Vibrato

by Tamara Mataya

  I’d said the same words to him once.

  He presses a little closer to me and I melt.

  “I don’t know what it is about you, Rachel. I don’t believe in cheating. I swore I’d never talk to you again for his sake, despite despising him for having you, because I knew if we talked, I’d want to see you. And I knew if I saw you I’d have to have you again.”

  “Then have me.” I spin in his arms and caress the lean lines of his ribs. “I’m yours. Please, please have me again.”

  We both moan when he slowly brings his mouth to mine and that same, undeniable electricity crackles through us, intensified because of the long weeks and lonely nights apart. It’s stronger because we never thought we’d have this again, but here we are and it’s like breaking the surface and gasping in sweet air when you thought you’d drawn your last breath when the darkness was closing in.

  His tongue slowly delves into my mouth, mingling with mine as his hands slide down my arms to take my hands, intertwining our fingers together. So much passion and want and need, yet we both go slowly, savoring the sweet ache of having.

  This kiss feels like living.

  It’s everything.

  He pulls back, resting his forehead against mine. Our breaths are slow but deep, so deep, trying to inhale each other’s presence. His air is the only thing I want to breathe again, but I don’t want the truth to come between us.

  “I wanted to explain to you—”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t care. Right now I just need to be with you.” He caresses my flank, hand trailing down my ass to the backs of my thighs.

  I wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me and wraps my legs around his waist. Even through our jeans I can feel how hard he is for me. Perfect, since my body’s always ready for him.

  His gaze swallows me whole, and I wallow in the gorgeousness of being in his arms again. With ease, he carries me up the stairs and down the long hallway to his bedroom, every step nudging his hardness against my crotch. By the time we get to the bed, I’m practically mewling with need.

  He rests his forehead against mine. “I know, baby.” He sets me down on the bed and slides my jeans off. “I’ll be inside you soon.”

  Lust for him makes me weak, but I peel my shirt and bra off before he slips my panties down my legs and tosses them to the floor. I scoot backward until my head reaches the pillow, never taking my eyes off of Dylan and his casual striptease at the foot of the bed. The sight of his cock springing free of his jeans makes my mouth dry, and I lick my lips and trail a hand down my belly, reaching out for him.

  His eyes are hungry, gaze burning mine as he crawls up the bed. I spread my legs wide to give him full access and he kisses a path between my breasts as he positions himself above me.

  He kisses up my neck and jaw and the corner of my mouth before pulling back to look down at my face. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you t—”

  His cock fills my aching pussy and I gasp at the tight fit despite how soaked I am. His gaze locks onto mine and I can’t look away, letting him see every expression, every reaction to what the feeling of him moving in and out does to me. He grabs my hands in his, raises my hands above my head which thrusts my breasts out, rubbing my sensitive nipples against his chest. I arch my back further to increase the pressure.

  He traces my jaw and the delicate shell of my ear with his lips then nips my earlobe before moving lower and sucking on my neck, sending a sharp spike of pleasure straight to my core, making my pussy quiver around him. He groans and grinds the base of his shaft against my clit at the perfect angle. My hands convulse in his as he rides me slowly, steadily, to my first orgasm, gently kissing the cries of pleasure from my mouth.

  Nothing about this is sex. We’re making love. If our touches could talk, poetry would fill the air. Mine and his. A thousand beautiful words live in his eyes, even if his lips are silent. He coats my skin with the things he isn’t saying, but I hear them in every kiss, every caress. I hear them and understand because my body’s telling him the same thing.

  How these breasts were made for him.

  How these lips were waiting for him to find and claim.

  How these hands were empty until his palm slid against mine.

  How we were both made with musical souls so when words fail we still understand each other in another language of expression and release.

  How I don’t want to cage him, but would instead soar with him so we’re both more than what we are because together there will be no limits; we make each other better.

  How my heart was dead in my chest until he brought me to life.

  How I can see all of these feelings glowing inside him, smouldering against my skin like a bed of hot coals.

  And like the hot coals, we can’t be together for too long. It’s only safe for fast encounters and then space apart with cold ground below our feet. If we linger together we’ll burn right up. It’s both the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced and the most heartbreaking because it can’t last.

  Our touches turn frenzied, like we both realize the fuse was lit before we met and all the minutes we’ve stolen were borrowed time, never ours to keep in the first place.

  I swivel my hips as his thrusts get deeper, harsh like reality, milking every inch for all it’s worth, wringing every drop of pleasure that fills my pussy. The added wetness increases friction and another slippery orgasm tears through me, threatening to split me in half. I pull at his lower back and he presses harder into me though already spent. Now I can feel his cock so goddamn deep, twitching inside me to the frantic beating of my heart like we’re one creature made for each other, made for this.

  I want it, want to be split because then maybe half of me could live in this bed forever with him, but it’s impossible. All we can have is something quick in bed because if we try to make a home here, we’ll be incinerated. Our futures will be incinerated.

  Neither of us will find a life from the ashes we’ll make of each other.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  He pulls the sheets on top of us and wraps his arms around me, tucking me into the nook of his arm so I’m snuggled against his side. The way we fit together destroys my anxiety about why I’m here and makes me want him again. I shouldn’t have slept with him again.

