30
Taryn
“You made it out,” I say as Easton quietly treads out of Jamie’s room and shuts the door. I lower my mug of tea and my case notes, unfurling and stretching my legs on the couch.
“Kid’s down for the count,” Easton says. He rubs a hand down his face, then sits beside me on a sigh.
“Did you learn anything useful?” I ask, “Or did Jamie manipulate you into helping destroy his friends in one of his online games?”
Easton chuckles, tilting his head back against the cushions. “He’s a wicked teacher. I think I’ve got A to L down, anyway.”
I lean forward. “Show me.”
He does, and it brings pleasure to know my son is bringing forth this kind of effort from Easton. When Easton falters at M, I cup his hand, and on impulse kiss his fingers. “Does it scare you?”
Easton hesitates, his focus on our interconnected hands. “This whole time, I’ve been focusing on how a cochlear implant would be my downfall.”
“What do you mean?”
“Anything the docs told me were about the problems with pitch. I’d no longer hear guitar the same way, for instance. Even though multiple guitar strings would play, patients with CI’s only hear one note, sounding out again and again. And that scared the ever-loving shit out of me.”
I unfurl his fingers against my cheek and nestle in. “Notes are your life. Of course that kind of news would shake you to the core.”
“Yeah, and it took a ten-year-old who’s savvy with the internet to show me that while I may lose music keys, I won’t lose beats.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
His gaze cuts to me, and he presses against my cheek. “I may not have to lose my drums, Taryn.”
I stiffen in surprise. “What? Really?”
Easton sits up. “It’s like I said. I’ve been so focused on what a CI can’t do for me, what deafness will do to me, that I didn’t stop to ask what I could stay mine. And it’ll take time. It’ll take a whole lot of effort and sweat and yeah, tears, but I might be able to do it. I might still be able to play the drums.”
I ask, in awe, “Jamie told you this?”
“In his trickster way, yeah.” Easton laughs, and it’s the first time I hear it, bright and true, without the poisonous notes of his downfall. “He wants to learn the drums. I asked how in the hell he could do that when he’s deaf.”
My brows jump.
Easton frowns. “Sorry. Should I have been that blunt with him?”
“This is New York City,” I say gently, “Jamie’s well-versed in outright bluntness.”
“You did such a good job with that kid, Taryn.”
The sincerity of his words and depth of his stare hit hard. “Thank you.”
“Anything from Astor? From your ex?”
“A bit of information from Astor,” I admit, but I don’t want to talk about it. “But I want to go back to your revelation. Are you saying you’re considering getting a cochlear implant?”
Easton’s mouth screws tight, and my stomach sinks at the negative implication. I don’t think Easton has any true idea just how hard it’ll be—
“Yeah,” he says at last. “If it doesn’t fuck up my ability to be a drummer, I’ll do it.”
I play devil’s advocate. “But you may lose the ability to play the guitar. To sing. A CI doesn’t make you fully hear again.”
“Babe, I was in your son’s room and saw all of the things he uses, stuff he’s had all his life, even to set an alarm in the morning, and I thought, fuck, I’m not prepared. I’m twenty-eight and I’ve done nothing to function as a deaf man in society. You should’ve seen me trying to learn the alphabet. I wasn’t even a pre-schooler in there. I was a newborn.”
I venture to admit, “I did see you. And yeah, you were … “
“Say it.”
“I don’t want to be—”
“Say I was a fucking fetus, Taryn. You know it’s true.”
“You were learning,” I say kindly, and he scoffs. “And I only saw a bit of it. I came in to tell you that the leftovers were ready, but you and Jamie were so into the tutoring, I didn’t want to interrupt. I must’ve reheated your food four times.” I grimace. “I think it’s pretty dry and crispy by now.”
“I’ll eat rat scraps at this point. I’m starved.”
