“I didn’t even remember to ask if you’re working today,” he says, breaking the kiss as the wind sings through the air. We’re nothing but spots of rust inside a giant’s thin whistle.
“Not until six. Lots of time to do lots of things,” I say, and give him a wink.
By the hot look that comes over him, I’m betting he knows exactly what I’m talking about. Turning his body slightly, he looks behind us at the street beyond the beach that’s lined with hotels and bed & breakfasts.
His breath makes me tremble when he brings his mouth close to my ear. “We could get a room. I don’t think I have the patience for the forty-minute drive it will take to get back to my place.”
My eyes flicker between his when I turn to face him, a feeling of reckless abandon coming upon me. For a girl from the Liberties, renting out a hotel room just to have sex in would be considered quite lavish, extravagant, even. I mean, we’re going to pay for it and not even stay the night.
“Let’s do it,” I whisper before kissing his perfect lips again.
Pulling me up to stand, we walk arm in arm across the road and down the street. After a few minutes we finally settle on a hotel and go inside. It doesn’t take long to get a room. I try to protest when Shane hands over his credit card, but he won’t hear a word about me paying. It’s a good thing too, because I’m quite low on cash. I’ve never been with a guy who could be considered a gentleman, so it’s a whole new feeling to be paid for like this.
We touch each other in subtle ways until we reach the elevator. Shane punches in the number for our floor, and then we’re ascending. Hardly a second passes before he’s pushing me against the wall and devouring me with his mouth, his lips, his tongue. Everything he does makes me melt, makes my body pliant, a willing supplicant to whatever he sees fit to do with me.
Ping, the elevator doors open.
The hushed sound of our feet stepping swiftly across thick carpet.
He slides the key into the door and then pushes it open, dragging me along, hardly taking his mouth off my neck the entire time. I’m vaguely aware of the room being nice, but not overly fancy, and then my bottom’s hitting the mattress. Shane pushes up the hem of my dress until it reaches my belly and then drags the entire thing over my head. Now I’m only wearing my bra and knickers, pretty matching cream ones, I note happily.
I’d been in such a rush to get ready this morning that I couldn’t remember what I put on.
Shane starts to undo the buttons on his shirt and I watch, my chest heaving as he reveals inch after inch of his perfect lightly tanned skin. The hint of Asian blood in him means he doesn’t have pasty pale skin like most of the men I’ve been with. He’s so beautiful, from a whole other world, really.
I shiver as a cold breeze sweeps in through the window that’s slightly ajar. The maid must have left it open to air the place. Shane sees me tremble and walks, now topless, over to the window to close it. I’m still in the exact same spot he left me in when he comes back and climbs on top of me, whispering, “Come on, Bluebird, I’ll warm you up.”
Oh, my God. I’m certainly in for something right now. His string-roughened fingers push my legs apart as he settles between them. His mouth moves to the curve of my cleavage as he buries his face there, and let’s just say there’s a lot to get buried in. I smile, thinking of how preoccupied he can be with that part of my body, yet he rarely refers to them directly. Almost like he’s too shy to say he likes them.
I find that shyness incredibly appealing. It’s so rare to find a man like that these days.
There’s no shyness in him now, though. There rarely is when we’re being sexual. When we’re alone. It’s other times that he gets bashful, like how he’d blushed when I’d talked about him fucking me outside the concert hall the second night we met. Anybody could have heard. Such scandal.
“What are you smiling about?” he asks, all raspy as he looks up from my breasts. At the same time he pulls my body up slightly so he can unclip my bra and do away with it.
“I was thinking about how you’re a study in contrasts,” I murmur, and squeeze my eyes shut with pleasure when his tongue flicks across my nipple.
“Oh, yeah?” he says while his mouth busies itself on the tightening peak of my nipple, one hand pinching, one mouth sucking. A strangled cry comes out of me before I speak.
“Around other people, you’re all polite and reserved. But then when we’re alone, you’re all take charge and throw me down on the bed.”
