Sing Your Heart Out

by Crystal Kaswell

  Love,

  Mom

  June last year! That was Rosie's graduation, and now it's downgraded to June last year. It was bad enough that Mom erased Rosie from our living room. Now, we're pretending like she never existed.

  Am I working? I call in to the hospital—it's open twenty-four seven—to find out. My schedule for midterms is perfect, and my supervisor has rewarded me with one fantastic treat.

  I have the whole weekend off.

  Not a single excuse for why I can't be with Mom and Dad.

  Awesome.

  I brush my teeth and throw myself onto my bed. My phone is still blinking. There's a text from Miles.

  Miles: Midterms start tomorrow?

  Meg: Yes. No time for distracting rock stars with very distracting mouths.

  Miles: And hands.

  Meg: Yes, and we could add cocks while we're at it.

  Miles: Only have the one. That not enough for you?

  Meg: Whatever.

  Miles: I'll get a sex toy.

  Meg: Don't start. I have to go to bed. First midterm is at nine a.m.

  Miles: Studying all night tomorrow?

  Meg: All night every night.

  Miles: Just thinking...sure would be a nice benefit if you could take a relaxing study break at home.

  Meg: Yeah?

  Miles: Without ever leaving your bed.

  Meg: I'm listening. Well, reading.

  Miles: Text me tomorrow when you're done studying. For your reward.

  Meg: I'm not a puppy.

  Miles: You'll like it.

  Meg: I'll consider it. Goodnight.

  Miles: Dream about me.

  I dream about finals. That same awful dream where I wake up late and arrive just as class is getting out. It doesn't happen. I'm early to every exam. I come home. I collapse, drink tea, study my ass off, and fall asleep at my desk. When I wake, my phone is buzzing with a text from Miles.

  Miles: Guess that's failure. Don't worry. You can collect your reward tomorrow.

  Miles: I dreamt about you.

  Miles: Tell you about it later.

  Cryptic, as usual. I try not to care about his flirting, but I spend half an hour in bed, tossing and turning, and desperate for a release from my thoughts. Maybe it's not too late. Maybe he'll explain this to me. Whatever it is.

  I reply.

  Meg: I'm awake and I'm all studied up.

  Miles: You are a good girl.

  Meg: And you're a very bad boy.

  Miles: That's such a stereotype, Megara. I expected better.

  I cringe at the sight of my full name. No one calls me that except my mother. My thoughts go straight back to that awful fight. I was right here, covering myself with a sheet, desperate for one single fucking card to play and coming up empty.

  Now, I'm here again. Desperate again. Wanting him again and getting nothing.

  There's the sound of a guitar intro. My phone is ringing with a tone I never set. According to the display, Miles is calling me.

  It hits me. It's playing that song, the one he played in the club, the one he wrote about me. How the hell did he program this into my phone? It defies any and all logic.

  I answer, playing dumb. "Who is this?"

  "Just a young man who is very good with his mouth."

  "Is that right?"

  He laughs. "Mhmm. You swear you're done studying."

  "On my love of Jurassic Park."

  "And you're awake?"

  There's something different about hearing him on the phone. He's closer and further away all at once. It's like his breath and his voice are right in my ear. Or, maybe it's his tone. He almost sounds nervous.

  "Wide awake," I say.

  "Put your phone on speaker."

  I do.

  "What are you wearing?"

  "Shorts and a tank top."

  "Mhmmm." His voice gets heavy. "Take off the shorts."

  I wait for some sign that he's joking, but there isn't one.

  "Do you want to hear me come or do you want to go to bed alone?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I'm hot everywhere. Not just my cheeks but my chest and my stomach and my back. I go to open a window. Cool air flows through it, doing nothing to lower my temperature.

  Miles wants to listen to me come? The guy makes sexy sounds for a living, and he wants to hear mine over the phone.

  I'm back at that night again, only this time, I'm at the club, listening to Miles and Tom mock Pete for his constant phone sex. The night flies by, and I'm here, half naked and about to cry because Miles can't bring himself to explain.

