I’d follow him anywhere.
His path takes us down the music hallway. I haven’t been to this side of the school since freshman year, when everyone is forced to either take band or chorus.
He opens a door and we enter a small rehearsal room. The lights are off and the early evening luster creates a spotlight of air dust that shines onto the piano. He places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me inside.
“I want to show you something,” he watches me intently as he takes a seat at the piano.
Suddenly, his fingers are dancing over the keys with grace and ease; creating the most lovely, most alluring sound I’ve ever heard. My mind swirls, and for the quickest second I loose my balance. I want to move closer, but I can’t. I’m stuck, trapped, open-mouthed and awestruck.
What can’t he do?
I shut my eyes, listening to the sound of the slow, brilliant music, imagining the way his hands move over the keys, just the way they do over me.
The last note vibrates in the air and when I open my eyes again, a single tear escapes out of nowhere. Neither of us says anything. I try a few times, but nothing comes out. There are no words for something so magnificent.
“So,” he whispers, still facing the piano, not turning around to see me.
“I- I-” I can’t find the words.
I watch the sides of his face as he forms a smile, as I try hard to get out something coherent.
“Did I actually render you speechless?”
I nod, even though he can’t see me, my face scrunching together, trying so desperately to structure some sort of a sentence.
“Oh, Luci,” he finally turns around. “Why are you crying?”
“That was… beautiful,” I wipe my eyes.
“Haven’t done that in years,” he chuckles.
“THAT was not playing in years?”
He shakes his head, smiling over my reaction.
The room is peaceful and calm as he gets up and closes the gap between us, pressing his lips lightly against mine. Our kiss grows urgent as each second passes, until we both pull away, needing air.
“You wreck me, you know that?” He regards me with same unmistakable awe I just had, before taking on an almost pained look.
It breaks me.
Until he speaks; then, I’m suddenly whole again.
“I have you… multiple times in a day,” he shakes his head, “… yet at night I find myself having to fuck my hand just thinking about you.”
I swallow hard. “I’d love to see that.”
“You have, Trouble,” he smirks, pulling me close again.
“Not in a while,” I laugh lightly.
“I’ll see what I can arrange,” he says, as his hands find their way under my shirt. “But not right now,” he grazes my stomach. “Right now, I need nothing more than to just be inside of you.”
I was hoping by now, with break coming up, he would ask me to meet him outside of these walls.
Somewhere.
Anywhere.
I’m disappointed come Friday when he hasn’t. How long can I keep up my rouse, pretending I’m okay with how things are?
“Are you seeing your sister in the show this weekend?”
“My parents are going tonight,” I help him line back up the buttons on his shirt after yet another one of our smoldering sessions. “So I’ll probably tag along.”
He starts helping with my clothing next, and I try not to meet his eye. “What about you?” I know if he says he’s going over the weekend I’ll come too.
How pitiful.
“We’ve seen it about fifty times already,” he laughs.
“Yeah,” I laugh too.
Ugh.
“Well, have a good break then,” I shrug and head for the door, but he grabs my arm, stopping me, roughly pressing my body against his.
“Wait, one more kiss,” he mummers, his mouth against mine.
“That’s what you said last time and look what happened,” I laugh, already sliding my hands back into his pants.
I make it through the overture, but ten minutes into the first act I can’t take it anymore. He was right; we’ve seen this play far too many times.
I excuse myself as I slide past Mom and Dad, their eyes so proud of Gracie that they don’t even notice. Funny thing is, she hasn’t even come on stage yet!
I wander aimlessly, convincing myself not to go down his hallway. All I want to do is sit outside his office door and replay my favorite moments of us over and over again. I know I can’t stoop that low, so I purposely go the opposite way, enjoying the half lit corridors, admiring the peace and quiet that is my MTHS.
That’s when I start to hear the faintest of sounds.
At first, I think it’s just the music coming from the auditorium, but it gets louder as I continue the opposite way. I follow the powerful notes, and like some weird Phantom Of The Opera moment, they turn hauntingly familiar.
My pace quickens as my heart thrashes in my chest. I’m practically running until I’m opening the door to the same rehearsal room we were in the other day.
He’s sitting at the piano like some hazy dream, dimly lit by a small lamp in the corner, wearing jet-black slacks with his pristinely ironed collared shirt rolled to his elbows, the veins in his thick, muscular arms exposed as he conquers each key.
I lightly shut the door behind me and his back stiffens.
“Hello, Trouble.”
“I thought you weren’t going to see the show?” I croak.
“I’m not,” he stops playing, his fingers frozen over the keys. “I have to talk to you.”
“About what?” His somber tone only increases my heart’s hasty beats. What if he tells me this is it? Because he can see how badly I want us to be more than he can give, thanks to the circumstance we’re in? Or what if he just doesn’t want more, regardless of the situation?
My mind is playing through a million scenarios, none of which are favorable.
“It’s complicated, which is why-”
“How’d you know I’d find you?” I take a few steps closer, immediately changing the subject. I can’t risk his words. I’m not ready.
