by Rylee Swann
“And, I’ll never hurt you.” I snuggle in close to him, breathing in his raw, masculine scent. I’ve never felt safer, more alive or fortunate.
I’m no longer a virgin.
Thank god for Fringe helping me make the right decision.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Fringe
The sun wakes me early and the first thing I see is Dawn sleeping beside me, her chest rising and falling evenly, the curls of her flame-red hair splayed out on the pillow and tickling my shoulder. Her bare form is warm and soft, and my face practically cracks open with my smile.
This is contentment.
Peace.
My soul is finally soothed.
As I watch her, she turns, opens her eyes and focuses on me. “Mornin’.” A big smile of her own tells me she’s as happy as I am. “How long have you been staring at me?”
I laugh, caught red-handed. “I just woke up.”
“Yeah, right.” A mischievous glint appears in her eyes. “Stalker much?”
“Impudent woman.” I pull her close and capture her lips with mine. She giggles into my mouth but is soon melting into the kiss.
This is how I always want to wake up.
This is perfection.
My cock stirs and grows but I force my thoughts to purer things. I don’t want to attack her with morning wood. Not yet anyway, and not on her birthday.
Reluctantly breaking the kiss, I gently push a few stray locks of hair from her face. She wrinkles her nose—fuck, she’s adorable—and leans in to kiss me again, but I dodge. I’ll never be able to restrain myself otherwise.
I chuckle as she pouts until I remind her what day it is. “What do you want to do for your birthday?”
“Sing to me.”
I look at her for a moment, perplexed, then realize. “Okay… Happy birthday to you… happy—”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “That’s nice, but it’s not what I meant. I want to hear your songs. Get your guitar. Sing them to me?”
I like this idea and stretch, preparing to leave the warmth of her and my bed.
Dawn reaches down to grab a stray t-shirt from the mound on the floor and I grab her arm. “Oh, no you don’t.” I snatch the shirt from her hand. “It’s your birthday, so you have to stay in your birthday suit.” I grin as her mouth drops open and she gapes at me. “At least until we leave the apartment.”
Her surprise turns to delight and she laughs, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. “Same for you then!”
“Of course.” I get out of bed to retrieve my guitar and glance back at her as she watches my bare ass. I can tell she likes what she sees.
I retrieve my notebook and other miscellaneous papers scribbled with lyrics, pick up my guitar from the corner of the bedroom, then sit cross-legged on the bed. “Which one do you want to hear first?”
She gathers up the papers and flips through the notebook. “You wrote all of this?” I nod, though I’m kind of nervous about laying it all out there for her to see, even though she’s Dawn. I force myself to relax, remembering that it’s her birthday and she just gave me the most amazing gift. “Do you realize you have more than enough here for an album?”
I scoff, knowing with pained certainty that will never happen. I gave up my one chance in order to have Dawn. I wish things could have been different, but I don’t regret my choice even a little. “Pick a song.”
She frowns slightly but goes back to looking through the songs. “Oh my god.” Eyes wide, she holds up a page of lyrics. On the other side is her original poem. “This… This is my poem. You made a song of my poem?”
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“I… I’m speechless. Please sing it.”
I put fingers to strings and the notes flow out of the guitar. She places the lyrics in front of me but I shake my head. I don’t need them. I know this one by heart. I’d been so impressed with Dawn’s talent that it was easy to commit it to memory.
I’m not halfway through the first chorus when tears are falling from her eyes. I immediately stop singing and still my guitar.
“You hate it. I’m so sorry.”
“No… that’s not it.” She swipes at her eyes. “It’s beautiful. It’s…” Her eyes go to the ceiling and she takes a deep breath. “I never showed my poems to anyone but you. I live with two of the most talented people on the planet. You don’t know how hard that can be. They’re always producing these freaking masterpieces. It can make a person feel… I don’t know… inadequate.”
