by BETH KERY
She just stood there, scared as hell she’d never look at him full in the face again.
• • •
He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he’d said he would. She sensed him out there during her performance. Or at least she thought she did. Maybe she hoped she did. Unlike last night, she couldn’t make out his solitary, formidable shadow sitting at a front table through the stage lights and crimson veil. But she felt him, somehow, to the left of the room and toward the back.
As the music flowed through her, and her entire body became a conduit for it, her awareness of Asher Gaites only amplified. It was like some invisible cord joined them. As her performance progressed, that thread grew tighter. It surged with some magical, unnamed energy, fueling her voice, expanding her heart . . . pulsing in her sex.
It wasn’t until the final note of her last number resounded and the audience exploded with thunderous applause that she really fully came back to herself. She’d been so lost in the electricity. She blinked in disorientation.
It was like waking up after years of being in a coma and realizing she was fevered with blinding hunger. She walked off the stage rapidly.
“Laila. Laila.”
She turned around. She was in the hallway outside her dressing room. A loud roar was emanating from above them.
“My God, you brought the house down,” Rafe said, his face lit with glee as he approached her. She glanced down at his expectant outstretched arms blankly. Confusion crossed his face. “What’s wrong? Are you still not feeling well? You’d never have guessed it,” he said, his smile returning full force. “You were fantastic. Lance Meyer is ecstatic. He wants to try to get a cover for you. I don’t blame him. I’ve never seen you so on fire. Listen to them up there. They’re going to tear the place down if you don’t get back up there, tout de suite.”
“I’m not doing an encore,” she said, turning and continuing her trip to her dressing room.
“Are you out of your mind?” Rafe shouted from behind her. “Laila, listen to them up there.”
She reached for her dressing room door. “I’m not doing an encore,” she repeated distractedly.
“Laila, you’ve got to—” His sudden sternness penetrated her single-minded focus. She spun around.
“I’m not going back up there. Not tonight,” she told him fiercely.
“But what about Lance Meyer?” Rafe asked incredulously.
“What about him?” Laila muttered before she entered her dressing room and slammed the door.
• • •
Thirty minutes later, she pressed her ear against her dressing room door. Several of the members of her band had come to check on her. Laila usually did several encores, so her behavior tonight was unusual enough to cause concern. She’d assured first her bass player through the door, and then her saxophone player, that she was fine and that she was just feeling a little under the weather.
Rafe had come back, of course. She’d managed to get rid of him by telling him she thought she had a fever and was coming down with something. He seemed mollified, although she half expected him back at her door any minute. He’d said something earlier about driving her home once she’d showered and dressed.
It sounded like the coast was clear. For now, anyway. She slipped out of the dressing room, slung her backpack over her shoulder and hastened down the hallway toward a distant door. Seconds later, she was racing down old cement steps in a dimly lit stairwell. When she reached another door, she jerked the hood on her sweatshirt up. She plunged into the tunnel, her breathing coming fast and erratic. Her pace escalated to a jog. A strange franticness had overcome her.
Up ahead, she spied the chipped white-painted column in the dimly lit tunnel. Even though she was half expecting it, not to mention full-on praying for it, she still halted and gasped when Asher stepped out from behind the column.
“I’m not sleeping with Rafe,” she said between erratic pants. “We just started dating a few weeks ago. It’s not serious—” She cut herself off when he stepped into her and she saw that familiar glint in his eyes.
“I don’t think it would have mattered if you’d told me you planned to marry him tomorrow,” Asher said. “Tonight, you’re mine.” He cupped her face in his hands. Air seemed to roar past her ears.
An intense emotional release rushed her at his hot, possessive kiss. She gripped his shoulders, feeling dizzy with relief. Fevered need.
Absolute joy.
Asher. She couldn’t believe he was in her arms.
“Come to my place,” he said next to her mouth a moment later.
“Yes.”
“We’ll take the train to the Fullerton stop and cab it the rest of the way.”
Maybe fate was a little repentant about her cruelty to them in the past, because they heard the sound of a train approaching in the distance. She saw his small, special smile and wondered if he’d had the same thought.
He grabbed her hand, and they ran for the distant platform. They flew onto the train just before the doors closed.
“Both of us on this side of them this time,” he said.
She glanced around at him, knowing he was referring to last night, when the door had slammed shut between them.
“Both of us on the same side,” she repeated softly.
It was nearly midnight. The car was empty. Asher urged her into two empty seats. He helped her remove her backpack and set it on the floor. Almost immediately, he was kissing her again, his fingers threading under her hood and delving into her upswept hair. She kissed him back eagerly, all the while stroking his angular, newly shaved jaw with her fingertips. It was like neither of them could fully believe the other one was there, and needed to absorb that reality with every sense to convince their brains.
Her other hand worked its way beneath his overcoat and button-down shirt. She moaned into his forceful kiss at the sensation of crinkly chest hair, smooth skin and dense muscle. He abruptly broke their kiss. His eyes glittered down at her as he swept back her hood and then grabbed at the tab of her zipper on her hoodie. He lowered it to just above her navel and then swept the fabric over her shoulders in two swift movements. Beneath the hoodie, she wore a white tank top. She was braless. She stared up at him, enthralled by the heat and focus in his eyes. He opened his hand along her neck and swept it slowly along her shoulder, and then her upper arms.