He exhales loudly, almost sadly.
“You seem to always have a way of finding me.”
I struggle with that truth, not sure if it’s a good or bad thing.
“You consume me.” It’s a bold admission on my end, but at least it’s honest.
He sighs again. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He still hasn’t turned around, and I’m dying to see his face.
“It is when it’s not requited.” It comes out softly, tragically.
“Like hell it isn’t,” he growls angrily, finally turning his head so I can see him. “Not requited?”
He speaks with such distaste, questioning my words. “You have a birthmark on your right arm, on the underside, just above your wrist,” he swallows. “When the year started, you had a small amount of freckles on your face, just above your cheeks on both sides,” he chuckles, remembering. “They have since disappeared, but I suspect when it warms they’ll return.” His eyes smolder. “You also love when I talk dirty. Your pussy contracts with every foul word I say, and every time you’re about to come, you hold onto me for dear life, your fingers grabbing onto my hair mostly. That’s your favorite place. There’s this certain type of squeeze you do. It’s always the same,” he laughs again. “And on your right side, just below your ribs, you have the faintest of scars.”
“From when I had chicken pox as a kid,” I interrupt him, my voice faint, bewildered. “There’s also one-”
“On the side of your upper right thigh.” He finishes my sentence, raising his eyebrow, challenging me. “Like hell I’m not consumed,” he shakes his head, turning back to face the piano again. He begins another song, this one not so loud as he continues to whisper. “I notice every little thing about you.”
I walk up behind him, wrapping my arms around his chest as he leans his body
back into me.
“I’m obsessed,” he looks up before closing his eyes.
I kiss his neck as I move my hands down to his stomach, caressing, taking every part of him in. His cock is so big right now that it extends down his leg, firm and stiff between his thigh and the fabric of his pants. I rub my palm up and down it, savoring each time he twitches against my touch.
“Pull on it. Hard.” He demands, sliding forward on the piano bench and allowing me to straddle him from behind.
He helps me set him free, feeling heavy in my hands.
I start to jerk him, using both hands, driving down hard and tugging on each up stroke, in an almost polishing motion.
“Oh that’s so good,” he moans. “I fucking love how you pump me.”
His hips thrust to meet my force as a squirt of pre-come spews out. I rub both my thumbs over his straining head, playing with the liquid.
“That’s it, around the tip… like that,” his voice is like silk, his breathing becoming labored as he shoves himself into my hands, begging for me to move over his entire length again.
I keep one hand on his length, picking up speed, as the other moves to his balls, squeezing and rolling them. They suddenly tighten and I know he can’t hold back for much longer.
In this very moment, as I pump him with one hand and fondle his balls with the other, I feel like I own him. Like he’s coming apart just for me, silently telling me he’s mine.
It’s the best feeling in the world.
“You’re about to come for me aren’t you?” I bite down on his ear before giving it a lick.
“So hard,” he answers, shaking in my arms.
He starts to spasms as his hips buck, shoving forward, a steady stream of come gushing onto the piano.
“Shit, Luci, I can’t stop!” He continues to rock into my hands, groaning, his chest moving rapidly, the liquid still flooding out of him.
“That’s it,” I whisper in his ear. “Get it all out.”
I continue to massage him lightly, willing the come out of him. His chest rises and falls as he grabs my legs and twists me around so I’m straddling him, face to face. I’m so wet and turned on that I can’t help grinding myself into his still throbbing cock, his leftover come staining the crotch of my leggings.
He leans back and I hear tissues being pulled out of a box.
“Turn around,” he commands.
I comply, and he spreads his legs so I fall between them as he wraps his arms around me. He’s everywhere, enveloping me. I rest myself against him, watching as he wipes down the piano keys before starting to play again, the flap of his pants still wide open with his penis resting against my back.
“Undo your blouse,” he directs.
I get halfway down my stomach, unbuttoning, when he tells me to stop.
“That’s perfect. Now put your hands around my neck.”
I reach up and behind me, tugging lighting on his nape as he rests his chin on my shoulder. He finishes his song and his hands move from the piano to my knees, spreading them wider.
“There you go, nice and open for me,” his hands travel up my thighs at an agonizing leisurely pace until his palms are dangerously close to where I’m burning for him. It’s a slow torment that only makes me want him that much more.
He doesn’t stop where I want him to, continuing his trail to my stomach and into my shirt, pushing my bra aside until he’s cupping my breasts. His touch is soft at first, until he’s kneading them, all the way out to my erect nipple. He chuckles, giving them a light pinch, causing me to moan.
“You’ve gotten me hard again,” his voice is raspy and deep in my ear.
“Good,” I breathe as his pulls me closer, his hands moving back over my stomach before finally dipping into my leggings.
“What are you wearing under here?”
“Thong.”
“Shit.” He plunges one finger in me before pulling out, admiring the wetness, gliding it across my lips before sinking into my mouth. I suck, grazing my tongue over the pad. It tastes poignant and tangy, not at all sweet like him.
