“Will you come with me tomorrow?” he asks then, voice low.
“Would you like me to come?”
His nostrils flare. “I’d love you to.”
“Then I’ll come,” I say, pressing my lips to his one last time before sliding off the table. “I’ve got to get back. Good luck with tonight’s show.”
“Yeah,” he replies, and I can feel his eyes glued to my behind the entire time I walk away.
Eighteen
The next morning I’m woken at six-thirty by my phone ringing. Yeah, that’s right, six flipping thirty in the mother-effing a.m. Peering at the screen through squinted eyes, I see it’s Shane who’s calling, and I remember I agreed to go with him to the television studio. What with him playing a concert last night, we didn’t get a chance to hash out the details.
I was exhausted after my shift and so was he after playing, so unfortunately we didn’t have the opportunity to take further advantage of our “arrangement.” Hopefully, I’ll get to remedy that tonight, or maybe even today if I’m lucky. I answer the phone groggily, and Shane tells me he’ll be picking me up in half an hour. There’s a smile in his voice; clearly he can hear how tired I am. I don’t know how the people who work on those morning shows manage getting up so early every day.
I feel like a zombie as I take a quick shower and get dressed. I don’t have time to dry my hair, so I twist it up in a loose bun. For an outfit I throw on a nice peach-coloured shift dress with my biker boots, mixing prim and proper with some urban decay. There’s a knock at the door soon after, and Shane greets me with a smile and a takeaway coffee cup.
We’re quiet on the drive, with him giving me heated looks every once in a while. Where does he get his energy from? I’ll need at least two more coffees and something carb-heavy before I’ll feel like the living.
“That’s a nice dress,” he murmurs, turning a corner into the studio parking lot.
I rub my palms on my thighs, smoothing out the material. “Thanks.”
When we go inside, a runner leads us both to the wardrobe section, but Shane says he’s happy to wear what he has on already. He looks good, too, in light grey slacks and a tailored white shirt. Smart casual.
Henry White, the orchestra conductor, is already there, having his salt and pepper hair fussed over by a stylist. Shane takes the seat beside him and gives him a smirk, at the same time waving off the offer of having his own hair primped. I always wondered whether the people who go on these shows are forced to endure the wardrobe and makeup part or if they have a choice. Seemingly, from what I’ve seen so far, they get a choice.
Opting out is probably better, because you can always tell when the person feels uncomfortable in what they’re wearing and the makeup that’s been piled onto their face.
Shane introduces me to Henry briefly, and then I have to excuse myself to go to the bathroom, nature calling. I almost get lost as I search through corridors that all feel identical, people rushing this way and that, busy bees. From what I can tell, the show is live on the air right now, but Shane and Henry aren’t going on until the final ten minutes.
At long last I find the ladies room, and then on my way back to the hair and makeup department I see Shane walking toward me. Before I can react, he’s pulling me into an empty closet and shutting the door. Then his hands are in my hair, pulling out my bun and letting it fall over my shoulders. His mouth crashes down on mine as he inches the hem of my dress up my legs.
“I couldn’t wait until after,” he groans against my lips, pressing the hard length of his erection to my inner thigh.
I let out a sharp hiss of breath at the feel of him, a thrill in my belly. He was so desperate for me that he’s doing this here. Here! An idea pops into my head as I kiss his neck, and then I draw away from him so that I can lower myself to my knees.
In the dimly lit closet, I see Shane swallow deeply as he watches me. The only light is streaming through the cracks in the door from those fluorescent bulbs that line the windowless halls.
I rub him through his slacks and nuzzle my nose against his cock over the fabric. Then I draw down the zipper and pull him free, luxuriating in the feel of all that silky, hot hardness.
“Jade,” he whispers, his voice low with need.
“Let me,” I whisper back before tipping my tongue, feather light, to the head of his penis. He shudders. I take him into my mouth, just the barest inch, then draw away and dip my head to lick him from the base of his cock all the way to the tip.