My heart breaks. I don’t know how hard it can be. My home life sucked and I was never surrounded by talent, only bitter anger and hatred. I wasn’t loved. What I would have given for a life like Dawn’s, but I guess you never know the troubles the other guy has. I’ve always viewed her life with rainbow sunglasses. Now I know she’s as messed up as the rest of us.
“Dawn, I know music.” She nods and sniffles. “When I read your poetry, I immediately saw music. You’re every inch as talented as your parents. They’d be thrilled to know this. I know I am.”
She smiles through her tears. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” I strum the guitar absently, wondering if I should continue playing the song or switch to another.
“Sneaky you stealing the poem from my binder. When did you do that?”
Instead of acknowledging my theft, I lean over and kiss her on the lips, brushing my tongue across them before breaking away.
“Hey, umm…” She speaks so tentatively, I want to reach out and cradle her in my arms. “Am I your girlfriend now?”
I don’t. The question takes me aback. I haven’t thought a second past sleeping with her for the first time.
In my mind’s eye, I picture us walking together, hand in hand. It makes me smile. The alternative… me walking by myself, without her by my side, is abhorrent.
The question is, how do I answer?
No one likes putting themselves out there for the possibility of heartbreak, and I’m no exception. What if she’s asking just to start a conversation, to let me down easy?
I’m poetic in my lyrics but now I’m tongue-tied.
Lifting a shoulder, I try for nonchalance, but I can’t breathe. “If that’s what you’d like, I’d like it, too.”
“Way to be noncommittal.” She forces a laugh at my less than stellar answer but I also see the hint of a teasing twinkle in her eyes. “So, yeah, Fringe. I’d like that.”
Taking in a gasping breath, I swing the guitar out of the way, lean forward and bring her to me. Crush my lips to hers. To hell with blue balls. She opens her mouth to me immediately, her tongue dancing with mine. We’re getting very good at this and my cock agrees as it becomes instantly hard.
I snake an arm around her and am shocked when her hand creeps down between my legs. She has my dick in her hand, stroking it, before I can even think to stop her.
Pulling away, as hard as it is to do, I open my mouth to object.
Speaking against my lips, she tickles mine with her words and my heart swells. “I want to. It’s my birthday and if I want to taste you, then I will.”
She meets my eyes for an instant then gets on all fours in front of me. Bending her head to my crotch, she licks up my shaft and I groan. She sucks on the head and I growl. Somehow, she knows what she’s doing, even if she’s never done this before. Keeping eye contact, she chuckles as she slowly takes my length into her mouth, inch by agonizing inch.
I lay back and give myself over to her completely.
Taking my balls in her hand, she squeezes gently while sucking harder, her throat working, her tongue swirling, making me groan. This has never felt so fucking good. Tilting her head back, she kisses the tip and slides her lips back down my length, taking me far inside.
“Oh fuck, baby. Yeah, that’s it.”
With this encouragement, she continues with a vengeance, her saliva letting my cock slide in and out of her mouth with ease. My balls tighten, contract, and with a gentle hand on h
er head I slow her motions, showing her how to drag out the pleasure, at least for a few moments more.
She toys with my head, teasing with her teeth, destroying me with her hands.
My muscles begin shaking and gasping breaths are all I have. There is no way I can hold back the tidal wave. “I’m gonna come, baby.”
She doesn’t pull back. Fuck. I don’t know if she knows she should.
“Gonna come… now… if you don’t want to swallow…”
Her eyes find mine as she continues to pump me hard, and the rest of me is sucked into her mouth. That’s my answer.
With a roar, I come, my seed expelling in a torrent. A wave of dizziness hits me and I shut my eyes, lost in nirvana, my body burning, nerves sizzling while her throat works double-time to take it all down. I’ve never felt more connected to a woman who was doing this to me, giving me this ultimate pleasure.
At last, I’m empty, and she slowly pulls away to give my cock a lick and a kiss. Crawling up my body, she melds herself to me and licks her lips. She points to my guitar and I pick it up, strumming When Raven Calls. I hope she loves this one too.
