Sing Your Heart Out

by Crystal Kaswell

  I press myself up, so we're eye to eye. "Show me, whatever that means, or drive me home."

  He holds my gaze. It feels like forever passes, but it can't be more than a minute. Then, his eyes flutter closed, and his lips find mine.

  It's the same kiss as before. One that normally means I love you. His hands slide to my ass, his touch soft and delicate.

  We're inches apart. His cock is just under my sex.

  He takes my hips and guides me onto him. It's slow and gentle, and then he's all the way inside me. I press my hands against his chest, digging them into his skin.

  I plant my hands around his head and bring my body closer so we're face to face. Eye to eye. He keeps his grip on my hips, rocking me over him.

  His eyes are wide. He stares at me like he loves me, but we both know that's not true.

  I close my eyes and press my lips into his. Soft. Sweet. Perfect. Or, it would be, if this whole situation weren’t so hopelessly fucked.

  He holds me close, shifting into me with a steady rhythm. His lips stay on mine. His tongue explores my mouth. It's gentle and delicate, like he wants more of me.

  I kiss him back. I swirl my tongue around his. I rub my body against his. The pleasure builds in that same soft, slow way, until it's too much to take.

  Miles breaks the kiss. He stares into my eyes, runs his hand through my hair. His pupils dilate. His fingers dig into my skin.

  "Meg..." It's a soft groan, but it's filled with desire.

  He keeps things slow. My sex clenches. It's a slow burn. More. More. More. It feels like it's going on forever, like it's never going to stop.

  I press my lips into his, kissing him harder. But, still, he stays slow. He rocks into me. He holds me close.

  The pressure inside me builds. More. More. More. It's so much. It's too much. An orgasm wells up in me. I moan into his mouth. More. I still need more. I kiss him harder, hold him closer.

  Pleasure rocks through me, all the way to my fingers and toes. But I'm greedy, and I still want more.

  I dig my hands into his hair. I squeeze my thighs against his. I rock my hips to meet him.

  Miles groans into my mouth. His fingers dig into my skin. He thrusts ever so slightly harder. Pleasure wells up in me again. It's faster this time, more intense.

  He breaks the kiss. Stares into my eyes. Nervous energy passes through me. He's inside me. I'm about to come. But the way he's staring at me...I've got no clue what it means.

  I stare back. I dig my nails into his shoulders.

  Pleasure floods my body. I can't fight it anymore. I cry out as an orgasm spills through me, mixing up all the feelings inside me, so I'm half in ecstasy, half in hell.

  He holds me tightly, thrusting into me with that same perfect rhythm. I hold his gaze, groaning as another orgasm builds.

  He moans, still holding me tightly, still thrusting into me. His pupils dilate. A shudder runs through his body. Almost. His teeth sink into his lip.

  Still, he moves with that same rhythm, slow and steady. He shakes, harder, harder.

  His eyes stay glued to mine. I watch his face contorting. His breath gets heavier. His groans get lower, louder. He squeezes my hips. There. His eyes roll back as he comes.

  He rocks into me one last time, and he fills me.

  It sends me over the edge again. For a few moments, everything else fades away. I only feel the pleasure coursing through my fingers and toes. I only feel good.

  My resolve fades. I collapse my body onto his, trying hard to hold onto everything that feels good.

  Miles relaxes into the seat. He squeezes me tighter, holds my body against his.

  His heart is pounding against his chest, against my chest. His breath is in my hair. This means something, I'm sure of it. But I've got no clue what that something is.

  ***

  I wake up alone. No one is home. My parents must be as uncomfortable in this house as I am.

  There isn't a single peep on my phone. No notes. Not from Miles, or my parents, or anyone who might care where the hell I am and what the hell I'm doing.

  Certainly not from someone who promised he cared about me, who showed me the only way he knew how. Deep breath. I can't get ahead of myself. Miles is just crafting another song, another pretty story that sounds nice in my ears. It's all bullshit.

  I eat breakfast with the TV. Even with two hundred channels, there’s nothing on that can tear my attention away from Miles. Wherever he is. Whatever he's doing.