  This isn’t closure.

  I could blame it on the endorphins he saturated my body with, or latent altitude sickness. Temporary insanity. The scandalously high thread count of his sheets. The way he said it didn’t matter.

  I could blame it on a million things, but the truth is, we’re drawn to each other.

  I have to tell him about the contract so he knows everything and there are no secrets between us before we say goodbye. I feel closer to him right now that I’ve ever felt to another human being—I can’t bear for him to look back on our time together in anger.

  Goosebumps spread over my skin, sent from the places on my back he’s tracing meaningless patterns on with his fingertips.

  I take a deep breath to plunge in, but he lightly pinches the back of my arm and beats me to it. “How did you find my house?”

  “I can’t tell you that without sounding like a total stalker.”

  He palms my ass and gives it a delicious little squeeze. “Maybe I’d like being stalked by you.”

  I sigh and arch into his touch.

  “No, but seriously, if I’ve got an employee with loose lips, I need to know. You could have been anyone, and they gave you private information.” His body tenses, and I silence his mini rant with a fingertip to his lips.

  “There was no mole. I remembered you said you’d purchased a house recently, and I figured since you’re such a huge star that would be online somewhere. I found an article about the sale with one picture, which I did an image search with. That brought up a cached real estate listing for this house complete with the address.”

  He nibbles my fingertip. “My sexy little private investigator.” His eyes grow somber. “I’m glad yo
u tracked me down.” His hand dances across my back again.

  “Me too.” The moment swells into something melancholy. “I’m not in love with Blaine. Never have been. We met only a few weeks before you and I did in Chicago.”

  Dylan’s hand pauses, but after a moment continues its soothing motions, so I continue.

  “I auditioned for the symphony, that part was normal. He said I was good, but if I wanted to guarantee a placement on the symphony there was something I could do.”

  Dylan’s hand tightens almost painfully hard on my back. “Did he make you sleep with him? Because if he did anything like that, if he—”

  “No. We’ve never slept together. That night when he announced our engagement? That was our first kiss.”

  “A peck to your temple? But you’re engaged to the man.”

  “Yes. I agreed to his proposal when he asked me after my audition.”

  “Why would you do that? What are you saying?”

  I push up onto my elbow to better gauge his reaction to my next words. “Our marriage will be legal but completely fake. I’m a cover for the personal details. He thinks his youth was getting in the way of his ambitions. It seems like he was right—as soon as he announced our engagement, the board announced their decision to make him Director. I’m an actor playing the part of dutiful, appropriate fiancée—and soon to be wife—in public only. You’re sort of right that I’ll be an actress.” A gentle puff of laughter escapes my lungs. “He’s never even been to my house, you know. Isn’t that weird?”

  Dylan’s hand grips my hip. “So, you’re not in love with him?”

  “No. I barely like the man. I barely know him. Everything between us has been a carefully orchestrated lie.”

  “Thank God.” Dylan’s hands pull me back down and his mouth crushes mine with a desperate urgency, a quaking relief I feel through my lips. He spins us over until his body presses mine to the bed, and I twine my fingers through his hair to pull him closer, deepen the kiss.

  His tongue delves deep inside my mouth, and I spiral mine around it, heat building in my core at the sensation, reacting to his urgency. He tweaks my nipples in his fingertips and I push harder against his hands, wanting more of that.

  His cock swells between us, and I wiggle my hips, repositioning my body to give him better access, but he breaks the kiss and glares down at me.

  “How dare you.”

  “What?” I blink, brain hazy with confusion and lust.

  “How dare you treat yourself like you’re worthless. Don’t you fucking realize how talented and special you are?”

  A blush roasts its way up my chest and down my face. Dylan and Alex both see this as devaluing me. Have I beed so wrong? I saw the plan as adding value to my life. I try to look away, but he brackets his hands on the sides of my face and forces me to return his gaze.

  “Don’t you understand that you’re worth so much more than that? Than being in a loveless marriage for the rest of your life?”

  “It’s not for the rest of my life. It’s for the next five years.” And a child, so maybe more like an eighteen-year-long commitment at the very shortest. Who am I kidding, that’s a lifetime commitment. That part of the contract seems the most surreal.

  His gaze narrows. “What else is it you’re not telling me?”

  I hate how he can read me like a simple melody. “The deal involved a child as well.”

  I expect him to spring from the bed to get away from me, but he holds me tighter.

  I relax in his arms. “I give him five years and a kid, and in exchange, I get away from my father and get a place on an extremely coveted orchestra.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re not doing it. That’s not five years, it’s a lifetime deal. Giving up your life is one thing, but involving an innocent kid like that is supremely fucked up. Who the fuck is this guy who acts like he can play God with people’s lives?”

  “I think Blaine’s driven by too much ambition to see any potential damage. And how could I agree?” I shrug. “At the time, it seemed like a small sacrifice to make to get my dream position. To make my family proud. And I want kids...someday...”

  “You mean your asshole father who parades you around to the functions you hate? You wanted to make him proud?”