His answering chuckle radiates from my nipple in his mouth right into my breast and throughout my entire body. I’m immediately wet. Wow. My skin goes all goose pimply again, but not from the cold air this time. His hand moves between my legs, rubbing at my underwear, which is a little worse for wear after our encounter in the studio.
He grips the side and pulls them down my thighs. I whimper in frustration when his mouth leaves my nipple so he can remove my knickers completely. Then he’s spreading my legs apart so wide I feel a strain, and his mouth is right over my sex, breath heavy and humid on my flesh. His hands grip either of my thighs as he brings his mouth directly to my clit and sucks.
Oh, shit. I cry out, fisting the sheets so hard they might rip. My neck arches back, my head thrashing against the pillow. He continues to suck as his fingers thrust inside me and pump, hitting my G-spot perfectly. Just as I feel I’m about to come, he withdraws. I moan unhappily this time as he brings himself to kneel between my legs. His hand slips inside his pants pocket, pulling out a condom.
Then he’s shoving off his pants and freeing his gorgeously hard cock. He rolls the condom on, his eyes not leaving me the entire time. I’m almost grateful that he left me hanging when he shoves his thick length into me in one swift movement. I’m so primed that I feel it more intensely than ever. My body is on the cusp of orgasm, and as he starts to push his hips back and forth, driving his cock into me again and again, I feel the most intense release building. A release the likes of which I’ve never felt before.
Our gazes lock as he takes both my hands in his and lifts them above my head. He holds me captive as he continues to thrust into me exquisitely hard. It’s not fast; his speed is measured and controlled. Every time he fucks me, it’s so hard and deep I feel like my body is melting. Burning.
Sunlight streams into the room, and I’m suddenly aware that we’re fucking in daylight. We did the other morning, too, and it’s shocking because it’s something I never do. Every inch of me is on display for him. Sex for me has always been at night, always in the dark. Most often with alcohol as a primer. You can hide yourself in the dark. In the light it’s like an entire tapestry of your emotions is on show. Everything that’s inside you is on display for your lover to see.
Before now I’d always considered daytime sex to be something that people in love do. They wake up in the morning and fall into it, still half asleep. Or maybe they feel an urge in the middle of the day. So completely inappropriate but so right at the same time.
A sheen of sweat has accumulated on Shane’s forehead, on his chest, too, as he thrusts into me with a kind of determination you’d only get from a man like him. A man who practices a skill to perfection. Tremors pulse through me, the muscles of my sex tightening every time his cock drives into me.
Unable to hold back, I shift my hands out of his hold above our heads. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a deep kiss. It’s as we’re kissing, our tongues sliding against each other, his chest pressed to my chest, that I completely fall apart. My muscles clench as I come on his cock, pulsing so many times I lose count.
I’m moaning and whimpering as we kiss, and he pulls back to watch me, his cock still moving inside me. I can see his movements grow more desperate as his own release builds. And then the most erotic, masculine groan I’ve ever heard comes out of him when he comes. He unravels and I watch him, unable to take my eyes off him.
&nbs
p; When he’s completely spent, he puts his arms around me tight and rolls us so I’m lying on top of him. Reaching down, he pulls a sheet over our bodies, pressing soft kisses to my mouth and face.
“That felt incredible,” he says, voice low, as my eyes drift closed and I relish the feel of his warm, damp skin on mine.
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble, sleep pulling me under. Since I got up so early this morning and only got to bed late last night, I’m exhausted.
“I love the feel of you,” he continues, his voice a lazy caress. I can hear his tiredness, too. A little thrilling jolt rushes through my sleepy brain at his words. “You’re so tight and wet. I want to feel you skin on skin again.” His tender hand drifts over my lower back in a circling motion as he refers to the other morning. Things had gotten out of hand, and we’d neglected to use protection. It’s a dangerous thought, but I want to feel that again as well.
I nuzzle my face into his neck and make a little purring sound of agreement. Seconds later, we’re both fast asleep.
When I wake up, it’s because I’m incredibly turned on, which, might I add, is not how I usually wake up. Shane’s hand is between my legs, gently stroking. I moan and glance over at the clock on the bedside dresser. It’s just after two, which isn’t so bad. I still have more than enough time to get back to the city for my shift.
