Striking a Chord (Siren Publishing PolyAmour)

by Mary K. Preston

  He had known he’d wanted to ask her out almost immediately upon meeting her. When she had arrived at the rehearsal space, he’d had the sudden impression of her like a skittish doe, her eyes wary, even with the friendly smile on her face. When he had kissed her hand, he had been surprised and delighted at how dainty it was, how skilled it looked. He’d let Robert calm her with his easygoing hospitality, and watched her throughout the interview, his eyes picking up her bouncing leg, his drummer’s mind hearing the inherent pattern, setting it to music. It would be a fast tune, he’d thought, requiring a lot of precision. He’d given Sylvain a hard time, noticing that skittish doe look come over her again when Syl had griped about Paolo’s tapping. He was torn between admiring the look of wary fear on her face because it grabbed at him, drew her eyes into sharper focus, and wanting to be the one to soothe it away, wanting to hit Sylvain for causing it. He had made up his mind about the fascinating journalist before the interview was over and silently willed everyone else away, to give him the space and time necessary to convince her. He almost couldn’t restrain his eager joy when first Sylvain, then Robert, and Dmitri had wandered away, leaving Nick. Paolo had glanced at his best friend, seeing the interest in Nick’s eyes, carefully shielded. Paolo had pounced on his chance then, consoling his conscience that Nick was all but married to his girlfriend as it was.

  While Angharad had fascinated him from the beginning, Paolo had not made up his mind to actually court her until later. They had met up for drinks, Annie bringing the draft of her interview as her ostensible reason. Paolo had grinned to himself at her excuse. He wasn’t egotistical enough to think she had come solely to have a drink with him, but he had read her a little, between the interview and the phone call. She was responsible, ultimately. If she hadn’t had the interview draft, she would have put off the non-date. Paolo had read over it, grinning to himself at how accurately she had colored them in with words, the analysis of their gestures and behavior that most of the journalists they dealt with missed. “I don’t think anyone could find fault with this,” Paolo had told her, insisting on another drink. It was that night, the way she was able to keep up in conversation with the members of the band who’d come out, that he had decided to pursue her. Watching her active and talented mind keep pace with them, even as they did their best to get her utterly soused, impressed Paolo as much as seeing her playful side intrigued him further. He’d bundled her into a cab at the end of the night, thinking of how to go about winning her as he made his own way home. Robert had teased him about having a crush, Sylvain had given him a knowing look, and Nick… Nick had stared at her off and on all night, in those moments he thought no one was paying attention to him. Paolo thought to himself, knowing his friend as he did, that Nick wasn’t even aware of it himself. It was something intuitive in the guitarist, something elemental to his nature to appreciate Angharad’s odd beauty. His eyes had widened when Angharad had been goaded into speaking French. Paolo had also watched the way Angharad reacted, without thinking, to his friend’s close scrutiny. Her occasional blushes, made freer by the alcohol in her system, along with the quick dart of her gaze—on Nick’s face, then away in a flicker—told him that she found the guitarist attractive.

  In spite of his Italian upbringing and heritage, Paolo was not the jealous or possessive type. Nick’s attraction to Angharad, patently obvious to Paolo, bothered him not at all. Angharad’s attraction to Nick was only natural, given Nick’s piercing eyes and lanky gracefulness, not to mention Nick’s skill on guitar and a certain air in his person that seemed to bring women of all ages flocking to him. Nick and his wife had had a casual type of relationship, even after they had gotten married. Cynthia had been comfortable in Nick’s love for her, and had never shown any jealous feeling when she noticed that he appreciated other women. However, Nick was always careful, once he was in a committed relationship, not to impose on that confidence. Cynthia had excused him for accepting comfort on the road every so often, but Nick was respectful of his wife and loved her, and never let things go beyond a little screwing around backstage. More to the point, Nick was Paolo’s closest friend, even among the members of the band. There was nothing Paolo wouldn’t share with Nick. It was contrary to his nature to try to keep good things to himself. He knew Nick would never try to “steal” Angharad from him, and Angharad, once he had won her over, wasn’t the type to go after his best friend. Paolo had been patient, giving her space when he knew she needed it. He still hadn’t suggested she move in with him, or that he move in with her. He knew that the minute he made such a suggestion, she’d feel hemmed in, chained down. He understood that feeling, because it was a feeling he himself had had on more than one occasion when other girlfriends had leaped into the “moving in” discussion. Their relationship worked, at least in part, because they each had their own space, their own things to do outside of the relationship. Paolo didn’t bring Angharad to rehearsals, and only once or twice to the studio. Angharad made her own contacts, as much as she could, in the musical world to further her journalistic interests. If Angharad was trying to track a band down that Paolo had met, and having trouble, Paolo would occasionally give her a tip, and when he wanted honest feedback on a drum track, he could depend on Angharad to give it.