  I fix a cup of coffee. A second. A third. My mouth goes dry. My fingers shake. It's a lot of caffeine, but it's a nice enough buzz—probably the most pleasant thing I'll feel all day.

  I fix another cup. I still remember last Thanksgiving. Shit was already bad with Rosie. She was already pretending, already on drugs. But the four-day weekend was a perfect respite. It was the four of us, but really the two of us. We watched movies all night, plowing through the pumpkin pie, the pecan pie, the chocolate pie. There was a lot of pie. We spent the entire day shopping, emptying our checking accounts. And, for the first time since she started dating that awful Jared, it felt like she was my sister and not my enemy. It felt like we were being honest.

  She was probably high the whole time.

  I push off the couch and inspect the mantle. There are tiny dents in the plaster in all the spots that used to house Rosie's trophies. I was so jealous of those damn trophies. Rosie had everything—perfect grades, perfect friends, perfect boyfriend. She was athletic, smart, fun.

  But with the drugs, she was nothing anymore. All those parts of her disappeared.

  The backyard door slides open. "Can I skip breakfast and have you instead?" Miles's voice is a low growl.

  "My parents will probably be home soon."

  "Too bad."

  He shuts the door. He's standing in front of the sleek glass windows, shirtless and dripping with sweat, looking even more perfect than usual.

  "You okay?" he asks.

  I nod. As far as Miles is concerned, I'm okay. After all, we're nothing. Just sex. It's the only way he can show me he cares about me. The only way he does care about me.

  "You don't look okay."

  I bite my lip. "You should probably shower."

  "Join me."

  "Not right now."

  He moves closer. "Tell me what's wrong."

  I flop on the couch. "Not everything is about you." I grab the remote and focus all my attention on the TV. Being around my parents in this house is hard enough. I can't add Miles's bullshit to the equation.

  "So tell me what it's about."

  "Why?" I ask. "If this is just about sex, why let it get complicated?"

  He stares at me. His brow furrows but his expression is impossible to read.

  He grits his teeth. "Suit yourself." He storms up the stairs and slams the door behind him.

  Maybe I am affecting him. Maybe this is more than sex.

  Or maybe he's in need of satisfaction, and he's pissed that I'm not putting out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Via text, Mom and I arrange to meet for a late lunch. I rack my brain for some way to spend the time between now and then. Unwilling to cooperate, my brain only fills with images of Miles showing me the way he cares.

  It's Black Friday. Might as well go shopping. Miles is sitting on the couch, scribbling something in a tiny notebook. Lyrics, probably. He must be feeling something he can't explain. I try not to let it mean anything.

  I sit next to him. "We're meeting my parents for lunch at two at Fashion Island."

  "Mhmm."

  His eyes stay on the paper. His body is turned away from mine, locking me out the way I locked him out. We're barely friends. I should expect this.

  Deep breath. "You want to go now? We can walk around. Watch the koi swim."

  "Sure." He closes his notebook and slides it into his pocket. His eyes turn to me, studying me, picking me apart. "You eat breakfast?"

  "Yeah."

  "So you won't be cranky?"
>
  "Shut up." I grab my purse and make my way to the door. "You coming or what?"

  "Such threats from someone who doesn't have the keys to the car."

  "I know how to drive. I choose not to."

  "Why not?" He meets me at the door.

  There's this tightness in my chest. "I shared a car with Rosie. She used it more, so, when she died, I brought it back here. I can get to work and school fine on foot."

  "And it makes you think about her?"

  I don't reply. He leads me to the car without calling me on it. The mall is close, five or six blocks. Crowded, but not too much worse than usual.

  We park as far away from the mall as possible. Miles takes my hand and leads me over the asphalt. We window shop for a while. Nothing holds my attention. It's mostly chain stores, mostly expensive ones.

  Something catches my eye. It's this little independent boutique, packed with feminine dresses and statement jewelry. The mannequin is wearing this hot pink dress. It looks just like a dress Rosie used to wear. It's just long enough for work or school, just tight enough for clubs or dates. The neckline is wider, the waist is lower. Otherwise, it's a dead ringer for her favorite dress.

