I half expected Charlie to bring it up, but she never did. And, coward that I am, I have no desire to go there either.
Much as I love her, much as I crave all forms of connection with her—including this, watching her perform—I can’t bring myself to say the words out loud again.
The only thing that’s not clear is whether withholding the admission is more of a punishment for her or me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Feedback: the resonance loop created when a microphone or guitar pickup is placed too close to a highly amplified speaker, often creating a howling or screeching sound
Charlie
I leap across my hotel room at the soft knock on the door, opening it just enough for Damian to slip inside. Once the door is shut and the safety latch closed, I grip his shirt with both hands and pull his mouth to mine.
There’s the barest second of hesitation, but his lips part, allowing my tongue into his mouth, and his hands fall to my hips, pulling me close. He’s tentative at first, letting me lead, but as the kiss continues, he starts asserting himself, pushing his tongue into my mouth rather than just stroking mine while it’s inside his. His fingers tighten on my sides, digging in enough so that I know he’s into it.
When I start moving us toward the bed, he tears his mouth from mine, his lips red and puffy, his dark eyes gleaming behind his glasses in the soft lamplight. “Hey, Charlie.” He quirks an eyebrow, but keeps shuffling his feet, his hands still gripping my hips, letting me lead him by my hold on his shirt.
I smile up at him. “Hi, Damian.”
My plan was to turn him so that he’d sit on the bed first and then I’d climb onto him. But when I try to turn him, he won’t let me. Instead my thighs sink into the plush mattress and bedding behind me. I resist for just a second, but really, why bother? This is what I want. Him, me, in my bed. Who cares if I’m on top or he is to start?
Even so, I don’t let go when I fall back onto the bed, pulling him with me. He catches himself on his forearms with a low chuckle, the sexy one that always sends heat licking down my spine to pool between my legs.
His mouth is on mine again, and I hook a leg around his thigh, rocking my hips up to him. He sinks his weight onto me, letting me feel the hard ridge now pressing between my legs. Letting go of the front of his shirt, I slide my hands around to his back, slipping them under the hem of his shirt, rucking it up over my wrists as I rake my short fingernails over the bare skin of his back.
He arches in response, his mouth pulling away from mine, his hips pressing into me even more. I bring my other leg up, wrapping them around him completely, and he groans.
When his eyes open, they’re dark and hazy with lust. His mouth is firm and his nostrils flare as he looks down at me. Without a word, he rears back, dragging me with him since I’m hanging onto him with my legs. He yanks my top above my breasts, pulls the cups of my bra down, and immediately pulls one hard nipple into his mouth.
With a cry, I arch up into his mouth, my fingers finding their way into his hair, pulling strands free as I loosen his ponytail. His hands make their way to the waistband of my leggings, tugging them down as much as he can with my legs still wrapped around him. Rocking himself against me where we’re still pressed together, his fingers slide over the bare skin he’s revealed, palming the cheeks of my ass, exploring as far between my legs as he can reach. But with the way we’re wrapped together, his fingertips barely graze the area around my opening.
He growls and pulls back, releasing my nipple with a pop. Still within the circle of my legs, he takes a half step back, pulling my ass off the bed. But his hands are there, supporting me. That is until his fingers curl into the waistband of my leggings again and yank the fabric down. Threads pop as they move over my parted thighs, and I drop my feet to the floor. Kneeling down, he makes quick work of stripping them from my ankles, scooping one arm under my knees to pull them all the way off.
Instead of letting go of my legs like I expect him to, he folds them back toward my chest, his hands sliding down again to support me where I hang off the edge of the bed. Then his tongue parts my labia, slowly licking up my center.
He hums, like he’s just eaten the most decadent chocolate cake, and does it again.
I’m lost to sensation, letting him take my weight, my hands clawing for purchase in the comforter as he licks and sucks and nibbles, playing me effortlessly, taking me to the peak again and again before finally tipping me over the crest and bringing me down the other side.
Shuddering with the aftereffects of a stellar orgasm, I come back to myself slowly, only realizing that my legs have wrapped themselves around his head when he gently sets them on the floor one at a time.
Skimming his hands up the side of my body, he leans over me, slides his hands beneath my back, and scoots me up on the bed all the way before gifting me a luscious kiss, all lips and tongue and Damian.
All my senses are swamped with him. Strands of his hair tickle my cheek, and the soft cotton of his T-shirt brushes across my nipples.
But I need his skin. Moaning into his mouth, I try to communicate my desire to touch him, but with his hands still under my shoulders, I can’t get my arms down to his waist to pull his shirt up. Frustrated, I make another sound, this one more groan, again swallowed by his kiss.
I reach for the only parts of him I can get to, the fabric above his shoulders, and start to pull, bunching it in my hands, hoping I can pull it up far enough to touch his skin.
With a chuckle that rumbles through his chest, he stands and takes off his glasses before pulling his shirt over his head. “Better?”
Licking my lips, I nod, devouring him with my eyes. “Much.” My voice is hoarse. “Pants too.”