“That was fun. Get used to it, I’ll be doing that again.”
Fuck, I love this girl.
***
“Are you ready to order?”
Dawn and I look up from our menus, big smiles on our faces. We can’t seem to stop smiling as we order enough food to feed an army. We’ve worked up such an appetite that the waitress shakes her head as she writes it all down. The restaurant is convenient—across the street and down the block from my apartment—and inexpensive. The perfect combination.
It was sad to watch Dawn get dressed, hiding her fucking amazing body. But to know I can see it whenever I want is the best possible gift.
When the food arrives, we dive in like ravenous animals. It’s already past lunch and this is the first we’ve eaten today.
“I have an idea,” Dawn says around a mouthful of food.
I shovel in another bite before teasing, “To chew before you speak?”
She laughs, swallows, and shakes her head. “No, I’m serious. I’ve been thinking—”
A fire truck screams past the restaurant and then another, drowning out the rest of Dawn’s words before the sirens die away nearby. My attention is grabbed by people gathering on the street. More sirens add to the growing commotion.
I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and stand up. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Going outside, I push through the growing crowd of people toward my apartment building but barricades are already being erected and a fireman halts my progress. I don’t need to go any farther to see what’s happening.
My home is going up in flames.
I stand motionless, staring at the angry black smoke billowing out of the broken windows as everything I possess burns.
Numb is the only thing I feel, and it hits me as odd that I don’t have the urge to curse or rage.
I don’t realize my hands have curled into fists until someone touches my arm.
“Fringe… oh my god.” Dawn thrusts my coat over my shoulders. “Put this on.” I don’t react and she grabs my arm, shakes. “Come on, put it on. It’s cold.”
I don’t feel cold, and just grasp the edges of my coat to hold it on. What I do feel is dreamlike as Dawn moves to stand in front of me, looking up into my face until I finally look away from the fire and into her eyes. “This wasn’t an accident.”
“What?” I nod to one of the LAs peppered throughout the crowd, and she turns to look as he points a finger gun at me and winks. Understanding flashes in her eyes. “Those fucking sons of—”
“It’s alright.” The chill of winter finally penetrates and I shrug into my coat.
“How can you say that? It’s so not alright. You lost everything.”
Shaking my head, I give her a wry smile. “No, I didn’t. I have you.”
Dawn rolls her eyes. “Since when did you get so sappy?”
I shrug inside the coat. “I didn’t have much in there. I’ll miss my old Lori guitar, but the rest? Not so much.”
She takes my hand. “Alright, then c’mon. I have an idea.”
I stay put when she tugs. “We’re not going to mess with the LAs over this.”
“No, no, nothing like that. It’s what I started to say in the restaurant.” She tugs on my hand again, digging her heels into the concrete. “Come on.”
I let her lead me away from my old, dead life and toward whatever she has in mind. Anything has to be better than what I had. Crazy as it sounds, I’m almost grateful to the LAs for giving me this brutal kick in the ass, to force me to make changes in my life. Big changes.
Dawn leads me to the next block, where she hails a cab. As it maneuvers through traffic to reach us, she pulls out her cell phone. “I’m just gonna text Mom—”
“You’re not thinking of taking me to your mother, are you?” Thoughts of her telling Rachel St. Claire that I’m the next big thing in rock and roll twists my stomach. “If you are, forget about it. I never wanted you to think that I’m friends with you because of your—”
She waves an annoyed hand at me. “If you’ll let me finish a sentence, I was going to say I’m letting her know that I won’t be home until later.” The cab pulls up to the curb and she smiles that dazzling smile that always ropes me in. “Do you trust me?”
“Maybe.”
That gets me a death stare and I laugh at her seriousness. I feel like a mountain has been moved off my chest. I give her an answer that better matches her mood. “Yes.”
“Then get in. It’s not Mom I want you to meet.”