  I step into the store, acutely aware of Miles one step behind me. The rack of dresses is in the back of the store. It's in another color, black, something she never wore.

  Miles wraps his arms around me. He pulls me into his chest and brings his mouth to my ear. "You're thinking something?"

  "Just shopping."

  He sucks on my earlobe. "You're not that good at hiding your feelings."

  I step forward, breaking his hold. "Nothing important. Just thinking that if my sister was here, she would’ve made me buy that dress." I nod to the hot pink dress.

  "It would look good on you."

  "No. I can't wear bright colors."

  "Why not?" He moves closer, wrapping his arms around me again.

  I lean into him. "I'll stand out."

  Miles laughs. "You stand out now. You're gorgeous."

  My cheeks flush. "That's sweet of you to say, but it's not true. I'm too tall, too skinny, too flat-chested."

  Miles takes my shoulders and turns me around so we're eye to eye. His expression gets mock serious. "One more negative word about your boobs, and I'm dragging you into that dressing room and forcing you to appreciate them."

  This pang shoots straight to my sex. He's so good at making me forget everything but how much I want him.

  "Maybe we should go to another store."

  He shakes his head. "Try on the dress."

  "You want me to go shopping?"

  He presses his lips against mine. "I want to think about you naked in that tiny dressing room. Go." He steps away and plants on one of the boyfriend chairs just outside the dressing room.

  Not a boyfriend, but I guess the chair doesn't know that.

  I take the dress in a few sizes and let myself into a fitting room. While I'm changing, I take in my reflection. I can almost see myself through his eyes, physically, at least. Tall and thin doesn't have to mean gawky. It can mean modelesque. And my boobs might be tiny, but they have a nice shape. He certainly seems to like them.

  The dress is flattering. When I pull my hair behind my ears, the way my sister wore hers, I can see the resemblance. It's there in my dark features, my nose, the shape of my lips. She's gone from my parents' house, but she's still there on my face. I still look like her. Whatever they do, they can't take that away.

  I step out of the dressing room to show off to Miles, but he's talking to someone else. A woman, around my age. She must be a fan. She has that star-struck look in her eyes.

  "I love that song No Way in Hell," she says. "Is it really true it's about falling in love?"

  Miles shrugs, effortlessly casual. "My lips are sealed."

  My heart pounds. That song is about me. There's no way it could possibly be about falling in love. There must be something wrong with this fan. She's hearing what she wants to hear.

  I run through the lyrics in my head. Damn things are the only clue I have to what Miles feels and they're doing me no good.

  He cares, sure, but only enough to screw me.

  His eyes turn to me. He shifts, waving goodbye to the fan. "I'm buying you that dress."

  "That isn't necessary."

  "Already picked out some things to go under it."

  The fan blushes madly. She stares at us, dumbstruck, like she just caught Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie having sex.

  I collect my clothes in the dressing room and make my way back to Miles. I like the dress. I'm staying in it. About time I wear something bright, something besides black.

  The fan girl is still watching us, but I don't care. I sit next to Miles, lean in close, and whisper in his ear.

  "Is it about falling in love?" I ask.

  He stares straight into my eyes, steel expression giving nothing away. "It's about whatever you want it to be about."

  "That's not an answer."

  "It's the only one you're going to get."

  ***

  Mom's jaw drops when I walk into the restaurant. Recognition flashes on her face, spilling into the realization that my sister is gone. I know this hurts her, that it's wrong to do something that might hurt her, but I can't stay surrounded by people who are terrified of their feelings. Miles hides behind songs. My parents hide behind their perfect image.

  I'm no better, drowning myself in schoolwork so I won't have to face my pain.

  I take a seat across from my mother. She nods a polite hello.

  "Your dress is lovely," she says. "New?"

  "Found it today. It was a great deal."

  She looks at me closely. Her mouth opens like she's about to speak, but she says nothing. I guess that's a Smart family tradition. Words are always on the tips of our tongues, just barely failing us.