“Fucking hell, I want you again,” he grits out as he takes my earlobe into his mouth and gives it a playful bite. Somewhere in between our nap we’d rolled over into a spooning position. With one hand on my belly, the other still between my legs, he moves me so I’m flat on my stomach. He kneels behind me and nudges my legs apart with his knee. A few seconds pass, and I get the feeling he’s admiring me from this new angle. I shiver. Then he pulls me up to take me from behind. I cry out at the pleasurable invasion, feeling him from a whole new position this time. The depth is delicious as he starts to hammer into me fast.
Not knowing where to put my hands, I grip the headboard for support. I’m vaguely aware that there’s no condom in the mix this time, the sneaky bastard. As I said before, I don’t have concerns about him giving me something, and I know that I’m clean and on the pill, but it just feels too close like this. I practically see my heart pumping out of my chest, my vulnerable veins reaching out and attaching themselves to his.
It’s hard for me to place my emotions in the hands of another person. Even if it’s a sweet and caring person like Shane, there’s this sense of panic. A fear of not knowing what they might do with your delicate organ. They could push you back into a destructive addiction which may cause your family to fall apart. When I was a drunk, I didn’t care. I’d give my heart to the most untrustworthy, low-down men I could find. I guess that’s why I’m so cautious now. I know what it’s like to be burned.
Both of Shane’s hands fist my hips as he swears some really lovely, sexy curse words, telling me how great I feel, how beautiful we look joined together. When we come this time, we do it in unison, my walls pulsating around him, milking his cock. I feel him fill me up, and a wave of emotion washes over me. It feels foreign and way too intense, so I push it away. I try to focus only on the sensation of him inside me. When he withdraws, he picks me up in his arms and carries me into the bathroom.
Before I know it, the shower has been turned on, and he’s settling me under the spray. He comes in to join me, sliding the door closed behind him. He’s brought in some tiny bottles of hotel shampoo and soap, and I laugh with pure joy as I watch him struggle to get them open. Finally he manages it and pours some shampoo into his hand before lathering it into my hair. I do the same for him, luxuriating in the simple activity, loving the feel of his wet hair beneath my fingers.
For the next half hour we wash every inch of each other, staying in the shower until the water has almost run cold. I think we both like it here. We’re away from reality in a world that’s only touch and water and soap. Finally we get out, rubbing each other dry with the big fluffy white towels that were resting on a shelf by the door.
Reality intervenes with the buzzing of his phone on the dresser. I pick it up and look at the screen, but there’s no name, just a landline number. I recognise the area code as South Dublin. Shane follows behind and swipes the phone out of my hand, cancelling the call.
“Who’s been calling you?” I ask curiously, tugging the towel tighter around my chest as I sit down on the bed. I know it’s not exactly my business, but his avoidance puts me on edge. Either it’s someone he just plain doesn’t want to talk to, or it’s someone he doesn’t want to talk to in front of me.
Shane sighs and runs a hand through his wet hair, coming to sit beside me. He picks his phone up again and rubs his thumb along the blank screen.
“It was Mona’s home number. I don’t know why she’s been calling,” he finally answers.
I look at him in surprise for a moment, before saying, “You haven’t answered at all?”
He shakes his head. “I have nothing to say to her.”
“Maybe she wants to talk about the upcoming show. You two are going to have to work together then, right?”
His tortured eyes continue to stare down at the blank screen of his phone. “Yeah, probably. I’m still not sure if I’m capable of doing it.” He pauses and meets my gaze now. “She brings back too many bad memories.”
Reaching over, I slide the phone from his hand and put it aside, before slipping my fingers through his. “You mean your…your suicide attempt?” I whisper softly.
His nod is barely perceptible. “It’s not something you’re ever going to forget,” I tell him, pulling him into a hug. “Unfortunately, our memories like to give us a little bitch slap from time to time. I know all about it. Use the pain as fuel, let it make you stronger. You’re the best musician I’ve ever seen and that’s because of the emotions you channel into your music. Those emotions are what make the audience love to come see you, to feel that catharsis.”