“You get to me like no one else can. Still,” he said gruffly.
“I missed you.”
It was impulsive of her to say it. Crazy. But this moment was crazy. There was nothing else that would come out of her throat but the truth while she sat there, drinking in every detail of his rugged, handsome face . . . a face she adored. A face she’d anguished over, thought she might never see again.
“Laila,” he growled, as if her name were some strange, exciting combination of a curse and a prayer. Suddenly, his mouth was on her bare skin, everywhere he touched awakening and exciting her nerves. One hand enclosed her breast. She felt his heat through the thin fabric of the tank top. He massaged her firmly, his fingers finessing the nipple, until she grabbed at his shoulders and then his jaw and brought him to her. The rattle of the train roared in her ears as their mouths fused in a kiss so hungry, so electric, it was nearly unbearable. She felt Asher’s hand moving on the fastening of her jeans, and realized he felt the same way.
“I can’t wait,” he muttered tensely next to her seeking lips a moment later.
“I don’t think I can either,” she whispered.
His hand plunged inside her opened button fly. For a few seconds, she couldn’t breathe as sensation pounded into her and Asher’s mouth seized her again. His need was so raw, so focused, it was like being kissed by a blowtorch. She was just as hot. It was flame fusing with flame, or she wouldn’t have been able to take the force of his need. He wouldn’t have been able to stand her desperation. She clutched at
his head, her hips grinding against his hand at her sex. He shifted aside her panties, his finger sliding into the cleft of her labia. She broke their kiss, staring blindly up at an ad for free legal services. He rubbed her clit with the ridge of his finger.
“You’re so wet,” she heard him say roughly before he kissed her ear and applied suction. Bands of shadow and light were flickering past her vision. She realized they were slowing for the Clark and Division station—her usual stop. She started in alarm.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” he said. He removed his hand from her sex, making her tense in pain at the deprivation. He grasped the edge of his overcoat, leaned into her and pulled the coat over her, draping the front of her body. Hiding it. His hand was back at her sex almost immediately.
“Oh God,” she moaned as the train slowed, because he was stroking her again in a way only Asher could. She’d forgotten how shockingly accurate his fingers could be. If someone got into their car, it would be agony to have him stop.
“It doesn’t matter,” he rasped near her ear. “Even if someone gets on, they won’t see anything.” His soft kiss on her flushed cheeks belied the way his hand moved so firmly beneath the obscuring coat. “You look so beautiful right now,” he hissed near her ear. “I love to watch you come. Still . . . raise your hood. No one else is going to see that.”
She caught the edges of her sweatshirt and drew it up over her shoulders as the train rolled to a stop. The doors sprang open, and she drew the hood up.
“Pull it forward all the way,” Asher said beside her, his finger sliding faster against her clit. She followed his instructions, grimacing in pleasure. Her clit sizzled beneath his touch.
The doors slammed shut. No one had gotten onto their car. She whimpered in relief, turning her face to find Asher’s mouth. But suddenly, his hand was gone.
“Asher—”
“I know. Help me get your jeans down. I’m going to cover you with my coat,” he said tensely, whipping the overcoat off his shoulders. She hastened to comply, too fevered to be surprised by her bizarre willingness to have sex on a train. She came up off the seat and managed to get her panties and jeans down to her ankles. Before she knew it, Asher was sliding beneath her and pulling her into his lap, her back to his front. He whisked his black overcoat over both of them. Beneath the cover, he lifted her tank top over her breasts, fondling one. Liquid heat surged through her at how good it felt, how tense and exciting. She felt his cock surge against her buttock. He’d freed himself from his clothing before he’d pulled her into his lap. He groaned deep in his throat, grasping both her bare breasts in his hands and rocking her against him. In contrast to the furtiveness of their lovemaking, his erection against her skin struck her as baldfaced. Burning.
“Lift up a second,” she heard him say through the sound of the train’s rumble off the side of the subway tunnels. She placed her hands on the metal bar above the seat in front of her and put her feet on the floor. Bending forward, she rose several inches off his lap. She gritted her teeth in anticipation, hovering over him, feeling him rolling on a condom.
He placed his hands on her buttocks, squeezing them tautly in his palms. He slapped one cheek briskly, making her start in surprise. He gripped her hips and pulled her back. His cockhead nudged at her channel. He entered her slowly.
“Oh God help me,” she moaned. He felt huge. Hard. Like he’d split her into a million glorious pieces.
“Shh, it’s okay,” she heard him say behind her through the roar in her ears. He firmed his hold on her ass, balancing her weight on the end of his cock. She held her breath, her knuckles growing white as she clutched onto the metal bar like her life depended on it.
Slowly, he urged her down onto his cock. A low, plaintive sound escaped her throat as he carved into her inch by inch, and her flesh melted around his rigid length. Finally, she was sitting fully in his lap while he clutched her to him, his cock buried deep inside her.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” he asked her in a strained voice. She knew what he was probably getting at. It embarrassed her a little. She hadn’t had intercourse for over a year and a half.