  When Nick’s wife had died, Paolo’s thoughts didn’t turn immediately to Angharad to comfort him. He had been there for his friend at the funeral, just like the rest of the band had. Everyone was shocked when the news came in that Cynthia had been killed almost instantly in a car accident only a year after she and Nick had married. Paolo knew that Nick and Cynthia had been planning a long vacation together, a sort of continuation of the honeymoon that had been shortened by the needs of recording. Nick had finally begun to settle down, to plan for a future. The band had discussed giving Nick space to heal. They weren’t going to rush him into the studio, try to make him work off his sadness. “Let him take a few weeks,” Sylvain had said, his dark eyes full of compassion for their mutual friend. “We built this studio so we could take all the time we wanted, anyway.”

  Paolo had visited often, dragging Nick out for drinks or trying to interest him in art or shows by their favorite up-and-coming bands. One or another of the band members, after giving Nick a few weeks of space, was almost constantly at the apartment, checking up. Paolo knew it frustrated Nick, who would let himself get talked into going out only to stare morosely at nothing, ignoring the girls who recognized them, brushing off the attempts of the few brave enough to approach him. Or he would insist that he didn’t feel like going out, and Paolo would oblige by hanging out, watching movies, or listening to music. For months, things had gone on like this, until Paolo almost wanted to pick a fight with Nick, stir him up and get him angry enough to throw a punch. Anything to get a response other than the sorrow, the dejection that sat uncomfortably on his friend’s face.

  “We were talking about having kids,” Nick had said one night, late into a drinking binge, and Paolo had watched his friend crack up into ugly sobs, holding a throw pillow tightly and hiding his face in it. The sound of those sobs, and the sight of Nick’s fierce hold on the cushion, tore straight through Paolo’s chest, and he had hugged his friend, unable for a long time to find any words of comfort. “I still can’t quite make myself believe she’s gone,” Nick had told him, after the sobs had subsided. “Even after moving, I keep waking up in the morning and expecting her to be yelling at me for moving things around.”

  “You can’t think of all these things,” Paolo had said, groping for the words that matched what he wanted to tell his friend. “You’re torturing yourself with imagining all that could have been. But it might not have been that way.”

  “I just miss her, and I keep missing her. I can’t stand it, Paolo. Every time I start to forget it, something reminds me of her and I just shut down. It’s like a bruise in my head, and I can’t stop myself from poking it to make sure it still hurts.”

  Nick tried to bury himself in work, coming into the studio late
at night. But he couldn’t focus on the discussion of songs, couldn’t immerse himself in the process. Paolo watched Nick try and fail and slip up on even the simple guitar parts, until he was in such a brooding, discontented mood that he just left, apologizing for having sucked. And then he would call Sylvain the next day and tell him that he wasn’t going to be in. Something had to give. Sylvain, knowing that Paolo and Nick were closest to each other out of the whole group, suggested that hedonistic Nick might be reachable by way of a woman. Even then, Paolo’s thoughts didn’t immediately leap to asking Angharad. He considered his options carefully. There were several women who fancied themselves in love with Nick, who would love to spend some time with him. But Paolo hadn’t missed the way Nick had brushed off the advances of the women who had approached him since his wife had passed away. That led Paolo to the thought that it would need to be someone Nick wouldn’t necessarily disregard outright, a friend. The trouble was, Paolo thought, Nick didn’t have many female friends who were close to him. They were all either friends of his late wife or they were exes. The friends of his wife were out of the question for obvious reasons, and the exes… While Nick wasn’t necessarily on bad terms with all of the women who had dated him in the past, he wasn’t precisely on good terms with them, either. Many of them had the opinion that they did not prefer to put their hand in the fire, having been burned before.