“You taste better,” I admit, and he chuckles.
“Oh, baby,” he’s still laughing. “Nothing tastes as good as you.”
He dips both hands back into my pants, the right settling on my upper thigh while his left finds me, one finger and then another - the fullness sending unbelievable tremors throughout my body.
“Mmm,” he pulls his fingers out again, this time placing them in his mouth, licking every last bit of my juices off, his other hand moving to take over.
He pinches my nipple before sinking back into my pants. His one hand still plunging into me slowly, in and out, while this one now plays with my clit.
“Oh god,” my cheek falls against his.
“There you go,” he coos.
“Faster, please,” I plead, building rapidly.
“I love how you beg me,” his voice vibrates his chest as he gives me the speed I want. “You ask with such need, as if I’d ever deny you.”
I’m lost, groaning and shaking.
“God the way you throb,” he whispers, his hands slowing, leisurely stroking me as I come down from my high. “Get on me.” He backs the piano bench away, giving me room to stand and wiggle out of my now drenched leggings.
“Fuck,” his voice is low as I start to remove my underwear too. I turn, watching as he squeezes himself while staring at my ass. “Leave those on,” he stops me from removing my thong, pulling me towards him using the string of my panties, playing with the fabric against my skin.
I close my eyes, his touch so firm yet so soft.
Always turning me on.
I start to sit on him, but he stops me. “No, face me,” his eyes bore into mine. “I want to see you.”
He takes a condom out of his pocket and eases it on, the bottom of my thong already moved to the side from when he fingered me.
I straddle him on the bench before sinking down, closing my eyes as he penetrates me, my pussy grasping around him, still so sensitive.
“Eyes open,” he smiles, his hands against my lower back, still playing with the barely-there silky fabric.
We’re staring, unmoving, his erection deep inside.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers.
Our mouths crash together simultaneously.
He cradles my face and our hips start moving, an unhurried, yet frenzied motion all the same. It’s like the time he was going slowly on purpose, acting so absurd after the first time we had sex. Except, while the pace is the same, everything else is different. This time, there’s more conviction than purpose, and it’s a thousand times more consuming. It’s uninhibited, and something about the way his eyes never leave mine makes me feel vulnerable. It’s as if he’s plucking my heart right out of my chest, for keeps, never to be returned ever again.
It doesn’t take long before an orgasm rips through the both of us, and I smile, noticing how I grab onto him, just like he says I do.
Our sluggish tempo doesn’t let up.
“I can feel you,” he embraces me. “Throbbing around me.”
“Yeah,” I nod, my voice airy, feeling it too. We’re still shaking as he continues to shove into me, only, instead of decreasing his speed he’s using even more force.
“Oh!” I whimper again, my fingers brushing his cheeks and under his eyes. The way he’s still thrusting, while he twitches and jerks, has me flying.
“Again?” He smirks and his hand moves between us, finding my most satisfying spot.
“No, I can’t,” I shake my head, spent.
“Oh, but you can,” his voice hypnotic. “All I have to do is this… right… here.” The way his tongue brushes against mine in between each word, coupled with his skillful touch, has me loosing it for a third time. He lets out a moan that matches mine.
“Luci, I’m coming again,” he grunts. “Yes!”
His eyes cut into mine as he holds me down, shoving his dick up hard. Once, twice, three times,
drowning along with me.
Our eyes remain locked, his hands now massaging my back in a soothing pattern. It’s joy and perfection all tied up with unspoken fears and hopes. He lays his forehead against mine, the heat of his breath, the smoothness of his lips teasing me as he speaks.
“He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”
“Anna Karenina,” I whisper.
He kisses me again and we hold on to each other, with him in me, for God knows how long.
We start to hear noise in the hallway, and I look at the clock above the door. The show must have ended. I exhale loudly, as he helps me off of him; an overwhelming hollowness as he pulls out.
I think tonight is the first time I actually admitted to myself exactly how much he means to me.
How the hold he has on my heart has forever changed who I am.
How I will never be the same again.
How he’ll always be both my strength and weakness.
I hold back the unwelcomed tears as we say goodbye - from the pain, from the pleasure, because in this moment, I finally accept that I love him.
PROM
I lock myself in my room the moment I get home, crying until the wee hours of the morning.
How could I let this happen? How could he?
Then I remember he didn’t. It was me! This is my mistake. Like when I asked for a date over Valentine’s Day weekend. He’s always known we were nothing. This is solely my illusion.
I spend break going back and forth, debating what to do. The year’s almost over, but what difference does that make for him, since from the very beginning he’s basically made it clear that we have no future?
Future.
I have no future.
There’s a note on the fridge from Mom, saying she heard from Chloe’s Mom that she already got accepted into three schools. Mom’s excited for the mail today, to see if there’s anything for me, because it’s strange that I haven’t gotten anything yet. She says I should call her as soon as I get home, after I check the mail of course.
Beautiful Torment Page 16
