Striking a Chord (Siren Publishing PolyAmour)

by Mary K. Preston

  Angharad’s upper body arched up, a sound somewhere between a moan and a gasp and a cry wrenching its way out of her throat. “Please!” she said without thinking. Nick’s lips moved to her other nipple, kissing it before he began working on it with his tongue like the previous one. Angharad’s apprehensions of a repeat performance dissolved, and she ran her fingers through his hair, trying to push her hips down into his teasing fingers, when she felt the sharp pleasure-pain of his teeth again.

  “Oh! Please, Nick,” she moaned, arching into him again, her hand clenching his hair close to his scalp.

  “Please what?” he asked, sweetly, his lips now pressed to her ears. He kissed her neck and then her jaw, and finally her mouth, biting her bottom lip none too carefully. The pleasure of his touches, mixed with the tingling sharpness of his bites, was overwhelming. Angharad tried to find solid ground, but the world around her was spinning too quickly, and the assault on all of her senses made it impossible to think.

  “Please stop teasing me,” Angharad said, hearing her voice pleading, wanton. She caught the flash of Nick’s triumph on his face before her ability to think was blotted out by his fingers finding the little pearl of flesh, pinching carefully and then rubbing slowly in circles. She writhed underneath him, her hands grabbing at and clenching anything she could find, her whole body trembling as though she were freezing. Nick claimed her mouth again, drinking down her moans, while his fingers slid downward, his thumb taking their place while one, and then two, probed her suddenly tight pussy. His long, skilled fingers plunged deep inside her, and she felt her muscles flex around them, pulling them in deeper, wanting everything he could give. He slowly slid them out before plunging them in, even deeper, driving a cry out from somewhere in her chest. He let go of her hip, leaving her free to move, his hand moving instead to her shoulders, down to her leg, and up to her breasts. Her hands tangled in his hair, kneaded his shoulders and upper arms, and she held his body as close as she could get him, desperate for more as his fingers, moving in and out of her canal, drove her closer and closer to the edge. She could imagine, finally, what it felt like to be one of his guitars, the way his fingers elicited the sound—a cry, a moan, a twist of pleasure so intense it was almost agony.

  And then suddenly, his fingers retreated, and Angharad opened her eyes, shocked, wrenched from such great pleasure. Nick laughed at the look on her face and kissed her gently on the lips. “I’m not done with you yet,” he told her, sliding off of the bed to stand, his hands going for the button of his jeans, the zipper. Angharad’s breath caught in her throat as he eased the denim over his hips, and she feasted her eyes on the pleasure trail of dark hair that ended in a patch of dark curls around the base of his hard cock. Her eyes widened at the sight of it. He was bigger than she would have ever guessed if she had permitted herself to think about it. Nick stroked himself a couple of times, and Angharad closed her eyes, licking her lips in anticipation. She hadn’t been accustomed to the thought that the sight of a man touching himself, even staring at her with outright lust, would be such a turn-on. The look of wolfish pleasure on his face made something shiver inside of her. There was something about the way his eyes closed, for just a moment as his hand rubbed his cock slowly, the slight intake of his breath, that made all of her nerves tingle. When she opened her eyes, he was on top of her again, smiling down at her. “You like what you see?” he asked, kissing her sweetly. Angharad nodded, robbed of words. She could feel the weight of his cock pressing against her thigh, the head just a little bit slippery with pre-cum.

  “Let’s see how good this is as floor décor, then,” he said, his hands pulling her skirt down off her hips. Angharad smiled up at him while she watched him take her in, the skirt in his hands. He looked at it a moment, raised an eyebrow at her, and tossed it across the room, covering her body with his own. In contrast to the coolness of his personality, his body was burning-hot, his long limbs almost scalding her as they moved against her skin.

  Angharad wrapped her legs around him, so ready to feel him that she was unable to think of anything else. Nick kissed her face all over, ran his fingers through her hair, positioning himself, aligning his hips with hers. She could feel the heat of him, the size, his hardness, and she wanted it inside of her so badly she began pushing down with her hips again, trying to spear herself on his cock. Nick chuckled into her neck and guided himself up against her entrance, pressing just the tip against her, kissing her deeply. He rubbed the head against her clit and then moved downward, sliding against her slit and just barely penetrating. “I thought I told you I wanted you to beg,” he said, voice full of amusement, and Angharad gasped as his fingers found her nipple again, pinched it sharply.