  That was when Paolo remembered the way Angharad and Nick looked at each other. And Paolo put together a plan for convincing Angharad. He had learned enough about her, in the time they had been together, to know that she was at her most unguarded after he had gotten her off. He disliked the need to manipulate her in any way, but he knew, deep down, that if he asked her outright, she would reject the idea altogether out of a sense of faithfulness and loyalty to him. Paolo had no concerns in regards to what would happen when Angharad went to Nick, and he wouldn’t have minded if Angharad kept up a relationship with both himself and Nick for months or even years. It wasn’t naivety as much as confidence in Angharad’s love, in Nick’s friendship, that motivated him. Paolo had noticed in Angharad that, while she had loosened up, become more playful from associating with him, there was still something about her that needed balance. Paolo wasn’t quite able to command her the way she sometimes needed to be commanded, couldn’t quite take control the way she wanted. Nick’s personality, Paolo knew quite well, tended toward the kind of dominance Angharad would respond to. Deep down, he had faced the issue that he could not be everything Angharad needed, and he couldn’t bring Nick out of his despair by himself. If sharing his lover with his best friend helped both of them, Paolo wasn’t about to let a scruple like manipulating Angharad into agreeing stay his hand.

  Paolo’s hands went to Angharad’s waist, creeping downward, right as her alarm went off. Angharad started in his arms, her eyes opening to find him. Paolo smiled at her, kissing her temple and reaching over her to turn the alarm off. He pulled her close to him under the sheets, his hands wandering over her body. “When do you have to be at work?” he asked her, kissing her neck. They had made it a somewhat early night, in deference to the fact that Angharad had to go into the office. After the gallery, they had stopped at a Thai restaurant for dinner. Paolo smiled to himself, remembering the cab ride home, the way Angharad had bitten her lips to keep the moans muffled, lest the driver realize that they were fooling around. Paolo loved the look of arousal on Angharad’s face, loved the darkening of her eyes, the hunger he saw in her. He loved watching her suppress it in public, the careful veneer of respectability. They had made their way up to his apartment, and he had pulled her immediately into the bedroom, crushing her sweet body to his and already moving to undress her. Paolo had made a joke about feeling hungry and pinned her to the bed, delving into her pussy immediately, tasting her wet folds and teasing her clit with his tongue until she was just on the edge of coming, before he freed his cock and plunged into her, almost climaxing himself at the rippling of her muscles around him. By the time they had gotten to the take out, it had long since come to room temperature.

  Angharad looked at the clock, thought a moment, stretching her body against Paolo’s with a glint in her eye that suggested she knew exactly the effect of what she was doing. “I’ve got about an hour and a half before I need to leave,” she replied, looking up at him with such sweetness and lust that Paolo couldn’t have denied her, regardless of his own interest. He covered her body with his own, kissing her deeply, his hands seeking out her breasts, her hips. Paolo felt Angharad roll her hips against him and groaned into her mouth, felt his hands tighten on her body, his cock harden even more than he would have thought possible. His lips moved to her neck, and Angharad obligingly tilted her head back, giving him easier access to her sensitive flesh. Paolo wrapped his arms around Angharad and pressed his hips flush against hers, able to feel her already wet. It was one of the things he loved about Angharad. Her abandonment to sensual experiences was so much of a turn-on that he found himself getting her aroused even when he didn’t entirely intend to follow through, just to see her melt into lust. He lined himself up with her entrance, teasing her with just the tip of his penis, rubbing against her wet slit and feeling the heat of her. His lips sealed hers and he swallowed her greedy moans, thrusting upward in tiny increments, rocking his hips so that he just barely penetrated her. “Don’t tease me, Paolo,” Angharad broke their kiss to moan, her hands clutching his body close. Paolo chuckled against her neck and plunged his cock up into her depths, as fast and as deep as he could, loving the gasp of pleasure that resulted.