“Fucking hell,” he groans, his hand going to my cheek in a caress.
Opening my mouth wide, I take as much of him in as I can. I’ll never be able to fit all of him. He murmurs lots of sweet things to me as I bob my head up and down slowly. I grip his thigh for support and then go deeper. His answering strangled moan tells me he likes it. Increasing my speed, I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, and a salty drop of pre-cum hits my mouth.
His hand moves from my cheek and slips down the front of my dress, under my bra and directly to my breast, where he squeezes. I feel myself growing wet between my legs when he pinches my nipple, continually applying pressure and then releasing.
I’m sucking him fast now, the tempo increasing as my own desire builds. I’m so turned on I feel like I might come simply from the way he’s pinching my nipples. He’s doing it to both of them, pinching and releasing. His cock is hard and wet in my mouth. I drag my teeth along his length, just a tiny hint of pain, and I’m rewarded with a masculine groan and more pre-cum.
I lick him from the base all the way to the head one more time before I take him back inside and suck him with vigour. I’m dying for him to come into me, dying to taste him. I’ve never felt such a need to pleasure a man as completely as I do with Shane. He’s so gorgeous, such a beautifully pained soul, and there’s this deep need in me to make him feel as good as I possibly can.
One hand releases my breast and goes to my hair, fisting it right at the nape of my neck. He tugs ever so gently, and I gasp around his cock. Looking up into his eyes, I see him almost smiling, his gaze dark with desire. Every time I suck on him he pulls, and every time I can’t help my muffled gasp.
Then I feel his body tense up; his cock gets so hard and big that I can hardly fit him anymore, and he cries out as warm spurts of semen fill my mouth. I keep moving my lips on him, up and down, up and down, until every last drop has been released. I swallow, and he pulls me up to stand, pushing me harshly against the door and slamming his mouth onto mine.
His hand slips beneath the hem of my dress and right inside my drenched underwear. I moan as his fingers rub at my folds, finding my clit and giving it a little pinch.
“So wet,” he breathes, his tongue licking a line from my ear to my jaw.
My hand goes to his cock and rubs; he’s hardening again already. His fingers whisper over my entrance before plunging inside, and I have to hold onto his shoulder to keep upright. My legs turn to jelly as he finger fucks me hard and fast. Pleasure ripples through me, and the noise of my heavy breathing fills the tiny space. The sound of his fingers slapping against my wetness echoes in the background.
“So tight,” he goes on, his fingers still fucking me, his mouth doing pretty things to my neck.
“I wish we were somewhere else,” I manage to whisper, because I don’t want this pleasure to end. I want him to fuck me with his cock for days. Unfortunately, we’re in a storage closet in a television studio with dozens of people rushing by right outside the door. So for now his fingers will have to do. Not that they’re doing a bad job. No, not at all.
“I don’t,” he replies, his voice a hot caress. “I like it here. It’s sort of forbidden. The danger of being heard, getting caught.”
Well, now, isn’t he just a little kinky bastard.
At this he thrusts his fingers right up into me, and I moan far too loudly. His answering chuckle makes me want to smack him, but I’m enjoying what he’s doing far too much for that. His thumb starts to flick at my c
lit, building a fire inside me.
I gasp and moan, pressing my face into the hollow of his neck. I nuzzle his earlobe and then lightly take it between my teeth and bite. He rewards me by rubbing a hard, torturously slow circle around my clit with his thumb, his fingers inside me slowing down. I feel him hit every pleasure spot now, the lack of speed somehow making this better.
“Come for me, baby,” he urges as he nuzzles my nose, encouraging my face to move from his neck so he can see my eyes again.
“I’m going to. Soon,” I tell him in response, my words all shaky as everything inside me builds to what is going to be a fucking intense orgasm. Our gazes locked now, I let out a breath, and he sucks it in. Breathing each other’s air. My fingernails dig into the fabric of his shirt where I’m clutching his shoulder, and I practically yelp when all of a sudden he pumps fast again, sensation shattering from my core and outward into my whole body. His thumb presses hard into my clit and I come, moaning and sighing all at once, tremors wracking my body.