  “Please, please, please, please, Nick,” she moaned, pulling his body against her own, rocking her hips. “I want you inside me so much.” Nick nibbled at the hollow of her throat, and slowly thrust up into her, his lips closing over her mouth just in time to capture her moan. She felt her body resist the size of him for just an instant, and then yield, her walls tightening around the intrusion erratically.

  “Yes, oh yes,” she moaned, her nails digging into his back, her legs tightening around him. She wouldn’t let him go. She couldn’t. Nick flexed his hips and retreated just a bit before plunging deeper inside her cunt, driving out a cry somewhere between pain and ecstasy. She tilted her hips down, taking as much as he had to give her, wanting him as deep inside her as possible. She kissed him hungrily, her mouth laying claim to whatever flesh was near as he moved in and out, pushing deep and deeper into her, finding his rhythm, finding the most sensitive parts inside of her. His hand moved down her body slowly, caressing her breast, running along her side, giving her hip a squeeze before it slid between them, finding her clitoris and rubbing it firmly. Angharad felt jolts like electricity, making the muscles in her legs jump, making her whole body a live wire underneath him. She stretched all along his body, craving as much contact as possible, needing something real to hold onto in the midst of so much pleasure.

  Nick slowly moved back, kissing her one last time, his hands moving down to her knees for a moment. Angharad looked up at him, felt him gently disengage her legs from his waist. She adjusted her hips to keep him inside her while his hands slid along, down from her thighs, past the knees, along her calves, and lifted them onto his shoulders. Understanding without instructions, Angharad hooked her ankles behind his neck and almost screamed with pleasure at the sensations the change in position brought with it. She found his hands on her hips, holding her in the angle he wanted, and squeezed his forearms, moaning long and loudly, unable to help herself. She opened her eyes, unaware of having closed them, and looked up at Nick’s face, the way his bright eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasure. One of his hands left her hip and again slipped, masterfully, between them, unerringly finding her clit above where he had her speared. Angharad gripped the bed sheets tightly as he bore down on it, rubbing it and then, just when she was on the edge of losing herself, giving it a slightly twisting pinch, blotting out all conscious thought as she came, crying out, dimly aware of the spreading warmth of him coming inside of her right as she finished.

  Chapter Three

  Nick picked himself up off of Angharad’s body, lying down next to her on the rumpled sheets and blanket. He felt himself smiling and was surprised. How could he possibly be feeling happy? Was he really such a hedonist that all it took was a good lay? Nick smiled to himself with the sardonic thought that what had just happened could not, by any stretch, qualify as just “good.” He shook the dark, guilty thought away, looking down at Angharad, at the dark sweep of her eyelashes against her skin, the spill of her hair on the sheets. He sat up, looking around to find the pillows that until that moment he’d utterly forgotten existed. He reached over and grabbed two, brought them down to the middle of the bed where they lay. “Hey, minxette,” he said quietly. Angharad’s eyes opened and focused instantly on his face, her lips curling in a sated smile. He lifted her up slightly, posi
tioning the pillows and pulling her down against him, his other hand finding the comforter and drawing it over their bodies.

  “You know,” he said, running his fingers through her hair, along her cheek, “I have wanted you. If we hadn’t both been taken already…” Her eyes changed. Instead of their dreamy candor, it was as if a shutter went over them, the intriguing hazel color darkening. “Hey.” He pulled her tightly to him. “I don’t know how long Paolo is going to be in a sharing mood for, but I’m going to enjoy his generosity. And I’m going to enjoy you. That is, if you haven’t already decided this is a one-time thing.” He kissed her lightly at her temple. “And the rest we’ll figure out when we get to that.” His hand cupped her breast, feeling the weight of it. She was all lush curves, this woman in bed with him as different from his late wife’s willowy grace as anyone could imagine. She was dark where his wife had been the quintessential blonde with clear blue eyes and pale skin. The burnished auburn of her hair against her olive complexion would have looked strange on almost anyone else, he thought, twirling a wavy strand of it around his finger. He had another guilty thought—should he really be enjoying another woman’s beauty with his wife only a few months in the grave? He almost shook his head physically, thrusting the thought aside ruthlessly.

  “Oh, shit!” Angharad sat bolt upright in the bed, and Nick raised an eyebrow. “The steak! We left it out.” Nick chuckled, pulling Angharad down for a kiss.