With a sexy smile, he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving mine. He lifts his chin, indicating my shirt and bra still wrapped around my upper torso. As he bends to get rid of the rest of his clothes, I sit up and do the same, so that when he climbs back into bed, we’re skin to skin, nothing between us.
His hand traces down the curve of my body, stroking almost reverently as he kisses me deeply. Even though he’s hard and ready, hissing when I grip his shaft and swipe my thumb over the pearly fluid gathering at the tip, he takes his time kissing me, caressing me, worshiping me with his hands and his lips.
When he finally sits back and rolls on the condom before taking his place between my thighs, I’m more than ready for him, squirming and pleading with him to please please please get inside me.
He gives me that sexy little grin of his that’s so devastating as he covers me with his body, lines himself up, and presses inside. My hips rise to meet him without my conscious direction, and he sinks in to the root on the first slow thrust. Wrapping my arms around his back, I trace the columns of muscle down to his ass, gripping him as he thrusts into me again.
His eyes hold mine as he moves inside me, holding me captive to their unfathomable depths. Once upon a time, he would whisper how he loves me, how he can’t get enough of me, how beautiful I am. Commanding me to open my eyes when I would close them, swept away by the sensations he’d draw from my body.
Now, though, he’s silent, his lips pressed together in a firm line. I can’t tell if he’s suppressing the words or if he no longer feels that way.
But if he doesn’t feel that way anymore, why are we doing this? Again?
Unwilling to let him see the confusion and conflict in my eyes, I close them, turning my head to the side, squeezing him with my legs and scraping his back with my nails once more, letting out a low sound, hoping to spur him on.
He grunts, but still doesn’t say anything. Not even to ask me to open my eyes. But he picks up his pace, his hips pistoning faster, harder. Soft lips land on the skin below my ear, then trace a path along my jaw. Turning my head, I open for him when he finds my lips, acquiescing to his exploration of my mouth.
I’d hoped, last time, that this meant something. But his continued silence, the disconnect between what we had befor
e and what we have now, cuts me, slicing through my rib cage and piercing my heart. Where I should feel happy and loved, all I feel is a sharp pain that the slide of his tongue along mine, the delicious friction between my legs does nothing to soothe. I want it to mean something, but I’m afraid that it doesn’t. Not anymore.
He moves even faster, and I know he’s nearing his climax. Breaking the kiss, his rhythm gets choppy, staccato, and he plunges into me as deep as he can, holding himself there as he loses control.
The final thrusts of his orgasm set off my own, but even as I ride out the pulsing waves, I keep my eyes tightly closed, fighting the burn of tears. The last thing I want is for Damian to see me cry.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Fugue: literally flight; a complex and highly regimented form of counterpoint. A short theme is introduced in one voice alone, then in others, with imitation and characteristic development as the piece progresses.
Damian
Charlie’s eyes remain tightly closed as I disentangle myself from her, carefully holding onto the condom so it doesn’t spill. I take a breath to say something, but decide to clean up quickly first. Then we can address whatever she’s feeling that’s making her act this way.
But when I come out of the bathroom, she’s sitting up, propped up with her palms flat on the bed behind her. She looks me over brazenly, her eyes scanning down my body and back up again, one corner of her mouth tipped up in a sinful smile.
“So Carla liked the show?”
I blink at the unexpected question. “Uh, yeah. She was thrilled. Surely you noticed from the way she gushed when we were with you.”
Her smile lifts the other side of her mouth now. “Yeah. It’s always fun to make someone’s day like that.”
“Try making her year. Maybe her entire high school career. I think this weekend will forever live as the best weekend in all of high school. And you’ve cemented my place as her favorite brother, so thanks for that.”
She gives a tiny half shrug, the movement making her breast bounce a little, drawing my eyes. When I look at her face again, her smile has turned knowing. “My pleasure,” she says.
Glancing away, I clear my throat, determined to bring up the eye closing and weirdly neutral topic of conversation. Especially since we’re both still naked, and I’m still half-hard after our most recent round of sex. “You really want to talk about my sister right now?”
She stands, the movement drawing my eyes as she reaches for her discarded clothes, pulling her ribbed tank top over her head, no bra. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she looks at me as she bunches the fabric of half her leggings in one hand before sliding her foot inside. “Not really.”
“Why are you getting dressed?”
Her eyebrows jump on her forehead, and she stands, pulling her leggings the rest of the way up, tugging at the fabric around her thighs until she’s satisfied. She yawns, stretching her arms up and over her head, arching her back so her unfettered breasts press against the fabric of her top. My eyes drop to them, mesmerized.
When her posture goes back to normal, she clears her throat, a smirk on her face when my eyes find their way there again. “I’m tired, Damian,” she says softly. “It’s been a long day.”
Now it’s my eyebrows doing the jumping. “It’s still pretty early for you to be going to bed on a show night.”
She shrugs, turning away to pull back the covers on the bed. I don’t know what to do with this. This isn’t the way we’ve ever been with each other. But she’s shutting me out right now, as surely as she ever has.
