by Anthology
“You play the piano, too?” When he nodded sheepishly, she added, “Why Mr. Griffith, you certainly are the virtuoso.”
James pulled her in for another kiss, this one on the lips, wet and deep. Giving her nose a nuzzle, he asked, “Why do you call me that?”
“Mr. Griffith? Because it’s your name, dummy.”
“Yeah, but when you say it like that, it makes me feel like a teacher or something.”
Rory stepped back with a grin. “It should make you feel proper. Respectful. You are a nice young man, after all, with your lovely manners and impeccable behavior.”
He shook his head, his curls jostled by the movement as he laughed and looked down at the ground. When he glanced up again, there was a devious gleam in his eyes.
“Haven’t you figured out by now that I’m not the nice young man you take me for?”
Rory grinned wickedly.
We shall see.
“Come along now, James. I’m waiting for you to serenade me with your music.”
Once they were nestled comfortably in one of the practice rooms, James sat down on the piano bench. Rory placed her bag at his feet and positioned herself in a chair next to him.
“You sure you’re not going to be bored?” he asked her.
She waved his question off. “Just play, Mozart.”
He wasn’t playing for a performance though, not like when he was on stage with his guitar. He was writing music, honing his craft, and Rory watched as he played and then paused to scribble notes on paper, his lips pursed in concentration. He was so dedicated, so focused, and that depraved part of her wanted to deliberately distract him. To make him see that she definitely wasn’t the nice young woman he took her for.
When a half hour had passed, she sat up and peeled off her flannel. The T-shirt she had on beneath it was snug in all the right places, highlighting the curve of her breasts and slope of her waist. James glanced over at her, momentarily diverted, then back down at his work.
Rory smiled. She reached up and began unclipping the braids she’d wound up around her head, freeing the long waves and letting them spill down her back.
Another sideways peek from James. Perfect.
Leaning over, she pulled the poem she’d copied from her bag. Turning her chair so she could brace her feet against the wall, she scanned over the paper and rocked leisurely until the music and pencil scratching stopped.
“Whatchya reading?” James asked.
She threw him a quick look over her shoulder. “A poem.”
“One you wrote?”
“No, just one I like a lot.” She tilted the chair back until it rode on its edge. “It’s very sexy.”
“Can I hear it?”
Mission accomplished.
Rory righted the chair and stood slowly, her moves sinuous as a cat. “You sure about that? You seem very busy.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow. “I’m sure.”
“All right.” She said it like it was a favor to him, and leaned back against the wall, keeping her voice soft and seductive as she read the poem out loud. While every word, every syllable mattered when it came to writing poetry, reading it was an entirely different beast. She’d learned that in one of her workshops here, when her professor had brought in someone from the theater department to teach them the art of speaking words aloud. Rory had learned how to employ the proper cadence, to make her words sound sensual with a properly placed lingering l, teeth skidding over her lower lip on the fs. Reading poetry was a seduction, a carefully orchestrated dance, and as she spoke about lovemaking and tongues, about firm protective touches and rose-wet caves, she watched the fire on James’ cheeks rise, knowing she was getting him exactly where she’d wanted him.
Her concentration slipped, however, when she reached the end:
“‘Whatever happens, this is.’”
The line was art imitating life, but the double meaning was entirely accidental. She hadn’t meant to imply by reading this to him that there was any kind of permanence to their relationship. That whatever took place after James left Hammond Falls, she’d be forever changed by him, marked by him, their time together stamped on her heart. The realization that it could be true terrified her.
James cleared his throat and laughed nervously. “Damn.”
“Liked that?”
“So much so that I can’t stand up.”
Relief and arousal deflated Rory’s anxiety. She had a goal here, a plan to put into motion. Putting the poem back in her bag, she moved behind him and bent down to his ear to whisper, “I like turning you on.”
She licked the whorl of his ear. James grunted and stiffened.
“You know how I never answered your question the other night?” Rory asked as she trailed light fingertips down his back. “The one about the craziest place I’ve had sex.”
He nodded, breath quickening. She inched her palms around his sides, waiting for him to stop her, for him to be turned off at doing something so illicit in the single arena he took seriously and shut her down, but it didn’t happen. Rory went for the gold and teased over his fly.
Oh yeah, he was halfway there already.
“One place I’ve always wanted to do it but never have is in one of these rooms.”
She scraped her nail along his zipper. The jolt it caused nearly lifted him off the bench.
“Well, far be it from me,” he said between halted breaths, “to stop you from reaching one of your life’s goals.”
His lips spread into a complacent smile. Smug bastard. She’d see him crack yet.
Rory unzipped his jeans and molded her hand over the stiff shape of him. The cotton barrier between them damp where his tip pressed against it.
“Ah, fuck. Rory.”
The gravelly sound of his voice was poetry in itself.
She freed him from his boxers and stroked his gloriously thick shaft, keeping her body at a slight angle to shield what they were doing. The door was locked, but a rectangular window had been cut into the door, but any passersby who peeked through the glass pane could easily figure it out. James seemed too far gone to care though, his hips rocking into her grip. Rory’s palm was already sticky with pre-come.
“I brought a condom,” she said, twisting her hand over the tip with the suggestion.