I slide closer to him, putting an arm around his torso and resting my chin on his shoulder as he bends down, head lowered. “I can’t sit here and try to understand just how one copes when a life sentence is doled out the way yours was. Like, hey, you’ve got a few more years to hear and that’s it. And we can’t tell you when you’ll lose it, exactly. Just know that it will happen, and when it does, your world will turn upside-down. You kept it at bay as long as you could, but I’m glad to see you considering your options.”
He turns his head and kisses my temple absent-mindedly. “You understand exactly. You were told Jamie was deaf only a few months into his life.”
“It was a very different process,” I say, “But I’m here for you, for whatever you want to learn. Or ask. Even the stupid stuff.”
Easton pulls away to face me. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a lot of stupid stuff to ask. Seeing the fire alarm in Jamie’s room nearly made me pass out in a panic again. I’ve got none of that shit in my house. Nothing.”
I squeeze his arm. “You will get through this, Easton.”
He searches my face, and I think he’s going to hold me, taste me, catch my scent, but instead he breaks eye contact on an exhale. And I’m conflicted again.
“You’re hungry,” I say, and stand. “I’ll get you your plate. And you can stay over, if you like. It’s pretty late.”
Easton rubs the back of his neck, but the instant his stare hits mine again, the air between us bubbles molten. “Do you want me to stay?”
I say on a thick breath, “Yes.”
His lids lower, the dark crescents of his lashes a promising curtain to what glimmers underneath.
“But. Um.” I clear my throat. Collect myself. Dispel these goddamned flames that keep igniting between us. “I know that earlier today we, uh …”
“Banged.”
I flush. “Yes. Banged. But, for propriety’s sake—”
“No need to explain.” Easton pats the couch. “I’ll sleep here.”
“Right. Okay. Food.”
He’s still staring at me. Precisely in the way he did when I opened the door for him a few hours ago, smoldering with intent as he bit the pad of his thumb after he touched my lips.
My panties go damp at the thought.
“Okay, well—” I spin to get his food. Anything to get out of this hot, sexy vortex.
“Come here.”
I freeze mid-step. “You said you were starved. I was going to—”
“I’m starving for something else, now. Come here, Taryn.”
“I, uh … “
I really want to. Really, really want to.
He crooks his finger at me, a devil’s smile playing across his lips.
For something to do, I glance over at Jamie’s door.
“Don’t even think about that excuse,” Easton says. “He’s fast asleep. And any vibrations I make will be solely on your body, so there’s no risk of waking him.”
My tummy trembles at his meaning. My core blooms like a flower at the thought. My feet move forward of their own volition.
Toward him.
When I’m close enough, he encircles my waist, guiding me into straddling him, my head bent as his rises and our lips meet.
No, not meet exactly. More like, our lips find each other as their perfect mate, his covering mine so perfectly and completely, he could breathe for me and I’d be completely fine.
Easton’s hands glide up my back, taking my shirt with them. We break apart long enough for me to hold my arms over my head as he peels the cotton all the way off, leaving me in my bra and jeans. He cups my lace-covered breasts and buries his face in the crea
se before licking and kissing his way out, up my chest, collarbone, neck, and there he stays as I tilt my head to the side and murmur for more of his mouth.
Easton groans against my skin, nuzzling with his nose before taking such a caring, delicate touch and steering it toward sin, his tongue velvet fire.
His hand slides down my back, past the waistline of my pants and into my underwear, finding my ass and—
My eyes shoot open.
But … my bits down south are all for it.
Easton’s positioned me so my back arches and I’m grinding against his hardness, made all the more firm because of his jean’s zipper. When he slips a finger into that—back place—holy crap am I really letting this happen but ohGoditfeelssogood—and I moan, my head falling forward onto his neck, I rub harder against him, gripping his shoulders, my wetness seeping through my pants. I find his earlobe and bite down. Easton growls in response.
The scent of our sex fills the room, the sighs of our voices seemingly the only sound in the city of endless noise.
Easton raises his head to nip at my chin before going after the remaining button on my body. I stand enough for him to slide my pants down and step out of them, hooking the bottom hem of each leg to slide my feet through.