  I bite my lip. It’s not quite the same thing, but it’s close enough to send discomfort squirming through me. “I shouldn’t care about his opinion, but I guess a part of me still does.”

  “I hate that they’ve done this to you.” He lowers his head and presses a gentle kiss to my lips, leaving them tingling.

  I sigh. “Too late now. I can’t do anything about it.”

  “Maybe you can’t... Come with me.”

  “What?”

  He smiles. “You heard me.”

  “Right now?”

  He kisses my shoulder. “No. Come with me on the road. Screw those assholes who are demanding way too much from you, and come be with me instead. Get away from it all, put this whole thing out of your head.”

  “Running away isn’t a solution. I need to work, Dylan.”

  “I’ll find things for you to play.” He raises an eyebrow at the obvious double entendre.

  “I have bills.” And a signed contract.

  He rolls his eyes. “I’ll take care of you monetarily if that’s an issue. Have you seen my place?” he jokes. “I’m obviously doing okay on that account. Besides, we’ll be on the other side of the world. Hard for them to find you when you’re there with me. We’ll stay in the best hotels, eat in the best restaurants. Explore the world together.”

  God, it’s tempting. To go with him and lose myself in his music when he’s on stage, and lose myself in his arms when he’s off it. Maybe we could even make music together. “I’d be in the way,” I play coy, wanting to hear him insist I come even though it’s impossible.

  A boyish enthusiasm tugs his lips into a smile. “I’d love to have you with me, to share that with you. To come back to your warm body instead of a cold bed.”

  Like he’s ever come back to his cold bed without a warm body.

  “Is that all it is? I can’t tag along with you as your groupie.” I push him off and sit up against the headboard, reality seeping into the moment. “Is going from fake wife to real groupie a step up in the world?” Hell no.

  “That’s not what I meant. It’s an offer so you can get away.”

  “So you want to be my escape hatch?” What about after? Where’s this going? “And I certainly can’t let you take care of me financially. I have more self-respect than that—I’m not a kept woman.”

  “Hate to point it out, but yes, you are.”

  Ouch. My hurt feelings must show on my face because he sighs and takes my hand.

  “That came out bad. It’s not like you did this for money, or are an evil gold digger. You did it so you could have your dream job and make other people happy, proud. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Maybe not, but I’m still not going to be a burden on him or be his on-call groupie. If it’s not only about me being in his bed all the time, why else would he ask? Does he feel sorry for me? It’s not his money or his pity that I’m after. “I don’t need an invitation out of pity, Dylan.”

  “What if it’s not pity? What if it’s something else?” His voice grows impossibly soft.

  The implication of his words kicks me in the heart. “Like what?” I hold my breath, struggling to keep a neutral expression on my face. Is he going to say he loves me? Do I want that? Fuck yes, I want that, I want him so much. What if he says it? My heart gives an excited little flip in my chest. “What else could it be?”

  If he does love me, I’ll go with him. I’m pretty sure Alex was right about the contract—how could that be defendable in court? The only other issue is the potential scandal on my family, but with Dylan at my side, I don’t even care about that. I’ll forget about my asshole father and his image and go find the life I want with Dylan. For the first time in ages I’ll be content. I’ll
be happy.

  “What else could it be?” I ask as my heart gives an excited little flip in my chest.

  He kisses my hand. “I don’t know what it is. But it’s not pity.”

  My happiness deflates like a balloon. Any images of him and me touring around the country as a couple—as a team—dissolves with his avoidance. Even if he feels something more, if he can’t say it, it’s not good enough.

  I can’t burn my life to the ground for ‘I don’t know.’

  I can’t give up this huge opportunity for someone who can’t decide—or admit—how he feels. Maybe he’s one of those guys all-too-happy to keep things physical, but runs when emotions come into it because he can’t handle it. I could be left in a strange hotel in a strange city on the other side of the world with ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ ringing in my ears as he runs away from us.

  And I’d be left with less than nothing. Where would I even go? Back to my father for his help?

  Does Dylan really expect me to give everything up for ‘I don’t know’? Or is it that a part of him doesn’t want me to give it up at all? Maybe his ego was ruffled when he thought I was another man’s and he only offered me a safe place to run away to appease that primal, competitive part of him. To get me to say yes like it’s some kind of pissing contest instead of my life, and now he regrets saying it.

  I’m sure he cares, but it’s not love—not reciprocated the way I feel for him. My limbs tremble with how close I came to giving into temptation and burning my life down to the foundations for someone who cares, but doesn’t love me. At least enough to admit it to me—maybe not even to himself.

  I wrap my arms around my knees. “Well, I appreciate your faith in me and my abilities, but I’ve made my bed. I need to lie in it.”

  “It seems like—”

  “I signed a contract,” I snap, hurt by his emotional distance.

  His eyes widen. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. So, this is it. If this is all we can be, this is it.” It’s a sort of ultimatum, and I shouldn’t have said that, but every cell in my body tenses, waiting on this one last chance for him to tell me he loves me. Tell me you love me and I’ll give everything up to stay with you. I plead with my eyes, though I told him the opposite. Fight for me, for us.