  “You’re supposed to let it come to room temperature anyway before you cook it, right?” His hands wandered along the curves of her body, appreciating the shift from her full bust to her trim waist, down to her lush hips. He already wanted to go again, but he’d wait. Next time, he thought, bearing her down onto him, holding her tightly, and kissing her deeply, he’d have her on top and watch those full breasts bounce, watch the light hit her face, her hair thrown back over her shoulders. His hands moved down to her ass, squeezed. Angharad squealed into the kiss, broke away, and kissed his forehead.

  “Well, I, for one, am hungry.” She got up, sliding out of his bed, looking around the room to find her clothes.

  “Don’t bother,” Nick told her, sitting up on his elbows languidly. “Remember, you can’t be any less naked than me. New house rules.” He smiled at her, stretching and rolling over onto his side to enjoy the sight of her gorgeous body in comfort. Angharad rolled her eyes at him, crowing with triumph when she spotted her skirt, a green paisley puddle against a dark-brown area rug. Nick recalled the first time he had seen her in it. He had forced himself to keep his compliment polite, in spite of the fact that the color and texture of it against her skin had made all of his attention focus on her legs, and all his thoughts focus down on what she would look like without it.

  Nick watched her slip it up over her legs, appreciating the sight of her ass when she bent over, and then watched her turn in a slow circle, trying to spot her shirt. “Wear mine,” he said, rolling out of bed and retrieving it. He tossed it to her and rummaged in his dresser for a pair of pajama pants. He felt Angharad’s eyes on him as he pulled them on and indulged in a good, joint-popping stretch. He felt better than he had in months. Ever since he had received the phone call and heard the quiet, dreading voice of the doctor. The next-of-kin voice that he heard in his nightmares, the words that pulled him out of fitful sleep. Cynthia and he were supposed to take a trip the next day. He remembered the sight of the plane tickets, the way the card stock had yielded, ripping, in his hands.

  There was something about Annie, Nick thought, following her into the kitchen and watching her turn her attention to the steak. He didn’t mind that Paolo had snatched her up—it was right about the time he and Cynthia had been getting serious, shortly before he proposed, in fact. She had come to the band’s rehearsal space to do a quick interview with the band, no more than a few questions about the soon-to-be-released album. Nick had admired her, the way she wasn’t fawning like some journalists, or standoffish like others. She had seemed genuinely interested in the process, asked intelligent questions. Her interview had been more like a regular conversation. Nick remembered she had been wearing a pair of comfortable jeans and a T-shirt promoting a local group he and the band liked, a little-known art rock trio. He’d been impressed by the curves of her body in the simple outfit, by the fact that she hadn’t shown up wearing anything pretentious or fussy, trying to impress. The shirt had shown signs of wear, and when Robert had asked her where she’d gotten it, she had mentioned seeing the group in one of the tiny city clubs, one of the few shows she’d gone to in the past year that wasn’t an assignment. Paolo had taken to her immediately, and Nick had watched his friend and band mate flirt with Angharad, charming her in his easygoing Italian way, convincing her she had to get a drink with him. It was only a fair exchange after all. He had to admit to himself that, if he hadn’t been in a relationship, if Paolo hadn’t been interested in her…

  Nick was honest enough to admit to himself that he’d had eyes for few other people whenever Angharad was in the room. She glowed somehow, some alchemy of her ancestry and a warmth in her personality that drew one in. That glow would be enough on its own, but there was also the way she moved and talked, a kind of sensuality bred of confidence. Her voice was expressive, not overly loud like many of the city girls, with a compelling hint of a Southern accent. When he goaded her into speaking French one night, several rounds of drinks bringing the revelation that she knew the language, her voice had been even sweeter, the auditory version of a coy smile and fluttered eyelashes. Her hips swayed in a tidal flow, her curves like the lines of a painstakingly crafted instrument, designed to please the eye. And the way she smiled, as if the person on the receiving end of that smile were the only person in the world, as if the only thing that mattered was the happiness of the instant. A cloudburst smile, like the first concentrated rays of the sun through snow. Paolo had noticed, of course. How could he not? Nick and Paolo had known each other for years. And Paolo had always been generous, ready to share his food, his clothes, his money. Before they’d gotten successful, Paolo had spotted Nick on numerous occasions when Nick had been too irresponsible to remember details like wallets or the key to his own apartment on a night out. This, though, was generosity beyond measure.

