
Like she knew his pain. And his joy. And wanted to know his pleasure. Intimately.
Leo tried to pay attention. It was his brother’s wedding after all, and he was the best man. It was his job to act as if this was the most important occasion in the world. And perhaps it was the most important - but not for the reasons his brother thought so. But because of that damned cellist sitting up there.
Leo knew that Victor didn’t care about his life, nor did he care for his choices. And frankly, Leo felt the same way about Victor’s – they were very different people in that Victor had grown up earlier, at a time when his mother and father had even been in love, and committed to raising a family despite the complications – the underpinnings of it all. Leo had been more of a surprise born ten years later when the bloom was nearly off the rose. An accident.
Probably one reason they had sent him to boarding school so quickly.
So he had always felt this way: moor less, detached.
And one thing about this girl, was that she seemed more attached than anything he’d come across. Anyone he’d ever met. He watched her lift her bow. Were her hands trembling? He thought he could detect something amiss, but as she started to play it all changed. As she embraced the cello, the sounds that emerged from her bow started not to seem like music anymore, although they were clearly, perfectly uttered with the others.
Every sound was now raw emotion – pure passion. It was if he could hear his own soul crying out in the low moan of the cello as it stretched for something that transcended the wedding.
Images fluttered through his head. Each sound brought about a feeling, which in turn made him remember. The downcast, heavy-lashed eyes of the girl he loved in boarding school. The smell of his mother’s perfume – Chanel No. 5. The clack of her heels as she left the nursery – left him alone. His father teaching him the finer points of being an equestrian. His first beer. His first blowjob. His first feeling of being alone in foreign country, needing someone.
He wanted to shout, to cry. Wanted to pull the bow out of her hands, take her into his arms, tip her chin up with a smooth motion and claim her with a kiss. In front of all these people. Use the ring in his pocket, his brother’s ring, to place on her finger, sliding the diamond onto her sensitive, magical, long, latte-colored finger.
What the fuck am I thinking? For fuck’s sake Leo, get it together, you twat.
He looked down at the program, crumpling it in his hands. The cellist – that kind of woman – would never want him. It was only the floozies, the groupies, the gold-diggers who chased him. Real women like that one on stage, the one playing like she understood humanity – they had no need for him. Nobody did.
He wished he could leave. Just walk out. Get on a plane. Or, run, grab her and her moaning cello, and go back to his room and spend all this passion, all his feeling on every inch of her skin.
He was jolted back into reality by the priest clearing his throat. Victor and his new bride, Eugenie, were exchanging vows and he needed to surrender the ring to his brother at any moment. He fingered it in the pocket of his trousers. Closing his fingers around the small band of gold, again he imagined slipping it on the cellist’s finger as he kissed her lips softly, but a little roughly. Bumping her mouth with his, gently, before catching her lower lip in his teeth and pulling against it softly, before running his tongue over the smooth flesh.
God damn these visions.
“Leo!” Victor hissed, motioning.
Shit. He fumbled for the ring, attention on his brother. Still his eyes flashed toward Jasmine and he thought he saw a flash of a smile in her eyes. He grinned crookedly, sexily, guiltily, at her, and handed his brother the ring, which he slipped on his new wife’s hand with a smooth, practiced motion.
Victor.
When the newly married couple turned toward the congregation, Leo noted that there wasn’t the vulgar display of applause, as you might see in an American church, but the surge of music from the string quartet felt like a triumph. Again he caught her eye, and saw that hint of joy, of abandon.
Jasmine couldn’t get his devilish smile out of her mind, the way he looked at her like they were the only two in the room, and this fueled her as her bow flew over the strings. She played her emotions of budding love, dreams, the mischievousness of his grin, the fact that he was still free out, onto the crowd.
The applause that was held back for the happy couple was held as well for the string quartet’s performance. Guests were confused. Usually wedding music was good, was proper, but it was never like this. Alive, spontaneous, beautiful. They filed out, awed looks on their faces, dreaming about the feelings that had somehow been awakened in them by the ceremony, and the music.
Kerry looked at Jasmine, face beaming. She didn’t say anything yet, but Jasmine could tell that she had won out.
“That was flawless!” came the whisper as Kerry bent down to adjust the music. They were to play one more piece and then their part of the ceremony would be over, with only the reception left. Excited, Jasmine tucked a curl behind her ear, and grinned at Kerry, before they launched into the next work. Her dark eyelids, shimmering with Kerry’s aqua eyeliner, closed in the ecstasy of the music.