  All the heat in my body pools between my legs. The damn thing can't be helped. It has an addiction to Miles. There's no other explanation. My head is failing to pull back, failing to protect me. I guess the studying really tired it out.

  Miles's exhale flows through the speakers. He's waiting, and he's not doing it patiently. Technically speaking, the ball is in my court. I can say yes or say no. But, really, he's the one in control. He always is.

  My eyes flutter closed. The breeze sends a shiver up my legs and thighs. No underwear tonight. No bra. Just this tiny tank top and shorts, like when I was on the couch with Miles.

  No, I can't go there. If I'm going to do this, I need to be in this moment, using him the way he uses me.

  He offered a study break. That's all this is.

  "You swear you're not fucking with me?" I ask.

  "I'll prove it."

  He's quiet for a moment. Then my phone buzzes with a picture message. It's Miles in his bedroom in Malibu, alone. One hand is on his boxers, about to tug them down.

  God, he's so freaking yummy it's ridiculous.

  His voice flows through my speakers. "You want more?"

  A blush spreads across my cheeks. It's not like I'm used to guys offering to send me nude pictures. I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart.

  Okay. He sent me a picture in his underwear. It's only fair I do the same. Even if I'm not wearing any underwear. I pull my tank top to my bellybutton so my breasts are on display. I've never taken a sexy picture of myself before. I know all the ways it's a bad idea, all the ways it could hurt me, but I don't care.

  I have to affect him the way he affects me.

  I snap a picture of my chest and neck and send it to Miles.

  He lets out a groan. "Fuck, Meg, you're killing me."

  Yes. Perfect. I'm going to be the one in control here. "How so?"

  "I miss your tits."

  "You saw them last week."

  "I want to see them every day. To see that look on your face when I suck on your nipples."

  So much for control. I'm melting. Heat rushes through my body. Whatever it is we're doing, I can't stop until I get what he promised me, until he's groaning in my ear.

  "What else?" I ask.

  "Take off your shorts," he says.

  I do. "Take off your boxers."

  There's a low groan and then silence. A moment later, my phone buzzes. He took off his boxers and sent me a picture. That must be...

  I look at my new picture message. It's Miles. All of him. He's naked and hard, his hand wrapped around his cock. I always thought it was strange when women wanted these pictures, but now I understand. That's Miles, hard and desperate and out of his mind because of me.

  "I've never done this before," I say.

  "Me either."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  I pull my tank top over my head and toss it aside. I'm naked on my bed. If I close my eyes, I almost feel like he's here, like he's watching me. I run my fingertips over my chest. "I don't know what to say."

  "I don't care what you say. I just want to hear you come."

  Everything is hot. Again. It's perfect. I don't want to hear anything except his breath and his moans. Maybe my name rolling off his tongue like he's so desperate he can't find another word to explain his pleasure.

  There's a pang between my legs. I set the phone on the bed
next to me, between my mouth and my ears. My hand trails over my chest, teasing my nipples the way Miles does.

  I groan. It's good already. Not as good as him, but close. I play with my nipples until his breath is as heavy and strained as mine is. Then I trail my hand down my stomach, below my belly button, between my legs.

  My breath hitches in my throat. "You have to do it, too."

  His voice is heavy. "After. I want to hear you first."

  My eyes flutter closed. It's not as if I've never touched myself before. I made it to twenty-one without ever having sex. I touched myself plenty. But never with an audience.

  My breath goes all the way to my core. He's never done this before either. No reason to be self-conscious.

  I slide my hand between my legs with a soft touch. It's a tease, at first, the kind of thing Miles would do. I work my way to my clit then back off again. Slowly. Until I can't take it anymore.

  Through the speakers, his breath is heavy. Desperate. It stirs something in me. Makes me just as desperate.

  No more waiting. No more gentleness. I rub myself hard, so I'll come as quickly as possible, be in his ears as quickly as possible.

