Strum Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #2)

by Crystal Kaswell

  It's not like I want this kind of tension building between my legs, begging me to ignore my better senses completely, begging me to throw myself on his bed.

  He's staring at me like he's daring me to say something.

  I force myself to look him in the eyes, but that's worse. He has that same hurt, confused expression.

  "I should read," I say.

  "You should get a better line."

  The crick in my neck spreads all the way to the back of my skull. Tension headache, here I come.

  I press my eyes closed to will it away. I can't keep doing this. I miss Drew. I miss his laugh, his music, his arms around me.

  "How about we pretend it never happened so things go back to normal?" I offer.

  He stares through me. "No."

  "Please." I play with the waistband of my jeans. "If we forget about the kiss."

  His eyes narrow. "I'm never going to forget about that kiss."

  I hold his gaze.

  "I'm still going out of my head over the taste of your lips and the feeling of your groans in my mouth. I'm still going out of my head dreaming of running my tongue up your thigh and licking you until you come. I can't concentrate for shit. Anytime my hands aren't on my guitar, I'm dreaming about getting them on you."

  My eyes go wide. I can barely breathe. I can barely think. I open my mouth to reply, but I can't form a single word.

  He takes a step toward his room, his eyes still on mine. "So, no, Kara, I can't forget kissing you. Not ever."

  Want spreads to my thighs, stomach, chest. It works its way down my limbs until every inch of me is buzzing. My lips part. My fingertips press together. I will an explanation to form in my mouth. Anything to keep Drew here, to explain this to him. "I had a reason."

  He pulls open his bedroom door. "And maybe, one day, you'll trust me enough to explain it."

  He steps into his room and slams the door shut.

  ***

  Two a.m. passes and my book is still unread. My body is still heavy. My breath is still strained.

  About time I give up on finishing this tonight. I turn off my music, change into my pajamas, and brush my teeth.

  Yellow streams through my bedroom door. Hallway light must be on. I go to turn it off.

  There's Drew's door, across the hallway, utterly closed to me. There's familiar music in his room. A guitar. It's so soft I can barely hear it, but I recognize it immediately.

  It's the song he was playing at practice before everyone showed up. The one that threatened to tear my heart into a million little pieces.

  Heaviness builds in my chest. I need to hear that song, to be near him, even if we're not going to talk.

  Even if he hates me.

  His bedroom door is open. I knock lightly and step inside. Drew turns to me. He's sitting on his bed, back to me, acoustic guitar in his lap.

  He's wearing nothing but boxers.

  That flutter builds below my belly. His back is so strong. It's like he's cut out of marble. I want to touch him and have him touch me.

  Maybe I can tell him.

  Maybe he won't run away.

  "Can I listen?" I ask.

  He pats a spot on the bed next to him. "It's pretty rough."

  "I like it rough." My face flushes. "I mean... I don't mind."

  "I'm afraid I don't have it in me to tease you as mercilessly as you deserve." He turns back to his guitar.

  I sit on the edge of the bed opposite him. The three feet between us might as well be a million miles.

  An acoustic version of Drew's song fills the room. I lie back and hug a blanket to my chest. The music is beautiful and sad. It presses on the walls of my heart, threatening to collapse them completely.

  I can tell him.

  I have to.

  Drew lets out a heavy sigh. I keep my back to him, my attention on the clean, white wall in front of me.

  The song bleeds into an outro until our breath is the only sound in the room. There's something so intimate about it, but that only makes the horrible space between us hurt more.

  I play with the blanket. "Is that a Sinful Serenade song?"

  "No." He plays a chord. "It's mine."

  "Are there lyrics?"

  "Yeah, but you're not going to get me to sing. I don't sing."

  "What about..." I shake my head, but it's too late. The memory is already there. The sound is already drilled into my brain.

  "That was a special circumstance." He leaves it at that.

  Music fills the room again. "Fire and Rain," the James Taylor song. The only song he's ever sung.

