by Nora Flite
“Sir, if she's a contestant, then what should we do?” one of the men asked.
“I'll take care of this,” Sherman said. “I'd hate for you to lose your jobs over being too aggressive with a celebrity.”
The guards eyeballed me with unease. “Yes, Mr. Sherman. We'll leave this to you,” the leader said. Waving a beefy arm, he marched the guards from the hall, leaving me alone with Sherman.
Rubbing my wrists gingerly, I squinted at him. “Thanks, I guess.”
His face shifted into complete seriousness. “What the hell were you doing out there? Did Bach not tell anyone that Beats and Blast wasn't his anymore? If you wanted to be represented by my company, you needed to meet with me, first.”
“This has nothing to do with Beats and Blast,” I said, my voice seething.
“Then what would possess you to cause such a scene?”
I lifted my head with pride. “Someone gave me some advice a while ago. Something about recognizing my own raw potential.” Sherman's eyes widened at my callback. “I was halfway to the airport yesterday. Ready to go back to Portland, give everything up. Then I thought about all the people who kept pushing me forward. Everyone telling me to chase my dreams. My parents died wanting this for me, my aunt used me, my friend was living vicariously through me. I thought I was doing this for me, except I wasn't. Not until today. Even if I almost got arrested, it was worth it.”
There was compassion in his eyes. My explanation had resonated with him. “You made the right choice, Amina. And that song you performed, it was one of the best I've ever heard. You're not just an amazing performer, you compose music beautifully.”
My heart tightened. “I didn't write that song.”
“What? Then who?”
My fingers clutched at the hem of my dress. “Bach. He—”
“Amina!” Bach burst into the hallway. The wildness in his green eyes locked me to the floor. I couldn't move as he grabbed my shoulders. I was light as a cloud in his grip. If he let go, I'd float up and away and never come back down.
“Amina,” he said again, “Are you okay?” He noticed Sherman and pulled me closer.
“I'm fine. I'm not even in trouble.”
He shook his head at me. “Why are you here? Farrah gave you my letter, you know you didn't have to try and win an award.”
“Did you really think after all my hard work, I'd give up a chance at showing the world what I'm made of?” I was going to say more. I had a whole speech rotating through my brain that I'd arranged last night in the hotel I'd slept in. But when I saw the concern in his eyes, the pure love spilling over, I forgot how to form words. Stretching up, I kissed him with enough enthusiasm that he stumbled off balance.
We came apart, our foreheads touching. “Did you like it?” I whispered. “The song?”
His smile heated me up. “It was incredible.”
“It really was,” Sherman said.
I'd managed to forget about him for a second. Pulling away from Bach, I kept one hand in his as I glared at Sherman. “Why are you still here?”
“Because I'm dying to work with you, Amina. I haven't known an artist with your potential since Laurence.”
I gave a half-hearted laugh. “You stole Beats and Blast from the man I love. I'm not going to abandon him for you.”
Bach's grip tightened on mine, commanding me to look into his surprised face. “You love me?”
His shock was delightfully attractive. “If you try and tell me you didn't know that, I'm going to be pretty pissed off at—” Bach shut me up with a new kiss. I went limp as he tilted me in a back-bend.
I gasped for air when he straightened me up and let me go. “I wanted to tell you I loved you in Vegas,” he said. His eyes were burning with lust... with an energy that he now knew wasn't unrequited. “You stopped me. Those words were slowly dissolving me from the inside out, so to finally get to say them, it's like nothing I've ever experienced.”
Sherman made a polite sound. I glanced at him, wishing he'd just leave already. “I don't care if Bach doesn't have a record company anymore. I'm choosing him over you. I'll always choose him, every time.”
Sherman hesitated. “What if we could both get what we wanted?”
“How is that possible?” Bach asked.
“I never wanted to take Beats and Blast from you,” Sherman said. “Your father... Laurence wasn't just a client, he was one of my closest friends. When he left everything to you, I was shocked.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Bach scoffed.