It should be awkward, but it’s not. When I lift a leg, Easton scrapes his hand down my exposed thigh, kissing my hip before pulling at the strap of my panties with his teeth and snapping it back.
The elastic sound seems to ricochet around the small room, but Easton grins up at me, showing his teeth.
“I hope this isn’t your favorite underwear,” Easton says, his voice rough. “Since I’m about to rip it to pieces.”
My answer is to part my lips, strands of hair falling into my face as I look down at him.
Easton’s stare darkens. “Good God woman, you’re gorgeous.”
“I need you. Right now,” I whisper, and move to lay on the couch underneath him.
He stops me with a hand on my arm. “No.”
“No?” My brows pinch together.
Easton stands and slides his shirt and pants off in what is effectively one seamless move. His briefs go next, and suddenly I’m staring at All Man.
His hand grips his dick. His tone is thick, dark and man when he says, “Ride me.”
Easton sits back down, one hand reaching out to me, the other stroking idly.
It’s like I walked into my own porno film, and I love every second of it, but most especially, I love the fact that there’s a gorgeous, naked man on my couch who wants to fuck me.
I don’t dawdle. I slide my hand in his.
When I’m close enough but still standing, Easton uses his index finger to hook one side of my panties, then bends forward and rips the flimsy piece of material with his teeth. Soundlessly, the lace falls to the ground.
I reach back to unhook my bra, but he stops me. “Leave it. I can’t take not being inside you much longer.”
Smiling, feeling wicked, I straddle Easton and push his hand away from his dick and replace it with my own. He groans with invitation.
Foreplay isn’t on either of our minds as we stare each other down, so I position myself to take him in, and he slides into me easily, quietly, and fully.
I tilt my head back, irresistibly clenching against his girth.
His hands span my waist, yet, I realize he doesn’t start pounding. Opening my eyes, I see that he’s staring at where we’re connected, moving only when I tighten around him, working with me rather than taking control. But at each pulsing grip of my inner muscles, Easton moves deeper, hitting a part of me so pleasurable, so insurmountably surreal that I start to see stars instead of the copper glint in his eyes.
The sight and feel of him brings me as close to the edge as I’ve ever come. I meet him, thrust for thrust, until we find a rapturous rhythm, but I can’t climb higher.
“Easton … I can’t …”
He bites his lower lip and his hand goes down, down to where I’m spread around him. Using my own slickness, he lubricates the swollen, sensitive nub until he’s able to massage, flick and circle in ways that have me arching back and writhing, gripping him harder, tighter, until I’m nothing but ecstasy driven by greed.
“Yes. Yes, right there,” I think I say, but my mouth is nearly as swollen with pleasure as the rest of me, and I ride, writhe and twist until the edge re-appears.
Every sense of mine is stimulated. Our sexual scent, the slick sound of our mutual thrusts, the taste of Easton’s fingers as he drags them across my lower lip and continues our erotic rhythm. And his face, like the sight of a fallen angel discovering the pleasures of engaging in sin—
I gasp, climaxing, breathing in the air between us, and with one last, wholly encompassing thrust, Easton shudders in my arms before all of our limbs go limp.
He collapses to the side, bringing me with him, until we’re both curled up on the couch.
“Shit,” he says after settling a throw blanket around us.
“What?” I ask, angling so I can see his face in the ambient darkness.
He chuckles. “You’ve just about ruined me for any other woman.”
“Do send them my apologies when you meet those poor souls.” I settle back onto his chest, and grin as I glide down his body and feel him harden under my palm. “Because until then …”
His gaze sparkles against the night. “I’m all yours.”
I slide down until just before I take him into my mouth, smiling mischievously. “Until I’m done with you, anyway.”
Easton grins in response, thrusting his hips ever so slightly. “Good thing there’s a lot for you to finish.”
31
Easton
It’s like these next two weeks are a gift.