  It was the night of my father's funeral. After everyone left. I was in my room, alone, finally out of sight of everyone who was concerned about how I was handling it. Finally about to give in to how much it hurt and cry myself to sleep.

  He had cancer. It was a slow, agonizing death. I was half-glad he wasn't in pain anymore, half-miserable I'd never see him smile again. But there was no time for any of that. That last year, he was too weak to help. My mom was either at work or shuffling him to treatments. Everything else fell to me.

  I cooked dinner, did the shopping, paid the bills. I didn't mind the work. It kept me busy.

  Staying strong was the hard part. I was their happy little girl. I had to smile for them, to convince them it would be okay, to convince them it was fine.

  It was the same thing at the funeral. Everyone was proud of me for being strong, for being there for my mother, for taking care of things. I wanted so badly to cry, but I couldn't, not until I was alone in my room.

  Drew and I weren't close anymore. We had drifted apart my first year of high school. But he was there that night and he refused to leave, refused to believe me when I told him everything was okay.

  He sat there in my bed and he played and he sang to me. And then I cried and he held me until I was too numb to cry anymore.

  That was the last time anyone saw me as anything besides their rock.

  A tear forms in my eye. He's playing loud enough he won't hear, so I do nothing to hold it back. It rolls down my cheek and off my chin.

  My eyes sting. I choke back a sob. I pull the blanket over my head to cover the sound. I pinch the skin on the inside of my forearm. I'm not supposed to do anything like that—it's two steps away from cutting—but I need some filter for my feelings before they consume me.

  The music stops.

  "Kara." Drew's voice is soft and sweet. He pulls the blanket off and runs his fingertips over my shoulder. "I know you usually start with 'I'm fine,' but this time you've got no chance of selling that."

  A laugh breaks up the tension in my chest. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about that night."

  "We never talk about it." He lies behind me.

  "I know." I relax into Drew's body. "You're the only person who's ever seen me cry."

  "You're the only person who's ever heard me sing."

  "That can't be true," I say.

  "It is. And I can't hit the notes James Taylor can. Not anymore." He holds me closer. "You must have cried in front of someone else."

  "Not that I can remember." I wipe a tear from my eyes. "My parents, even before my dad was diagnosed, they were so happy when I was happy. And after he was gone, my mom fell apart. There were months when she spent the entire night on the couch with a bowl of melting ice cream in her lap. And she'd look at me with these dead eyes and tell me how lucky she was to have such a strong daughter."

  "Kara."

  "It was like she wasn't there anymore. I tried to get her to eat, but she refused. I tried to get her to leave the house, but she wouldn't even get dressed. It was sweet, almost, how empty she was without my dad. But it left me without a mom, more or less."

  Another tear rolls down my cheek. That was when my cutting got really bad.

  I know it doesn't make sense. But it was like the weight of the world was on my shoulders, and I was desperate for any kind of release I could find. The pain in my body was like an outlet for the ache in my h
eart. It made me feel alive. It made me feel in control. It made me feel okay, like I could survive going back to being the girl who kept everyone happy.

  It was the only way I could deal with my feelings. Mom needed me to take care of her and there was no one to pick up the slack.

  The only time she was happy was when I did well.

  When I came home with straight A's.

  When I made it onto the varsity dance squad.

  When I got into UCLA.

  My experiments started with my wrists, but those marks were too visible. So I cut my thighs instead. I couldn't wear shorts or go swimming, and I had to be careful to make sure my skirts fell below mid-thigh, but, otherwise, no one asked questions.

  No one stared at me with that concern in their eyes the way they did after Dad died.

  Drew wipes a tear from my eyes. "Hey."

  "Hey."

  "I should have been there," he says.

  "We'd already grown apart."

  "Still." He slides his arm around my waist. "You deserved better than going through that alone."