“Let me finish, please.” Sherman adjusted the front of his jacket. I had a feeling that this conversation was difficult for him. “Laurence had a sensitive soul. I watched you grow up for years and was sure you didn't. Until tonight. When she sang your song.”
Bach's forehead crinkled. “That's it? You liked my lyrics, and now I'm supposed to forgive you for thinking I was a waste of space this whole time?”
“Bach, I'm trying to say I'm sorry. I misunderstood what you were capable of.”
“That wasn't why we didn't get along,” he growled. “You hated me because you thought I didn't respect my father enough. And I hated you... because deep down, I knew you were right.”
My heart shrank. “Bach, no.”
He looked at me. I could see the pain bloom in his emerald eyes. “I told you, Sherman was right. I never believed in my dad, not until he didn't need my support because he'd proven me wrong. I sank his company. Sherman is better off with it.”
“I'm not suggesting I give it back to you,” Sherman said. He offered his hand. “I'm asking for you to work with me. Become my partner.”
Bach's grip went slack; I squeezed his fingers, unsure what to say. But then, this had nothing to do with me. This was between these two men who had a painful history.
“Why?” Bach asked, his voice brittle. “I don't get why.”
“Because I'm not going to let myself become the man I thought you were,” he said. “You didn't believe in your father, and that haunts you even now. I know that I was wrong about your drive, your talent, and your ability to care for anyone but yourself.” He softened his voice. “You're more like him than either of us guessed. Maybe we can honor his memory by believing in each other.”
I fixated on Bach's emotionless expression. Did he agree with Sherman, like I did, that he was as kind as Laurence? That he obviously cared about others and wanted them to succeed? And that no one could lead Beats and Blast like him?
Bach inhaled until his chest was at capacity. His fingers left mine, closing on Sherman's in a solid handshake. “Dad would have liked that.”
- Chapter Twenty-Nine -
Bach
“Bach, slow down.”
It was an impossible request, even from her. Pulling her through the corridor, I ducked into the first empty room I could find. There were a few empty coffee cups on the long white tables, a half-eaten box of donuts. Probably where the staff had done their morning scrum before the event began.
Spinning her like a ballerina in a toy box, I pressed Amina against the back of the door I'd just slammed shut. She was locked inside with me—a man who'd been sure he'd never see her sweet smile again.
Just thinking of that riddled me with pain. I kissed her to remind myself I could. I wrapped my fingers in her short hair, loving how I had to be careful if I didn't want to hurt her, but still wanted to hang on. Amina was my personal challenge in life. Since meeting her, she'd made me a better person.
I owed her everything.
I planned to give it to her.
“I love you,” I whispered hoarsely, clutching her tighter. “I don't want to spend another minute without you by my side.”
She turned into steel in my arms. “Bach...”
“Marry me,” I demanded.
Her lower lip trembled. I could feel her heart thrumming through her ribs where she was pressed against me. “You're supposed to ask it like it's a question, not a command.”
I dropped to one kn
ee. “Will you, Amina Richards, marry me? I'll ask it a hundred different ways, if you want. I could write a poem. Or I could get on stage and sing into the mic.”
Amina's eyes began to shimmer. “You told me you can't sing.”
“I know, but for you, I'd try. I'll do anything for you, Amina. Anything. Please, say yes.”
It took her too long to respond. I tipped my head down, unable to bear looking into her eyes in case she actually said no. I didn't want that image burned into my memory.
“You know,” she said gently, her hands resting on my shoulders where I knelt, “I believe you really would do anything for me. Do you know how scary that feels? How amazing?”
Her fingers touched under my chin, encouraging me to look at her. The tears that worked their way over her cheeks, touching the dimples in her giant smile, made my heart soar. “I don't have a ring yet,” I said quickly. “I wasn't planning this, it just... happened. But we'll go buy you one right away, any ring you like, your pick.”
“I don't care about a ring.” She crouched so we were eye to eye. When she kissed me, her lips were salty from her happy tears. “You've given me more than enough. I love you, Bach Devine. And I wish for an eternity with you.”
I struggled to speak. “That's a yes?”