Leo walked out slowly, savoring each moment of the passionate playing that washed over him. For just a moment he didn’t miss the shrill cry of the electric guitar, his own raspy vibrato, the driving beat of Origin’s drummer. There was just as much passion in this, and there was enough desire in him that frankly, it was a bit hard to walk. His pants were just getting a little too tight across the front.
His aunt, still sitting in the pew, had her eyes at his crotch level, and clearly saw something suspicious.
“Hello Auntie,” he grinned smarmily. “So… exciting to see you!”
She averted her eyes quickly, fanning herself with her program.
I’ll get this shit back to normal, he figured, recovering his swagger. If it kills me. Time for a post-wedding drink.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jasmine
The wedding reception was surprisingly small, and quite formal. The quartet had been invited to join, and sat at their own table – they took a minute to admire the glorious, elaborate p
lace-settings. Jane, the second violinist, was grinning stupidly at Kerry.
“Are you sure you know which fork to use? I bet this crowd is really on top of that sort of thing,” she giggled, eyes sparkling.
“There’s some kind of rule,” piped up Robyn, the violist. “At least that’s what I read.”
Jasmine looked down at her own plate. “It looks like somebody emptied the dishwasher really neatly in front of my chair, she said, looking down at the assortment of cutlery. “But I think you are supposed to start on the outside and make your way inward?”
“Yes! That sounds right!” Robyn sat back. “In any case I am really looking forward to this dinner. I could barely eat today, thinking about our concert this afternoon.”
“Me neither,” Kerry said. “After how rehearsals were going, I was afraid we were going in the dumper.”
“Oh come on,” said Jasmine. “Rehearsal wasn’t that bad, was it?”
All three of them looked at her incredulously. “Uhhh…”
“Ok, ok,” Jasmine smiled and ducked. “Sorry guys, I wasn’t exactly at my best. I’ll blame it on the jet lag.” Hers and Kerry’s eyes met briefly. Jasmine was trying not to let her emotions read on her face.
“Oh sure,” Kerry said airily. “Jet lag’s the worst.” She winked at her friend. “It almost turns your whole world upside down.”
Jasmine knew she was really referring to the way she felt about Leo.
Speaking of Leo – where was he anyway? She looked around but didn’t see him anywhere. Shouldn’t he be at the head table?
Especially now as the speeches were starting. Jasmine’s mind began to wander. Like a tongue searching out a cavity, her mind was eagerly going to its new favorite obsession: Leo. Right now it was thinking about his legs, long and muscular in his trousers, leading up to his ass. And what an ass it was: pert, strong, sexy. Perfect. Where was he?
The champagne glass in front of her was discreetly filled, as there was about to be a toast.
“And now, I’ll have your attention – it’s time for the best man to give us the inside scoop on his brother, Victor, the man of the hour.” There was an awkward moment where people looked around, murmuring. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who had noticed his absence.
Jasmine’s and Kerry’s eyes met, in a little moment of panic.
“Leo Wellington-Kerr, the best man,” the emcee said. “Please come to the stage.” As an aside to the crowd. “You know how these rock stars are, always late.” The awkwardness was momentarily allayed as the crowd members looked at each other in amusement.
A murmur started in the crowd, still waiting. Someone was dispatched to find Leo, and finally he appeared, a little unsteadily, in the doorway. He shambled up on the dais, all eyes on him.
He looked at the crowd for a moment, and then gave them all a killer grin. She could feel the excitement in the room rising, although subtly. After all he was a rock star, and gorgeous. But it wasn’t just that. There was a sense of near fear, covered up with mockery: how is Leo going to behave now? Will he embarrass or entertain us?
As the black sheep of the family, he was always a cause for gossip, but the family rarely had the chance to have him right there in front of them – usually he was on tour. They were used to dull royalty, after all, and the predictability of tradition, and Leo was none of those things. His speech could be a wild card, or it could be nothing out-of-the-ordinary – one never knew.
Jasmine’s own excitement was rising parallel to that of the crowd, but for entirely different reasons - to see his strong shoulders stretching the perfect cut of his suit jacket, his collar open, bow tie hanging rakishly around his neck, and blue eyes twinkling as he raised his glass.