  My eyelids drift together and I soak in the feeling of Drew's body wrapped around mine. It's perfect—calming and exciting all at once.

  I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry about what happened. It wasn't your fault. It was me."

  He doesn't say anything, but he squeezes me tighter.

  "You know, I always hoped I'd find you on my bed, playing guitar. That was the last time in so long that I really felt okay."

  Drew holds me tighter. I close my eyes and block out everything except the feeling of his body next to mine.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I wake up in Drew's arms. I lie there for half an hour, soaking in the comfort of his body, trying to sort through what the hell last night meant.

  He stirs, kisses me on the forehead, and shifts out of bed. "It's almost nine. You're gonna be late to class."

  Dammit. I hightail it to my room, shower, dress, and pack my backpack.

  Drew is at his door, doing pull-ups from a bar hanging off the frame. No shirt. Running shorts. Sweat dripping off the hard lines of his back and shoulders.

  A buzz of want builds between my legs. By the time I walk down the stairs, it's everywhere. Even my fingertips want Drew. Especially my fingertips. They're desperate to touch every inch of him.

  He drops to his feet with a heavy sigh, then makes his way to the kitchen. His eyes flash with a hint of something mischievous. His gaze meets mine and his lips curl into a smile.

  Like he knows I'm staring.

  Like he knows I'm desperate.

  Like he knows I'm powerless to do anything but melt.

  ***

  My internship runs late. The second I'm home, I change into jeans and a t-shirt and collapse on my bed. I barely have time to catch my breath when there's a knock on my door.

  "Come in," I say.

  Drew opens the door. He's wearing pajama pants. No shirt, just pajama bottoms.

  "You want to mock Batman and Robin together?" he asks.

  I should finish my homework, but this sounds like a lot more fun. "Sure."

  He helps me off the bed and walks me to the couch.

  Drew turns the lights off one by one. Downstairs gets dark in stages until the only light is coming from the pool outside.

  He pulls the blinds so that's gone too.

  Drew sits next to me. Not on the middle cushion, but on mine. Our knees touch. He leans into the backrest, shifting his hips up ever so slightly.

  I must be imagining things.

  There's no way Drew is this evil.

  He turns on the TV and loads the DVD. I try to keep my eyes on the screen and not on the light flickering over Drew's shoulders and chest. It's quite the challenge.

  He shifts to the middle seat in one smooth movement. There's no relief from the ache building inside me.

  Whatever this is, it's not back to normal.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe normal is impossible after that kiss. It's still burned into my brain, my lips, my skin.

  His attention is on the movie. I try to follow suit. We watched this all the time when we were younger. Every time, we mocked it mercilessly. Today, nothing. We're silent.

  Drew turns to me. He pats his shoulder like he's offering me a pillow. I swallow hard. Not a good idea if I want to keep things anywhere in the vicinity of platonic.

  I want him to push me on the couch and rip off my jeans and t-shirt and fuck me until I'm screaming his name so loudly the neighbors call the police.

  But it's not worth losing him forever.

  ***

  I get up for a glass of water, but it does nothing to cool me off.

  I try patting my neck and chest with the water, but that only fills my head with that same beautiful image of Drew coming out of the pool naked and dripping wet.

  There are footsteps behind me. Drew slides his arm around my waist. He rests his head in the crook of my neck.

  "You up to finish?" His breath is warm against my skin.

  "Sure." I set my glass on the counter and turn so I'm facing Drew.

  His crotch is pressed against mine. He has me pinned against the counter, more or less. Just like the night when everything went to shit.

  Of course, my body shares none of my cautious sentiment. It's practically buzzing with electricity, with the most desperate need to feel his hands again.

  It's not the worst idea in the world.

  Bottom five maybe, but not the worst.

  He steps back and stretches his arms over his head. My eyes go straight to the muscles of his torso as they constrict and relax. There's that little line of hair under his belly button. They shouldn't call it a happy trail. More like a this is driving me out of my fucking mind trail.