  Miles glances at me like I'm a vase he's checking for cracks. His gaze turns back to my parents. "This is a lovely restaurant." Under the table, he takes my hand. "I'm afraid Meg and I need to leave after this."

  "Oh?" Mom asks.

  "She has a test Tuesday, and I have a deadline."

  "What do you do, son?" My dad asks.

  "I'm a songwriter." Miles skips over the rock star, sex god part. "Pop, mostly. The rules are strict, but I have fun with it."

  "Anything I would know?" Dad asks.

  Miles names another few songs. Different ones. Mom's gaze shoots to me. Her mood shifts now that she has something pleasant to latch onto. Her only daughter has a successful boyfriend. Only that's a lie, because I'm the one keeping up appearances.

  I retreat into my head, allowing Miles the chance to shine. He's effortlessly charming, begging my parents for stories about my childhood, asking if I was always such an adorable little nerd. He really sells it, really acts like my sweet, calm, loving boyfriend.

  This restaurant serves expensive organic food. It usually tastes good, but not today. My tea has no flavor. Even my curry shrimp, a dish that's usually bursting with spice, has no flavor.

  Finally, we finish eating. Miles insists on paying the check. My parents pretend to object. They look at me with pride. I'm still the good girl. Future doctor. Perfect grades. Sweet boyfriend. I follow so well in their footsteps, keeping up these fraudulent appearances.

  They invite us to the bar across the mall. We shake our heads, no, and say our goodbyes.

  Miles and I walk to the car in silence. We drive to my house in silence. We pack our suitcases and roll them downstairs in silence.

  The giant house is so quiet I think it might suffocate me. All the extra space only makes the place feel more confining.

  My parents are miserable too. I know they’re trying to deal with this the only way they know how—-denial—-but it still hurts so fucking badly.

  I stop by the front door. I’ll take in this damn house one more time before I resolve to avoid it for as long as possible.

  Miles takes my hand. His eyes pass over me. I’m
not looking at him, but I can feel his gaze on me.

  He leans closer.

  He kisses me.

  I kiss back as hard as I can. Finally, I feel something. Finally, I taste something. Finally, I need something.

  I grind my crotch against his. I dig my hands into his hair. I need him to wipe away everything that hurts.

  He pulls back. His eyes find mine. They're filled with this intense look. It's closer to concern than lust.

  I run my fingertips along his neck. "Fuck me."

  "I'm not your distraction."

  "Please. I need to feel something good."

  I press my lips into his. For a moment, he doesn't kiss back. Then something in him takes over, and his hands are on my ass. His tongue is in my mouth, sliding around mine like he can't bring himself not to fuck me.

  Miles breaks the kiss. He steps back. "Look me in the eyes and tell me it's because you want me and not because you're miserable."

  "I want you." Okay, no more playing around. I reach under my dress and slide my underwear to my knees. "I want you coming inside me."

  All the resolve on his face fades away. I'm the one affecting him, making him bend to my will.

  "What if your parents come home?" he asks.

  "They won't. They hate it here as much as I do."

  He moves closer, pressing his lips against my neck, his crotch against mine. "Say it again."

  "I want you inside me." I lean into his kiss. "I want to feel you come."

  He groans. His fingers dig into my hips like he can't control himself any longer. He pins me to the wall, kissing me hard and deep.

  I close my eyes. This is a Miles I understand. Every place he touches is on fire, burning away all the coldness in this house, all the things that still hurt.

  His teeth sink into my neck. He unzips my dress and slides it down my shoulders. His hand slides over my bra. I groan and reach for his shoulders, but he grabs my wrists and pins them against the wall.

  "Not yet," he growls.

  He thrusts his hips into mine. I'm pressed firmly against the wall, no way of moving, nowhere to go, nothing to feel except this.

  I turn into his embrace. I rock my body into his.

  Miles bites me again. The sting sends waves of pleasure through my body. Everything he does feels so good. It's hard to believe how much pain he's caused me.