Dawn gives the cab driver an address I’m not familiar with and I can feel the energy vibrating through her. When we pull up to a building in Mississauga, I’m still stumped about why we’re here.
I look at her with a raised brow, but she just smiles mysteriously and says, “You’ll see.”
So I wait as Dawn pays the driver with a credit card. I feel guilty for letting her pay but I’m not in a position to argue. Unemployed and homeless, I guess I should be grateful.
Looking at the building, trying to get my bearings, something in the back of my mind says I should know this place but I come up empty.
“Come on.” Dawn heads toward the entrance.
“Where are we?”
She turns her head but keeps going. “Metal Works.”
As she says the words, I see the signage and it all clicks into place. I’m stunned.
Metal Works Studios is famous. Recording artists such as David Bowie, Prince, Rush, Drake, plus a score of lesser known Canadian artists have recorded here. No doubt, Rachel St. Claire, too. It’s the best of the best that Canada has to offer.
Stepping into the foyer, I feel like I’ve entered a church. Not because it looks religious or saintly but because this is the hallowed ground the legends have tread. In actuality, it’s groovy with gold and platinum records lining the walls, memorabilia and everything else related to rock.
“Hey, Kevin,” Dawn says to a skinny dude with a goatee passing by. “Do you know where they are?”
Whoever this Kevin is grins and his eyes light with recognition. “Studio One. They got here a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks.” Dawn smiles brightly and heads for what I imagine is Studio One.
“Who was that?” I have to take long strides to keep up with her hurried pace.
“The head engineer. Come on. We’re almost there.”
A moment or two later, we’re pushing open the doors to Studio One and stepping into the control room. It’s just like I imagined, equipped with a classic Neve console and so much other equipment it makes my head spin. The studio itself is large, has a solid maple floor, high ceiling and wood and stone walls, all geared for getting the perfect sound.
“Happy birthday, Raven,” a man in his late thirties with a British accent and shoulder-length hair similar to mine greets Dawn with a bearhug.
&
nbsp; Another man steps up to hug her, too, and just as I’m realizing who they are, Dawn turns and makes introductions. I find myself yet again stunned.
“Uncle Dave, Uncle Milo, this is Fringe, the guy I texted you about.”
“Aye, mate,” they greet me with warm smiles and handshakes. Both are dressed in ripped jeans that probably cost a fortune along with leather bracelets and silver chains around their necks. They have pierced ears with crosses and a union jack dangling from them.
I touch my left earlobe, suddenly wondering why I never did the same. My excitement grows—I can learn so much from them, about music, the scene, everything. I better find my voice before they get the impression I’m an idiot.
“It’s uh, great to meet you. I mean, yeah… I know who you both are. Dawn didn’t tell me you’d be here…” I die inside. It would have been better if I hadn’t said anything.
“No worries, mate. We’re just a couple of blokes from Brixton with a smattering of talent and a shitload of luck,” David says.
“And our pretty faces don’t hurt, so the lassies tell us.” Milo lets out a guffaw and winks.
I’m set at ease. They’re too down to earth for me to be nervous.
“Right then, down to the art of music, wot say yee?” Milo asks and I look to Dawn questioningly.
“I brought you here to play for them.” She motions to the door leading to the studio. “You’re so talented, they need to hear you.”
“I don’t have my guitar.” My lungs constrict and I can’t breathe. The loss of my lyrics hits me in the gut. “Or my music.”
“A guitar is no problem, mate. ‘ere, use mine for luck.” David hands me a Gibson six string acoustic.
Taking it into my hands, I feel its weight, notice where the wood is worn from use, the half smudged pen marks. It’s not my Lori, but it’ll surely do.
“And, here’s all your lyrics.” Dawn opens her bag and pulls out my notebook and the loose papers I thought I left back in my apartment on the bed. “Ta da!” She smiles, her eyes twinkling. “I told you I had this idea before the fire.”
Awed by this woman yet again, relief washes over me. “Fuck, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”