My hearing stays the same, and while it’s not what it used to be, I can talk and respond to people just fine. Only when my back is turned and someone’s talking to me do my wires get crossed and I need them to repeat themselves.
This time around, I don’t take the everyday sounds traveling through my ear canals for granted.
I spend most of those perfect, clear as glass days with Taryn and Jamie, focusing on forming words and sentences with my hands. Taryn’s also thoughtful enough to walk me through her home, showing me the special appliances or safety mechanisms she’s installed for Jamie’s benefit, and the clever uses of mirrors and lights to communicate with him when sound can’t.
When Taryn’s at work, I don’t linger at her house. What we have is so new, and I don’t want to add “creepy couch potato” to it. I admit, I do a few drive-bys, ensuring there’s no presence of a bitter, abusive ex lurking in the bushes, but so far, he’s leaving them alone.
And I’m wondering why.
Jamie gets out of school around 3, and that’s when I usually head back to their home, teaching him the drums for a few hours on the brand-new pad kit I bought him. Witnessing the true joy on his face when I revealed it to him one evening was almost as good as seeing Taryn put her hands on her hips and sigh, stretching her work blouse over her breasts and creating a delicious dip in her lower back while she clips around the apartment in her heels, muttering, “I better not regret this …”
I shouldn’t be thinking of all the crude ways to bend her over with her son in the room, so I force my stare away from her ass and get back to business, explaining to Jamie that while the pads don’t feel the same as actual drumskin, it’s a great way to learn sheet music and timing. With Jamie, it’s slightly more difficult, as a pad kit doesn’t provide the same vibrations, of which I realized too late. Or just in time, depending on whose side of the fence you’re on, mine or Taryn’s. In no way does Taryn support a full-sized drum kit in their small, ground-floor apartment.
That just means you have to come over to my place and we can learn in my sound proof room, I sign to Jamie one day. Well—I hope I sign it.
Jamie snorts at my amateur hand signals, but he gets the gist. When? Now?
I laugh. Soon enough.
If Taryn still wants me to talk to my bandmates, she doesn’t push it. I think she’s happier with my attention on preparing for the next steps in my life, whenever fate decides to throw down its trident. I’m doing things like outfitting my home with specialized fire alarms, wearing a vibrating watch for an alarm, and studying how Jamie interacts with basic household chores.
He doesn’t cook in the usual ways people are alerted when food is ready. He can’t listen to the timing between pops of popcorn kernels, the threat of an overboiling pot, or the snaps and cracklings of hot oil. Instead, he uses a vibrating timer on his phone for things like the microwave or oven temperature timer. He also doesn’t leave the kitchen and remains incredibly attentive when he has food on the stove, so it doesn’t burn.
I’m overwhelmed by this kid. For a small dude who puts such stock in his tablet, you’d think he’d be dismissive when it comes to responsibilities, but he’s incredibly reliable, and as Jamie points out aspects of the kitchen, I look over his head and meet Taryn’s eye, and she smiles softly as she curls up on the couch with her work stuff, consisting of mostly piles of paper and her laptop.
I’m finding it hard to believe Taryn’s allowing an unemployed, washed up, B-list rockstar who’s going deaf have sex with her, but I’m a lucky guy.
The actual A-list climbing rockstars of Nocturne Court text me during these days, although Rex remains strangely silent. I see the notifications, read them, but don’t respond. Not because I’m mad at them—I’ve never given any of the guys the full story—but … I don’t know what to say. Or how to approach a topic that will change my life in ways I’m convinced won’t be better.
“Here,” Taryn says as she sits next to me during the eve of our fourteenth day together. Jamie’s just gone to bed.
She hands me a sheaf of print-outs containing deaf and ASL resources located in New York City.
As I’m staring at them, she adds, “Jamie’s a great tutor, but he’s no audiologist. And I think you’re at the stage where you can start talking with some professionals on how to approach these next steps.”
Playing You: Players to Lovers, Book 4 Page 20