He was just the kind of person who just looked cool. And sexy. No matter what he did. And everyone’s eyes were glued to his every move.
“Here’s to my brother, a better man than I’ll ever be. I’m sure we’d all agree,” he looked pointedly around the room, the glint in his eyes showing that he was aware of his reputation. When his eyes alighting on Jasmine’s for just a moment, it sent a thrill through her to her center. She shifted in her seat, and lowered her eyes, a soft smile growing on her face. “Always, but especially at this moment, today, it’s clear that he’s the good son – by marrying Eugenie, he’s really stood up and shown what it means to be a real man. Let’s all drink to him, on this most special day.”
At that moment, he leaned his head back and drained his glass completely, cuing the crowd to do the same. Jasmine raised her own glass and took little sip. She did notice that Leo seemed a little overeager for someone who was just toasting his brother, but that was probably the life of the rock musician – hard partying.
While the small crowd cheered and clapped in celebration Leo stumbled off the dais, his short and sweet speech hardly quenching the crowd’s – not love, but desire for him – but he knew the cardinal rules of show business: Always leave them wanting more.
When the band started, and the dancing had begun, Jasmine was stunned to feel a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to come face-to-face with Leo, seeing his stunning blue eyes, gasped a little.
“Didn’t we meet the other day?” He smiled.
“I believe so,” she grinned back, heart in her throat.
“My name’s Leo,” he growled, hand still on her shoulder, making her tremble a little. “But I don’t know your name.”
“This is Jasmine,” Kerry said, leaning in. Leo winked at her.
“Well Jasmine,” his hand lightly traced her shoulder strap, “Would you like to dance?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Leo
Her latte-colored skin under his fingers was soft – almost impossibly so. He couldn’t help but caress it a little as he leaned in toward her. She also smelled incredible. And the black gown was highlighting all her curves.
“Didn’t we meet the other day?” He smiled. He was a bit nervous. It had been so long since he had felt nervous about anything to do with women, that he almost didn’t recognize the sensation. Luckily he was almost able to go on autopilot when it came to getting girls. They mostly just fell into his lap.
Quite literally, he thought with a smile.
Her voice was smooth, but he thought could hear some nerves behind it as well. He inhaled her scent again as her nosy friend introduced her.
Jasmine. Jasmine. That was the goddess’s name. Perfect.
Now was the time to ask her, if any. His body was responding to her wildly, urging him to pull her toward him, crush her in his arms, but he focused on the small expanse of skin under his left fingertip. The silky smooth skin, perfect size for a kiss. Or a lick.
The amount of alcohol he had up until that point was nearly ideal. Enough to ask her to dance without appearing a mad fool, but not so much that he lost all his inhibitions and groped her or something. He imagined pulling up her dress, and lowering his pants, knowing he was practically ready to take her then and there. But that’s not what this was about somehow. Dammit.
She lowered her eyes in an unexpectedly alluring way.
“Why I’d love to,” came her answer. “I thought you’d never ask.” He wanted her badly – to hear the purr of her voice in his ear as he laid her, pounding her sweet pussy until she had to let loose and cry out. Instead he held out his arm for her to take and they walked to the dance floor.
It was as he expected. All eyes on him. On them. Why did they even get shocked anymore? She may have been ‘wrong’ for him in all traditional ways, but what did he care about that? So what if most would see a musician playing at a wedding as some kind of servant. No matter if she was the kind of musician who would sear your memories into your brain, memories of pain and pleasure – she’d still be ‘the help’ in their eyes. And the fact that she was another race, and an American, didn’t help too much either.
But fuck that. For once he wasn’t doing any of this to shock anyone, or to get attention.
No, he just wanted to dan
ce with this lovely young thing, to rest his hand lightly on the side of her hip as they swayed, to lead her around the floor, to feel her move with the music.
And for a few moments, that’s what it was. Just beautiful, subtle communication between her body and his, gentle touches sending waves of electricity. He focused on her lowered lashes, as every now and then he would be rewarded by the flash of her amber, gold-specked eye meeting his.
God she’s beautiful.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jasmine
His dancing was practiced, clearly. They glided around the room, lightly, easily, his hand floating on her hip, the other, warm and grasping her own. She was glad for the few lessons she had had in dancing as a kid, but even if she hadn’t a clue her left foot from her right, the way he was leading her allowed her to relax.