  It's not as good as when Miles touches me. It's lacking a certain patience, a certain heat. But it's still pretty damn good. The pressure inside me builds at a record speed. I must be desperate. It's been no time at all, and I'm almost there.

  I lose control of my breath. Of the sounds escaping my lips. I let out a soft moan. Then a louder one. My hand moves faster, drawing circles over my clit. I make the circles smaller and tighter until they're in just the right spot.

  "Oh." My voice picks up. I'm almost screaming.

  No room for shyness now. His voice is louder, heavier, more desperate. I'm effecting him, and that feels so damn good.

  I rub myself until I'm at the brink. Deep down, I know this won't be enough to satisfy my craving. I need more than Miles's breath in my ear. I need his hands and his mouth and his cock.

  The ache between my legs is so intense. Almost more than I can take. The pleasure in my arms and legs and chest spins inward, pooling in my core until it's a deep, desperate pressure.

  A groan flows through the speakers. It sends me right over the edge. That pleasure drives a little deeper, squeezing me until I can't breathe. One more brush of my fingers and I come. My orgasm is pulses of ecstasy. The pressure releases bit by bit, spilling into the purest, deepest bliss.

  Miles lets out a low moan. "Don't know how I can follow that."

  My cheeks flush. "You moan more than that on one Sinful Serenade track."

  "Depends on the track." He growls. "You sound so fucking sexy. Can't remember the last time I was this hard."

  "I want to hear you, too." No awkwardness. I have to say it. "I want to hear you come."

  No snappy comeback. There's some shifting, sheets moving, a body planting on the bed. He must be getting into position.

  His breath gets heavier and heavier. He must not have control of it any longer. It's strained and desperate. I relax into my bed, letting the sounds of his pleasure wash over me. He moans, low and deep, and purely animal. They get louder and lower. It's so much better than anything on any song—and I've paid very close attention.

  "Mhmm."

  He's not wasting time either. Everything that flows through my speakers is desperate and needy, like he wants this as much as I did. His groans run together. Louder. Higher. Like he can't control them at all.

  There. He's coming. I'm not sure how I can tell, but I can. His voice strains. His breath gets choppy. He lets out one last moan, louder than I've ever heard before. Then, he's sighing in pleasure. His breath steadies. Still strained, but not completely out of control.

  "Relaxed?" he asks.

  "More like keyed up and wishing you were here."

  "Happy to listen to you go again."

  "I should get to bed."

  "When's your last midterm?"

  "Friday night. Why?"

  "No reason." He exhales slowly. "Goodnight, Meg. And good luck."

  "Goodnight."

  I hang up the phone, pull the sheets over my head, and try desperately to fill the craving I have for Miles.

  I fail.

  ***

  The week is a blur of textbooks and tests. By Friday afternoon, the only thing I want is the sweet embrace of my sheets. I need a million hours of sleep.

  The elevator is all the way on the top floor, so I take the stairs to my apartment. Every step is pure agony.

  And there he is, the only thing better than those million hours of sleep. Miles is leaning against my door, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, his lips pursed like there's something right on the tip of his tongue.

  "You survived," he says.

  I nod.

  "I bet you'd like to celebrate that."

  "Okay."

  His lips curl into a smile. "If that's not a problem for you."

  I roll my eyes, too tired to object to his sarcasm. "Yes, please." I fish my keys out of my backpack, open the apartment, and pull Miles inside with me.

  The room is a verifiable mess. Paper everywhere, clothes strewn over the floor, dishes piled in the sink.

  Miles shakes his head. "I like what you've done with the place."

  "Oh, please. Like your uncle's place isn't cleaned by a maid." I toss my backpack on the ground. "How long were you waiting?"

  "Not long." He runs his fingertips over my chin, tilting my head so he's peering right into my eyes. "But it would’ve been worth waiting longer."

  "And what is it you're waiting for?"

  He presses his lips into mine. His hands slide into my hair as his tongue swirls around mine. The kiss breaks and he pulls back. "That."

  My heart thumps against my chest. I've ignored my body for days. It's time to give it a little attention.