He chuckles sadly. “You didn’t happen to complete a psychology degree at some point?”
I give him a warm smile. “Nope. I learned all I know in the school of hard knocks. Plus, I force Clark to teach me new stuff all the time.”
“Well, you can thank Clark for me. You give better advice than most of the professionals I’ve seen,” Shane replies, rubbing his finger down my cheek.
Giving him a serious look, I say, “You’re welcome, just remember it when you’ve got to face Mona.”
“I should be able to survive the memory bitch slap,” he answers warmly.
“That’s the spirit,” I murmur and lean in for a kiss.
We’re both quiet as we dress. Shane seems thoughtful, contemplative, even. I’d give anything to know what’s churning up inside that head of his. I tie my hair in a fish tail plait, a style my mum taught me when I was only little. Shane stands behind me at the mirror, fully dressed now, and runs his hand down the braid.
“Pretty,” he murmurs before pressing his lips to my cheek. I smile at him, but it’s half-hearted. There’s a pebble of fear in my gut that I can’t seem to shake. A feeling of urgency that this sweet thing we’ve got can’t last.
On the drive home, we stop off at a restaurant for something to eat. Afterward, Shane drops me home, and I scurry about to get into my work uniform and throw dinner together for April and Pete. I’m out the door with just enough time to spare and arrive at six on the dot.
That night after the concert, Shane finds me as I’m helping with the close-up. He asks if I’d like a ride home, and I tell him yes. Although if he tries for an invite to stay over, I’m going to have to tell him no. It’s not that I don’t want him to stay, it’s just that we tend to be pretty loud, and my entire family will be home.
We leave through the backstage exit, and I ask him how he played tonight. There was a big group of students from a nearby music college in the audience, so we had a full house. As we leave, we’re stop
ped in our tracks by a group of girls in their late teens and early twenties who are getting some of the orchestra musicians to sign stuff.
Huh. Orchestra fan girls. I never thought I’d see the day. Unless there’s a really big name playing at the venue, we don’t normally get a lot of fans queuing up for autographs. Most of the time the musician or speaker will stand in the foyer to sign books or CDs.
“Oh my God, that’s him!” I hear one of the girls hiss excitedly as Shane emerges through the exit.
The next thing I know they’ve all flocked around him, thrusting programmes and CDs in his face to sign. I quickly get shoved out of the way, so I step back a bit, kind of annoyed at their rudeness. Looking at the CDs, I notice some of them are old ones he recorded with the Bohemia Quartet. One girl asks if he’ll sign her arm, and he does so graciously. Glancing down at my watch, I realise I’ve been standing here waiting for at least ten minutes, and they’re not showing any signs of letting Shane go soon.
I’ve got an early start in the morning, since the concert hall is hosting a big conference, so I need my beauty sleep tonight. I try to get by a few of the girls to tell Shane I’m going to head off, but a brunette gives me the stink-eye and elbows me out of the way, telling me to wait my turn.
“Uh, I’m not a fan. I’m his friend,” I tell her, disgruntled.
She gives me a look as if to say, so what? and I decide I’m really not in the mood. I put both hands around my mouth and call to him over their heads.
“Yo! I’m going to walk. I’ll call you tomorrow, ’kay?”
I’m surprised that he actually hears me over the excited chattering. His head whips up from a CD he’d been signing, his eyes locking with mine.
“Give me ten minutes?” he asks pleadingly, and some of the girls’ gazes cut to me.
I tap my wrist. “It’s late, and I’ve got an early start. You stay. I’m good walking.”
He looks disappointed for a minute but then finally nods his acceptance, gives me a quick wave goodbye, and goes back to signing. I turn and start in the direction of home. When I reach my street, I notice somebody sitting on my front doorstep. As I get closer I see it’s Patrick, looking like shit with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, intermittently taking sips. If ever there was a picture to describe the term “lowest ebb,” this would be it. So much for him staying away for a couple of weeks. It’s only been a few days, and he’s back already. He must be having a particularly bad time of it.
Rockers After Dark: 6 Book Bundle of Sexy Musicians Page 45