And even then, it hadn’t been anything like this.
“No,” she managed to say through a tight throat. “It feels so good.”
“Good. Because you feel like a sinner’s version of heaven,” he grated out, his fingers digging deeper into her hips and ass cheeks. She sensed his rising desperation and responded without thought. Holding on to the bar in front of her, she rose off him several inches and ground down with her hips. He groaned and tightened his hold on her, guiding her.
She’d been primed for climax by his hand. Now, she was so deliciously full of him. Asher. Time stood still as the train barreled down the underground tunnel and she took her fill of him, her hips moving in a firm, fluid rhythm.
At one point, she turned and saw their reflection in the train window, their image illuminated against the black background of the tunnel wall. Her face was tight with ecstasy. His was rigid. As their stares held, he lowered the coat, exposing her bare breasts. They looked pale and vulnerable, thrusting out from beneath the bunched fabric of her tank top. He cupped both of them and squeezed firmly.
“Still the prettiest breasts in existence,” he muttered thickly, lifting them and releasing them, watching the flesh bounce softly before he repeated the action. She started to pump her hips faster, intensely aroused. For a moment, he let her ride him at a frantic pace while he played with her breasts and they both watched, spellbound.
But then she felt him grip at her hips again. He stilled her frantic movements, holding her in his lap, his cock fully piercing her. She whimpered at the loss of divine friction. She’d been about to come. But he was pulling his coat up and around her shoulders again, and she realized they were slowing for the North and Clybourn stop.
“Asher,” she whimpered, trying to shift her hips. He held her fast against him, not allowing her to move. The throb of his cock inside her maddened her. She was about to explode. Light and shadow fanned across them, and the train rolled to a stop. “Oh, God,” she whispered, her arousal peaking and then halting at the precipice. Throbbing. Unbearable.
She made out four or five people dispersed on the platform. The train slowed to a stop. The doors sprang open. A long-haired, youngish guy wearing earbuds loped toward the door in front of them. Asher made a sharp, cutting gesture in the window. It caught the kid’s attention. For a split second, he stared at them through the window. Laila dazedly absorbed Asher’s forbidding frown at him in the reflection.
The kid veered and jogged down the platform toward another car. The doors slammed closed. The train started to roll down the tracks again.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. We could be arrested.
But then the train zoomed into the black subway tunnel again, and one of Asher’s hands slid between her thighs. She cried out, her doubts incinerated in an instant. He urged her with his strong hands and body.
She rose and fell over him in a fast, harsh, staccato rhythm. She climaxed so hard that everything went black for a moment.
When she came back to herself, Asher was gripping her hips and ass tightly, pumping himself into her and groaning. She recognized he was right on the edge. The train began to rise on an upgrade. They were leaving the subway and rising to the elevated tracks. The next stop was Asher’s. They didn’t have much time.
She firmed her grip on the metal bar and came to her feet in the bent-over position. Bending over, she bounced her ass and sex up and down on his cock. He gave an incredulous growl and tightened his hold on her hips. His arms bent and straightened as he powered her efforts, creating a ruthless pace. She gritted her teeth at the sensation of his cock swelling in her.
“Ah, God. Laila.”
His roar as he came obliterated the rattle of the train on the tracks. They zoomed out of the tunnel into the landscape of the g
littering city.
Chapter Twenty-one
He closed the front door of his shadowed apartment. His fingers slid beneath the strap of her backpack. It fell to the floor with a dull thud. He pressed her back into the door. She turned her face up to him, as if she knew by instinct what he expected. What he wanted. He swept down, nipping at her gorgeous mouth, penetrating her lips with his tongue. He couldn’t stop touching her. The capacity for restraint just wasn’t inside him.
Not when it came to her.
They’d held each other fast in the backseat of the taxi on the short cab ride from the L station, as if they each thought the other would disappear if they let go. The city looked hyper-real to him, the lights against the black night sky sharp and beautiful. They had spoken hardly at all, but the spell that she’d woven during her performance—the one she’d cast on him from the first moment he’d ever heard her resonant, smooth voice and seen her naked body glistening with water eight years ago—clung around them in the backseat of the cab and on the hasty trip up to the condo.
“I can’t believe we did that,” she said breathlessly, her lips brushing across his hovering ones. He knew she was referring to their spontaneous, explosive sex on the train.
“Do you regret it?”
“No.” Her emphatic whisper pleased him. So much so that, distantly, he knew he should be concerned.
She walked away from you once. You know damn well she could do it again.
But tonight wasn’t for worrying. Because there was nothing . . . absolutely nothing to complain about in the way she came to him. Her responsiveness, her eagerness, her sweetness, she was everything he remembered times ten.
She looped her arms around his neck and went up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He lifted her off her feet, bringing her more surely to his mouth. She tasted so good. Always. He started to move through the shadowed condo, carrying her in his arms. A moment later, he spilled her back on the bed and came down over her. The master bedroom was unlit, but the city lights spilling in from the two windows next to the headboard allowed him to see the sparkle in her eyes and her curving lips.