I hold onto him for long moments after they’ve subsided, my head all in a daze. His arms go tight around my waist, and mine go around his neck. We kiss and peck at each other, not saying a word but silently acknowledging that what just happened between us was incredible. And needs to happen again — as soon as possible.
Shane moves and brings his wrist to his line of sight to check the time on his watch. Quickly, he lets out a string of swear words and untangles our bodies.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, disappointed that he’s pulled away from me.
“I have to get back. We’re supposed to be on the air in five minutes.”
Oh, shit. I step back and take a look at him, fixing his hair while he buttons his trousers. Opening the closet door, we step out into the light and hurry to the studio. Along the way Shane’s phone rings in his pocket. He stops and pulls it out, staring at the screen long and hard but not answering. I study his face, wondering why he looks so pissed all of a sudden. Then he ends the call and shoves the phone back in his jacket.
A harried runner gives Shane an annoyed look when we finally show our faces. Shane takes a peek at himself in the mirror; he’s still a little dishevelled after our encounter, so he straightens his clothes and fixes his hair some more.
Henry gives him a knowing smile, and then they’re both being escorted to the set. I follow behind. I’ve never been in a studio like this before. I take in all the equipment and lights, the behind-the-scenes team making sure everything runs smoothly.
There’s a male and female duo presenting this particular show, and right now they’re reading off a teleprompter, doing the intro for Shane and Henry. An overweight man in his fifties who looks like he’s in charge talks swiftly to the two of them in a hushed voice, and then they’re both walking onto the set and shaking hands with the presenters. They take their seats on the red sofa, and the male presenter, whose name I think is Jim, asks the first questions. I stand close by on the side lines, watching and listening.
“You’re both very welcome. Now, tell us a little bit about the new season that’s coming up. I hear you’ve got lots of exciting shows happening.”
Henry nods and dives straight into a practiced spiel about the orchestra’s upcoming events. I hardly pay him any attention as I focus on Shane. He looks flushed, and I guess he has reason to be, given the last half an hour. The female presenter gives him an appraising look, her expression showing that she likes what she sees. Huh.
There’s a long table nearby with tea, coffee, and various pastries. Me being me, I clocked it right away as we walked onto the set. Stepping over to it, I pour myself a cup of coffee, dumping in three sachets of sugar and some milk. I also grab an iced Danish and take a big hungry bite. Free food, you have to love it.
When I settle my attention back on the show, Shane’s eyes meet mine past all the cameras, and he smiles.
Wow. I’ll never get used to how his smiles make my heart go pop.
“I hear you’ll be having some fabulous musicians from the around the world coming to play with you,” says the female presenter, trying to bring Shane into the conversation.
He doesn’t say anything. Oh, shit, I think his nerves might be getting the better of him…or maybe he’s too busy smiling at me to hear her. There’s a moment of awkward silence before Henry comes to the rescue.
“That’s right,” he says. “Philippa Sedgwick and Ian Hughes will be with us next week.”
“And is it true that Mona Campbell might even be making an appearance?” the presenter goes on.
Now she has his full attention as his face whips to her. Suddenly, my focus is no longer on Shane’s gorgeous smile. It’s on the brief look of horror that quickly passes over his features before he puts a casual mask back in place. Uh, what? Mona’s going to be playing at the concert hall? From the looks of it, Shane had no idea about this.
Henry replies in the affirmative, and my gut sinks. The presenter brings her focus onto Shane again by asking, “Isn’t it true that you and Mona have a romantic history?”
“Yes, a long time ago,” Shane answers, trying to be polite.
The presenter smiles, like this is all fun and games. “I suppose sparks will be flying at the reunion.”
Shane gives her a cold look. “As I said, it was a long time ago.”
“Mr Arthur and Miss Campbell will be playing Brahms’ Hungarian Dance No. 1 and 5 together,” says Henry.