  Drew drags his fingertips over my palm. He nods to the TV like everything is normal and he isn't trying to torture me.

  I follow him back to the couch. He plops in the corner and pats his shoulder the way he did earlier.

  This time, I take his offer. I slide onto the middle cushion and rest my head on Drew's shoulder.

  He runs his fingers over the elastic band in my hair and pulls out my ponytail. My hair falls over my face and shoulders. Drew brushes it behind my ear.

  The TV flickers. There's absolutely nothing about it that can draw my attention. I lean into Drew's touch as he runs his fingers through my hair.

  There's nothing demanding about his touch. It's soft. Sweet. Patient.

  He traces a line down my neck and over my chest and back again. His touch moves lower and lower, until he's tracing the neckline of my t-shirt.

  Heat builds between my legs. This might ruin everything, it might make him run away, it might torpedo our friendship forever.

  But none of that can compete with the desire spreading through my body. Whatever the consequences, I need Drew and I need him now.

  I let out a low moan. I shift my chest into his hands. He doesn't need it explained. He slides his hand under my shirt and over my bra. He traces its outline from one side of my chest to the other and back again.

  And again.

  And again.

  He slides his fingers into my bra and draws slow circles around my nipple.

  My sex clenches. Drew is touching me and it feels so damn good.

  He plays with my other nipple the same way. His free hand goes to my hair and he tilts my neck so we're face to face.

  He's three inches away.

  His eyes close and he kisses me. Soft to start, then harder and harder.

  He cups my breast inside my bra and rubs me with his thumb. His tongue slides into my mouth, exploring it. I kiss him back as hard as I can.

  Drew is kissing me. Drew is touching me. It's still so novel and amazing. My best friend, the guy I've wanted for as long as I can remember, is touching me.

  He releases my hair. His hand goes to the space between my shoulder blades. The other goes to my side. He pushes me onto the couch, pinning me with his hips.

>   I run my hand over his chest and shoulders, exploring every inch of them.

  I sigh into his mouth. He releases our kiss and brings his lips to my ears, neck, collarbones. He pulls off my t-shirt, breaking my grip on his shoulders to get it over my head.

  I arch my back into him. I let out a loud moan. No holding back. I want Drew to know how much I want him, and I want him more than I've ever wanted anything.

  My body is buzzing. Every part desperate to be touched. Even... maybe...

  I'm doing this, whatever it means.

  He sucks on my earlobe and all that apprehension drips away. His mouth feels damn good. My nipples tighten. That flutter spreads to my stomach and thighs.

  Drew grabs my hips and adjusts my position so my crotch is right below his. I can feel him through my jeans. He's hard and he's pressed up against me. I shift my hips to grind against him.

  It's just the right amount of friction. Pleasure rushes through me.

  Drew lets out a low groan. He unhooks my bra and pulls it off in a huff.

  His lips close around my nipple. He runs his tongue over it with just the right amount of pressure.

  He rocks against me. The weight of his body feels so damn good. He's warm and he's hard and he's mine.

  His hand slides up the inside of my leg. My breath hitches. My chest tightens.

  "Drew." I try to relax as I exhale but it's not working.

  He brings his lips back to my ear. "I want to touch you, Kara."

  And God does that feel good. Every place his fingertips touch buzzes with need. All these clothes in the way. Usually they protect me from questions, but now they're keeping me from Drew.

  "I'm going to go insane if I don't touch you." He drags his teeth over my neck. He grabs my hand and slides it over his. "Show me."

  Okay. I can do that. I relax into the couch. The tension in my chest eases.

  I guide his hand up my thighs and between my legs.

  There.

  He rubs me over my jeans. Just hard enough. Just heavy enough.

  Pleasure shoots through me. I arch my back and surrender to it.

  The pressure builds, tighter and tighter, until I'm almost there. I groan. I dig my nails into the skin of his back and hold his body against mine.