  "Do you want something to drink?" I ask.

  His fingers skim my wrists. "Whatever you're having."

  I nod and move to the sink. There must be two clean glasses somewhere.

  There's this sound, this annoying melodic sound, and it's coming from my pants. My phone. It's ringing. I turned it off silent after the test. And this isn't any ringtone. It's the one I assigned for my parents.

  Wonderful.

  "Sorry, I have to take this." I pick up the phone. "Hi."

  "Megara, I've been worried sick. You didn't answer my email or my texts."

  "Sorry. I turned off my phone for midterms."

  I eye Miles. He motions to the bathroom and disappears from my view.

  I lean back against the counter as my mom rattles on something about how I should call more.

  "Sorry, Mom, but I'm really busy with school and work. And my first med school app is due next week."

  Her voice shifts, suddenly excited. "Your father and I can help you prune your list. It's been a while since medical school, but we know—"

  "I'm thinking an East Coast school."

  All that energy melts away. "Harvard and Johns Hopkins would make excellent choices. But you should consider UCI or even UCLA. We'd love to have you at home."

  They are great schools, but they're also close to everything that still hurts. "Maybe."

  Her voice relaxes. "Do you know your schedule yet? We can make reservations for lunch or dinner depending on your hours."

  "Yeah. I'm not working, but the thing is..." I take a deep breath. I've been lying so much lately. What is one little white lie to spare me a whole weekend of torture? "I promised my friend I would spend the day with him."

  "Him?"

  "Yeah. Him."

  "You have a boyfriend?"

  It hits me. Of course, I have a boyfriend. That's exactly what she wants to hear. "Yeah. He's really, really great. Just great." I'm not selling it. I need a better story and fast. Deep breath. Might as well go all in. "His name is Miles, and he's funny and handsome. And his family lives out of town, so he doesn't have anyone to see."

  Miles is staring a
t me. His lips are curled into a knowing smile. I mouth please. He nods.

  "Why don't you bring him, honey?" Mom asks.

  "We never invite guests for Thanksgiving."

  "This will be the first year...It will be nice having company. Bring him."

  "I'll have to ask."

  "I want to go." Miles nearly screams it.

  "Is that him?" Mom asks.

  "Yeah, he's here," I say. "We're out...at dinner. I should really go, so I'll talk to him, and we'll work it out."

  Miles shakes his head. He grabs the phone and covers the receiver with his hands. "You are so fucking bad at this. Let me do it."

  "Hey, Mrs. Smart. This is Miles. Meg has told me so much about you." His eyes stay on mine. He's smiling ear to ear.

  He sweet-talks my mom into extending the invite from Thanksgiving to the entire weekend. He’s welcome to stay as long as he wants. He’s thrilled to finally meet my parents he’s supposedly heard so much about.

  He even says goodbye and ends the call without passing it back to me.

  "I'll make an excuse to get you out of it," I offer.

  He turns my phone on silent and places it on the counter. "I don't want an excuse. I want to come."

  "Why?"

  "You were right." He slides his arms around my waist. "I don't have any plans for Thanksgiving, and anything is better than spending it with Tom in some awful restaurant."

  "You make me feel so special."

  He brushes his lips against mine. "You're very special, Meg." His fingers slide under my top. "And I'm happy to show you."

  I nod. Yes, please. Miles shoves my clothes aside and throws me onto the bed.

  "I've been thinking about you all week," he says.

  "I'm been thinking about midterms all week."

  He pulls his shirt over his head. "What are you thinking about now?"

  "There was this angular velocity question."

  "Are you only in science classes?"

  I trace the lines of his chest. "Who’s thinking about midterms now?"

  He flips our positions so I'm the one of top of him. It's so messy I laugh. He shakes his head like he's going to punish me.

  "You think you're clever?" He asks.

  "Absolutely."

  He unzips my hoodie. Then his hands are on my stomach. My skin burns at his touch. Midterms seem so irrelevant now, but I can't let him know that. Not yet.

  "And molecular biology," I say. "That was impossible."