Reaching for my jeans, I pull my boxer briefs out, my movements jerky, betraying my irritation. I force myself to take a deep breath and calm down before I say anything. After I have my clothes on, I straighten my hair and reach for my glasses. Charlie still isn’t looking at me. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at her hands.
When I clear my throat, she looks up. “I’ll let you get some sleep then.”
Her expression remains bland as she stares at me, wordless. I wait, but still nothing. So I cross the gulf between us, tip her face up and place a soft kiss on her lips, unwilling to leave without some token of … I’m not sure what. Affection? Reassurance? All of that, I suppose.
“Goodnight, Charlie. Sweet dreams.” On those soft, parting words, I head to the door and let myself out without looking back.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lacrimoso: tearfully; sadly
Charlie
I close my eyes as the door clicks shut, finally releasing the tight hold on my emotions. Silent tears track down my cheeks. Sniffing, I wipe them away and slip under the covers, turning onto my side and curling into a ball.
I’ve never felt so uncertain of where I stand with someone as I do with Damian. My place in life and relationships has always been clearly defined. Even before, when we were together at Marycliff, I knew where I stood with him almost the entire time. The only momentary confusion caused by misassumptions on my part and lack of communication in general. But we worked past that, and then we were together. Dating. He was my boyfriend, and I was his girlfriend.
There was no ambiguity. No room for doubt or confusion. He loved me and told me so.
And now?
Now we’re in this weird limbo. We talk daily. We text. We kiss. And we have sex. Twice now.
But he didn’t stay after this time.
Yet another change.
More tears leak from my eyes, crossing the bridge of my nose, running out of the corner of my eye, and dampening my pillow. I suck in a shaky breath, letting them flow, not trying to control myself or tamp it down. Holding it in will only make it worse when it breaks free later. Possibly at a less opportune moment. Like in front of him. Or in front of him and an audience.
No, better to cry now about this new, ambivalent Damian who has sex with me without telling me he loves me. Who doesn’t command me to look at him so he can watch me come undone, so he can show me what I do to him in return, revealing himself to me in the most intimate way. Who dresses and leaves after sex instead of crawling back into bed with me and holding me while we sleep.
I didn’t really want him to stay. Bringing up his sister, getting dressed again, saying I’m tired—all of those things were designed to push him away. It just didn’t used to be so easy to accomplish.
Because even though I didn’t really want him to stay, I also didn’t want him to go.
What I really want is my Damian back. The one who loves me and tells me so. The one who waits patiently, allowing me to drop my defenses in my own time.
But that Damian, the one I knew, the one I fell in love with, is lost to me. Gone. Changed. Maybe forever.
Grabbing one of the extra pillows, I wrap my arms around it, clutching it to my chest, surrendering myself completely to my tears and letting them all out.
Chapter Thirty
Disjunct motion: when a melodic line moves by leaps (intervals greater than a second) rather than conjunct motion, which moves by steps.
Damian
Things are stilted between Charlie and I for about a week after her pop-up show in Seattle. We see each other at breakfast the next morning in her room, as planned, but with Carla there, we can’t talk about anything meaningful. Charlie has reverted to her public persona, telling jokes, deflecting questions, getting Carla to talk about her favorite part of the show the night before.
When we part, it’s with a simple, chaste peck on the lips. Carla and I are leaving for the airport, and Charlie’s heading back to California.
But after my realizations at her show—namely, that I’m more in love with her than ever, especially now that I feel like I actually understand more about her and her life—I’m unwilling to drop our usual routine of texts during the day and phone calls at night.
She responds to my texts the next day, but not as quickly as before, and she doesn’t give as many details in her answers. When we talk on the phone that night, it only lasts for about fifteen minutes.
Slowly, over the course of the week, we approach something like our new normal. She still seems distant, more reserved than I’m used to, but not like she used to be when I didn’t know she was famous. It’s not like she’s hiding anything, more that she’s less invested in our relationship.
I try not to let it get to me, but it’s frustrating. I almost say something about it, about her withdrawal in Seattle and her continued detachment, but swallow back the words. I don’t want this conversation to happen on the phone.
At least I should get to see her again soon. “You’re still coming to my recital next week, right?”
She’s silent for a moment, and I think my heart might stop waiting for her answer. If she says no …
“Do you still want me to?” is her unexpected answer.
“Of course.” The words are surprised out of me.
A soft whoosh of air as she sighs, but her voice sounds relieved when she says, “Okay. Then yes. I’ll be there.”
“Why would you think I wouldn’t want you there?”
“I don’t want to be a distraction. And I can’t be in the audience. I’ll have to do the same ridiculous sneaking that I did for Lauren’s, otherwise I’ll end up upstaging you. You’re risking that by me being in the building at all.”
“It’s okay to put Lauren through that, but not me?”
She huffs. “That’s not … I just wanted to make sure you were willing to put up with me and my crazy.”
“I can deal with your crazy if it means I get you.”
She sucks in a breath, but just says, “Okay.”
Counterpoint and Harmony (Songs and Sonatas Book 5) Page 14