“That's a yes,” she sniffled, rubbing at her eyes.
Laughing wildly, I swung her up in my arms. We bumped the tables, knocking over empty cups as we went. She giggled for me to stop but I couldn't. If I quit moving, all of the bliss inside of me would rip me apart.
Kissing her hard, I bent her over a table, smacking the donut box aside to make room. Chocolate bear claws rolled across the floor. “This is the dress you wore the night you first kissed me,” I said. “The night you gave yourself to me. Did you wear it again because you remembered how it drove me wild when we were dancing?”
“I wish I could say yes. It was the only nice thing I had in my bag,” she mumbled.
God, her honesty was refreshing.
“Then it's just a happy accident,” I said, nuzzling her cheek. My fingers remembered the texture of her zipper. The familiar sound of it parting made my cock swell in my pants. Reaching between her thighs, I stroked the outside of her wet panties. I could fuck her right now without a problem, but there was something more important on my mind.
“Bach?” she gasped when I knelt between her open legs. I hiked her dress out of the way until I knew she could see me. “What are you—ah!”
I ran the tip of my nose through the crevice of her panties. “You stopped me when I tried this before. I know why, now. And that makes me need to eat you out even more.”
Her knees clenched around my ears. She breathed in rapidly, almost hyperventilating. Gazing up at her, I waited for her to tell me it was okay.
Amina nodded twice.
Tugging her underwear down her ankles, I set them on the table. I couldn't throw them aside—they were as precious as the rest of her. Settling forward, I breathed warm air onto her pink, beautiful cunt-lips.
“Mmm,” she whimpered.
Again, my dick flexed. I was painfully aware of my heavy need for her. Hooking her knees over my shoulders, I gently rubbed my cheek on her skin. Her scent was divine.
I massaged her pussy with my palm. Two fingers spread her open; my tongue flattened across her labia, not moving, just firm pressure. She contracted beneath me. I tasted her heartbeat through her clit.
“Jesus, that's amazing,” she groaned. “More. Please, more.”
I licked at her exposed, swollen clitoris. Amina trembled violently, legs squeezing my skull. Heat pounded behind my eyes—I needed air, but I needed to eat her sweet pussy more.
Gliding my fingertips over her slippery entrance, I coated them well. Firmly, encountering no resistance, I pushed them inside of her. She squealed in pleasure—then gasped when I lapped ravenously at every inch of her cunt.
“I'm coming!” she sobbed, her muscles tensing. Her fingers found my hair, holding on for dear life as she shook from her orgasm. I nearly came in my boxers. The pleasure of giving her pleasure was that intense.
Hurrying to stand, I yanked a condom from my pocket. In a flash I'd unzipped myself, easing my pants down just enough to get my cock out. It was an angry red color in my fist as I guided the condom over it. Amina stared at it, her hips rocking on the table, desperate for more.
A crackling voice came through the PA system in the room. “Aaaand we'll be announcing the winners of this year’s event in just a moment! I hope you're ready to...” The voice trailed out; Amina had coiled her arms around my skull, blocking out the world with her wild kisses.
With one hand I inched my cock-head into her. The walls of her pussy milked me, ever so happy to let me stretch her out. “Holy hell,” she panted. Her legs wrapped around, heels digging into my lower back. “Keep going, I can't wait. I need—ah!” I'd sunk in to the base, letting out a moan as I did.
Hoisting her by her hips, I thrust hard enough to shake the table. It moved, and we moved with it, until it banged against the nearby wall. Amina held on for dear life as I slammed my cock into her at full strength. “Yes,” I growled, my shoulders bunching from exertion. “Fuck, yes, I'm going to come. Can you feel it, Amina? How huge my cock is getting? I'm so damn close!”
She writhed in my embrace. “Me too, I'm right there on the edge.”
“Race me,” I growled, all my muscles working to keep her up as I fucked her with blindness-inducing abandon.
Amina sang for me as she threw back her head. Pressing my mouth to her exposed throat, I shivered. The tension in her cunt was bordering on pain as she clenched down, her orgasm traveling through her skin into mine. I came a half-second later, setting her on the table so I didn't drop her. The pleasure was too much. Too perfect.