Now Shane cuts his eyes to the conductor. Obviously, this is the first he’s heard of any planned duets. Henry goes into more detail about that particular show, but I tune him out. Shane’s jaw is tight with tension, and he looks like he wants to get up from the sofa and leave. Take that, live television.
Thankfully, he doesn’t leave.
I will his gaze to meet mine, and when it finally does I try to channel all my calming chi into one look. His tension visibly slips away as he gathers himself and settles back into the interview. I wonder why the management for the orchestra has organised these duets. I only have limited knowledge, but normally it’s the job of a guest musician to do solos. Then again, Shane is something of a celebrity in this world. Perhaps they wanted to drum up a bit of gossip and intrigue, sell more tickets and the like.
Soon the interview is being wrapped up, and the presenters are thanking both Shane and Henry for coming in. The two look to be having a heated discussion as they step off the set and over to a quiet corner. I move around a guy operating a camera to get closer so I can hear.
“Why the hell is this only being sprung on me now?” Shane grits out.
Henry has a beseeching look on his face. “Honestly, I thought you knew. Maybe it’s a clerical error and someone forgot to contact you.”
“I can’t play with her. There’s too much bad blood there. It’ll be a disaster.”
“Surely if she’s agreed to do it, then there can’t be that much bad blood. Like you said before, it was a long time ago, Shane.”
Hmm, it can’t have been that long ago. If my estimations are correct I’d say a year at most.
“This is fucking bullshit, and you know it. Someone deliberately made it so that I wasn’t told until it was too late to back out. I know how this works. They think they’ll have a sold-out house because people will want to come and witness the sheer fucked-upness of it all.”
Shane drags a hand through his hair, and Henry gives him a small smile. “Is fucked-upness a word now?” The teasing lilt to his voice makes Shane a little less tense, and a tiny laugh escapes him.
“Shut up.”
Henry clasps him around the shoulder. “You can do this, son. Believe it or not, I’ve had a few romantic entanglements with musicians over the years, too. I know it can be tough.”
Shane looks at him and nods, seeming to come to a conclusion that he’s going to struggle on. Play the duets with Mona, and get them over and done with.
I can’t say I’m pleased about it, but I’m glad he’s not going to let it all get to him.
>
Spotting me standing by a water cooler, he comes and wrap his arms around my middle, placing a kiss to the very tip of my nose. I laugh.
“I suppose you heard all that,” he says, lips in my hair.
“Yeah. You handled the interview really well, despite everything. For a second I thought you were going to say some choice words to the presenter.”
“Oh, there were a few on the tip of my tongue, all right. I held them in, though, for the sake of professionalism, of course.”
“Of course.”
At this moment the presenter in question walks by with an assistant. I still don’t know her name, but she cocks an eyebrow as she takes in the two of us wrapped around each other and then keeps walking. Shane says his goodbyes to Henry and then leads me by the hand out of the studio.
I breathe in the cold, crisp air once we get outside. There’s something kind of depressing about the lack of windows inside.
“Want to go for a drive?” Shane asks as he slides into the driver’s seat.
I shrug. “Sure. Where do you have in mind?”
He glances at me and then straight ahead through the windscreen, tapping his hands on the steering wheel. “Let’s go see the ocean.”
Nineteen
I keep staring at him as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking spot. While he drives I turn on the radio, messing around with different stations until I find something I like. Once I settle on a song, I sit back and enjoy the ride.
His phone rings again, and again he ignores it, waiting until it goes to voicemail. I’m starting to become a little too curious about who he’s avoiding speaking to.
Somewhere along the way, Shane reaches over with one hand and squeezes my thigh. He leaves his hand there, only moving it when he needs to before quickly putting it back. I watch him, remembering when he’d been doped up at the hospital and blurted out that watching me drive was like foreplay. I kind of get it now. His arms strain beneath his shirt when he steers, his profile beautiful and strong at the same time. It kind of makes me hot and bothered.
Still Life with Strings Page 18