  “Should we make it quick, then?” Paolo asked, moving his hips flush against Angharad’s, feeling her walls tighten around him. He looked down at her face, taking in the sexiness of her half-lidded, sleepy eyes, the slight parting of her lips, the sunrise pink of her blush obscuring the constellations of freckles. “You’re so beautiful when you’re all turned on like this,” he whispered, sliding slowly out of her pussy, only to thrust deeper inside of her. He smiled at the way the compliment made the flush in her cheeks deepen, modesty warring with arousal. He slipped his hand in between them, finding her clitoris and rubbing it slowly with his thumb, reveling in the twitch of her legs around his body, the spasmodic tightening and release of her muscles around him. He pressed his lips to the pulse point in her neck, felt her racing heart, heard the rhythm of her desire in his mind. He had come to know the spectrum of her response so well, but somehow it seemed unique every time, born of the moment. Paolo slid in and out of her tight canal, adjusting his angle until he heard the telltale sharp little gasp, almost a cry, until he felt her arms and legs suddenly wrap around him in a viselike grip, her muscles flexing to keep him inside of her. He loved the way she twisted her hips up and down, rocking in counterpoint to his thrusts, changing the friction against his cock with every movement.

  Paolo shifted his weight back a bit, his free hand moving down from Angharad’s breast to her hip, along her thigh. He trailed it down until he reached her knee, and leaned forward, draping the leg over his shoulder and leaning farther down to kiss her tenderly as he drove up into her body, playing his fingertips against the tiny bundle of nerve endings above her entrance. “Ah! Oh, oh Paolo, oh fuck,” Angharad gasped, her back arching, her head lifting off the pillows, her hair flying out in a reddish flood around her face.

  “Yes, tesoro mio, just like that,” Paolo replied, finding the most sensitive spot along her inner walls, rubbing and thrusting against it with his cock. “Come for me, amorino,” he panted, nearly unable to keep his eyes open to see the pleasure on her face. Paolo felt her whole body tense, felt the fast, uncontrollable clamp and release of her canal around him and her nails digging into his arms as she held onto him. The muscles in her legs flexed, and there was a sudden increase of fluid that made her even slicker against him, lubricating the last several thrusts before he shuddered with completion. He moaned into her skin with the pleasure of it, holding her body tightly against his own, letting her leg fa
ll from his shoulder. He continued to hold her for a few moments, kissing whatever of her flesh was closest to his lips, his hands all over her sweet body. “I love you so much, Annie,” he whispered, bringing his face up to hers and kissing her forehead, and then her lips. “Piccolino mio,” he added, catching his breath, “You might be the death of me.” Angharad smiled up at him, nuzzling her cheek to his.

  “More likely you’ll wear me out with all this good loving,” she replied, playfully nipping his neck. “What time is it, gorgeous?” Paolo looked over at the clock.

  “You’ve got an hour before you need to leave. I’ll make coffee.” Paolo wasn’t the biggest fan of coffee himself, save the occasional espresso in the afternoon, but had come to enjoy having a cup with Angharad, with their first cigarettes of the day. He jumped out of bed, offering Angharad a hand up.

  “What have I got here that’s clean?” Angharad mused out loud, accepting his help and striding over to the closet. Paolo had few clothes that needed hanging, so he had seen no reason not to let Angharad use the closet space to house a few outfits she could wear to work, particularly since it meant more nights spent in his apartment. Paolo paused long enough to appreciate the view of Angharad from behind and grab a pair of boxer shorts on his way to the kitchen.