Her hands pressed to my chest. “Bach? Are you okay?”
“Of course, more than fine.”
“Okay.” She paused. “Because you've been leaning against me for five minutes, now.”
Startled by this revelation, I stood up. There was sweat glistening on her forehead—mine, or hers? “Sorry. I got a little dazed,” I said.
Shaking her head with a tiny smile, Amina kissed my cheek. I did her one better by capturing her mouth with mine, our tongues gently, lazily exploring each other. The PA system came on overhead again. Someone was rattling off names, neither of us cared. We were absorbed in our own existence.
“...And Amina Richards of Beats and Blast!”
She stirred in my arms. “Huh?”
My reaction was sluggish. Holding her at a distance, I looked at the ceiling. “Did they decide your song counted as an entry?”
Amina gawked at me, sharing my shock. “But I didn't sign in this morning. How can I be considered an official contestant?”
“You were submitted in the name of the company weeks ago,” I said, thinking it through. A wave of disbelief struck me. “Sherman must have spoken to the judges. He pulled some strings.” Staring her in the face, I brushed her hair from her temple. “You did it, you won.”
Coiling her arms around my neck, she kissed me roughly. Then she wriggled free of my cock, standing up and fixing her dress. I watched her closely as I zipped my pants back up, throwing the used condom in the nearly-full trashcan. “How do you feel?” I asked.
“About winning an award?” Her smile was a mystery. “Surprised.”
“I thought you'd be jumping up and down in joy.”
She reached out to tuck her hand in mine. Soon, we were hugging again. “I'm happy, I swear. I'm just so much happier about you, and us, that this award can't compete. It's like someone offering me a peach when I've gorged myself on sugary ice cream.”
A new rush of love engulfed me. “Do you want to go out there and get your award?” I asked.
“Do I have to?”
“No, they'll mail it if you don't show up. The part that mattered was the performance, and you nailed that.”
“I got dragged off the s
tage,” she reminded me.
“Right. No one will forget that. They'll be talking about you for ages, which was all I was trying to make happen, award or not.”
She guided me to the door. “Let's get out of here. I want to be alone with you, not you and a hundred cameras.”
Eager to oblige, I led her down the hallway until we reached a staircase to the underground garage. Our shoes scuffed on the concrete as we jogged down the line of cars. When we reached mine, she gasped.
Amina stared at the Tesla. I took her hand, carefully pressing the key she'd abandoned on my kitchen counter into her palm. “Feel like driving?”
She climbed inside, adjusting the driver's seat, the mirrors, and when I settled beside her, she leaned over to give me a heartfelt kiss. “I missed this,” she said.
I grinned slyly. “Wait. Are you marrying me for my car?”
“Of course not,” she said, looking horrified. “I'm marrying you for your body.”
She revved the engine to drown out my laughter.
- Epilogue -
Amina
“Are you sure about this? It feels weird.”
Korine squinted at me. “Being famous feels weird? Gee, who'd guess.”
“Stop it.”
“Then get over yourself and accept that you now have fans who are fighting over seeing 'where it all began' okay?”
It was crazy to me that Roshio's attempt to make fun of me two months ago had resulted in me growing a core group of fans. They'd dug into the old Caffeline Instagram videos, messaging the account, begging for a chance to meet me in person.
Korine didn’t have to ask twice—I was eager to come visit her in Portland. The never-ending nature of working with Bach and Sherman was exhausting. This trip was tiring, too, but it wasn't purely work.
“On that topic,” she said, pulling something from her purse. I recognized the purple and gold glitter of my debut CD. She stuck out her tongue. “I adore your music. I'm your first fan, so sign this without making me feel more awkward, please.”
I took the black marker and scribbled my name in disbelief. “I'm flattered you like the songs.” It sometimes still hit me that this CD had come close to being locked away from the world because of my aunt's legal team. I hadn't heard a word from her since she'd gotten her money. It was a silver-lining, honestly.