  Nick crept up behind Angharad, wrapped his arms around her waist, and drew her body against his, burying his face in her hair. She laughed, leaning back into him. “I’m never going to get lunch made at this rate,” she told him, her voice quaking with her amusement as his hands found their way underneath the shirt, reached up to grasp her breasts, his fingertips teasing her nipples. He already found himself loving the feel the lushness of her breasts in his hands, responding to her willingness to be touched, to be teased. He could read in her responses a kind of sensual lust that was an incredibly potent turn-on. How could you not want to have sex over and over with a woman who was not only beautiful, but so clearly willing? Nick wondered just how many times in a row he could get her off and smiled to himself, thinking that he was more than willing to find out.

  “Closer to dinner, anyway,” he told her, tilting her head to the side and attacking her neck with his lips and tongue.

  “I have a secret,” he whispered in her ear, one hand moving down from her breast, past her stomach, slipping underneath the waist of her skirt.

  “Oh? What might that be?” Angharad asked, her voice beautifully breathless, clearly more concerned with what he was doing than what he was saying.

  “I fully intend to have sex with you on every horizontal surface in this apartment,” he told her, his hand cupping her pussy, one finger slipping among the curls, between the folds, already seeking her pleasure center. She was so wonderfully wet still. She let out a moan, melting back into him, almost purring like an old cat in his arms.

  “That’s…that’s a good idea,” she answered, her hips moving in response to his probing fingers. Nick bit her neck, not hard, but enough to break up the moment, smiling to himself at the sound of her cry of mi
ngled protest and desire. He made a note to himself to see just how much she enjoyed being bitten at a later point.

  “If we’re going to do that, we’re going to need to eat,” Nick said, stepping back from her and giving her ass a playful swat. “You voted yourself in charge, so cook, woman!” He leaned against the counter, watching Angharad work, the way her hands seemed so capable, handling the steaks, slicing radishes and carrots. Watching her cook was, in some respects, similar to watching his mother. There was the same feeling of watching instinct in action. He could almost hear the searing of the meat through her ears, knew just a heartbeat afterward when her hearing had detected it was ready to be turned. She mixed together a simple vinaigrette for the salad, dipping a finger into the emulsion and tasting it with a look of concentration that he knew mirrored his own when he was running through a newly composed solo. She dipped another finger in, offered it to him. He smiled down at her, taking her fingertip past his lips and licking it long after he’d gotten the dressing off, holding her hand and keeping her trapped. There was something exhilarating about the way she gave into him, about the sense he already had that she was open to whatever he wanted, not because his wife was dead, or because he was the guitarist of a successful band, but because of a much more elemental attraction. Cynthia had always responded to his teasing, but with an edge that suggested that she was allowing him to tease her, instead of being drawn in.

  While the steak rested, Nick pulled Angharad outside with him, onto the rooftop terrace, offered her a cigarette. He sat down in a wrought-iron patio chair and pulled her into his lap, lighting her cigarette first. “You’ve always been such a gentleman. It must be all that foreign upbringing you and Paolo had.” Nick noticed the way she tensed mentioning his friend’s name. They would have to have an actual discussion about the situation eventually, he thought. He wasn’t sure if Paolo had meant for Angharad to be a short-term distraction, something to snap him out of his darkness, or if Paolo would be okay with sharing Angharad for a while. Nick leaned in and kissed her neck. Now was not the time for thinking about it. Now, he told himself, he would just enjoy her and eat a good dinner and have some more sex. Was she planning on staying the night? Nick nibbled at the side of Angharad’s neck, drawing a moan from her and smiling against her skin. She was a woman, he thought, letting his hands roam over her, who gave herself up to sensations. He thought back to their coupling earlier. She was not the type to spend all the time she was having sex thinking about what her hands should be doing, whether she should or shouldn’t be kissing, what her reaction should be. She had been so beautifully intoxicated in his bed. She was a phenomenal lay, certainly—and Nick felt a brief stab of envy toward Paolo for having experienced her lovemaking so many times already—but she was entirely natural. The moans that left her throat weren’t exaggerated or tempered in any way, even though they were, objectively speaking, beautiful sounds. The way she cried out, hitting just the perfect note, wasn’t something that she’d learned. It was elemental. Nick had had enough sex to recognize that trait. He thought back to the times he had seen her before. Something in him had known, watching her move, seeing the warmth of her expression, that she would be responsive. Not easily seduced, exactly, but willing to melt completely into pleasure when she made the choice. He had not anticipated how wonderfully her body matched her desire, how tight her muscles would be around him, how slick she would be wrapped around him, how she would tremble in his arms from the pleasure wracking her.