“Get it.”
Rory complied, enjoying his groan of disappointment when she pulled her hand away. She knelt down to her bag and searched for the foil packet. James’s hands were in her hair by the time she’d retrieved it, tugging her upward.
“Get up here.”
She shook her head and sidled herself between his legs. His grip loosened when she dipped her head down and ran her tongue in a teasing circle over the tip of his cock. When he drew in his breath in a slow hiss, she pulled back to smile at him.
“I’m calling the shots today.”
She had to be. If she let him take over, she might end up saying how quickly she’d come to need him in her life, babble something dumb about him making her happier than she’d been in years, or maybe even something more idiotic than that, like loving him.
She couldn’t love him. Who fell in love in a week?
She stood and he followed, devouring her with a kiss as they moved. His footsteps faltered when she wrapped her fingers once again around his rigid flesh. A few pumps and James moaned, his head falling to her shoulder. He bit down, and Rory gasped, sharp pinpoints of pleasure rolling out from her neck in waves.
Needing to stay in control, she put her other hand on his chest and pressed. James lifted his head, eyes foggy with lust, and she walked him backwards until he collided with the wall furthest from the door. Yanking his jeans down, she sank to the floor once again. The cold tiles met her knees through her jeans. Her senses were like firecrackers, sparking and alive.
She licked him from base to tip, keeping her eyes on his as she unwrapped the condom. A deep, slow suck elicited the shuddered curse she’d been waiting for.
“Stop. Jesus
, Rory. You’re getting me too worked up.”
“Maybe I want you worked up. Maybe I want you to be the loud one this time.” She ducked her head to tease his balls, enjoying his guttural grunt. “Maybe I want to see if these rooms are really as soundproof as they’re supposed to be.”
Sucking lightly on one sac, she reached up to stroke his cock again, but James snatched her wrist in his hand.
“Stop teasing, and fuck me already.”
His words surprised her, but Rory didn’t let it show.
She rolled on the condom and stood, barely reaching his chin when she came up to her full height. He conceded to her dominance anyway when she pointed at the floor, and he slid down the wall until his legs were stretched out in front of him. A minute later she’d stripped her clothes off from the waist down. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she lowered herself to straddle him. Both of them watched as she guided him inside.
Rory gripped his shirt as she acclimated to his size. The pressure turned to blissful slide and perfect fullness after a few minutes, and James’s hands found her hips, urging her to go faster. That wasn’t what she wanted, though. She wanted to make this last, to torture him a little, so she slowed down, riding him with purposeful rolls of her hips.
He pinched his eyes shut. His head fell back against the wall with a thud.
“Killing me,” he said.
“Well, you’re too quiet. Can’t see if these rooms are soundproof if you don’t start making noise.”
That hint of menace she’d seen in his eyes earlier returned. His fingers squeezing her waist, James thrust up into her. He repeated the move again and again, hitting her G-spot until her thighs grew sweaty and her legs started to tremble.
“I like your noises better,” he told her, his breathing choppy. “Your sexy gasps and moans. The way you say my name when you come. It’s better than any poetry, better than any music I could come up with.”
He kissed her neck, the test of his teeth on her skin like rocket fuel as he slid a hand in between their bodies and thumbed her clit.
“Come for me, Rory. Scream it. I don’t care who hears.”
Her orgasm was a sudden explosion of sensation, intense and all-encompassing. She did as he’d asked, chanting his name along with a chorus of Yes and So fucking good until he silenced her with a kiss. His own moan of satisfaction ended in a hard shiver and a grunt that she swallowed.
Rory worked to catch her breath, her laid forehead against his.
“See?” he asked, one palm rubbing the sweaty skin on her neck. “I’m not the good boy you think I am.”
He smiled, and Rory couldn’t figure out what was happening. She hadn’t been able to control him, hadn’t been able to corrupt him at all, because he’d turned out to be just as lewd as she was. She was falling for him, this boy with the beautiful voice, who liked the same things she did. Who thought she was something special.
How could she push him away when he was this wonderful?
Or worse, how was she ever going to survive this ending?
“I guess not.”
They cleaned themselves up, the condom discreetly buried in the trash, their clothes righted. James packed his things away, and they were feet away from the door when he paused and took her hand.
“Listen,” he said. “Graduation is in a few weeks, and I really wanted to talk to you about—”
She put two fingers over his lips, silencing him.
“No,” she said. “No talking about what comes next. Let’s just be happy with what we have, okay?” Rory slung her bag over her shoulder and jerked open the door. “Grilled cheese? I’m starved.”
A moment passed before he answered her.
“Sure,” he said quietly.
She had to shut the conversation down, despite the splinter of hurt she’d heard in his voice. No matter how she’d felt earlier, she didn’t want to talk about when they’d be going their separate ways or where he was going when graduation came. He was leaving no matter what, on to pursue bigger and better. And even if James was going to suggest keeping this going in a long distance relationship, she didn’t want to hear it, because that was never going to happen. He was too talented to have the task of daily phone calls hanging around his neck, and acknowledging that would only taint the remainder of their time together. Stopping him from saying anything more was a sacrifice for the greater good.
Rory walked out ahead of him, telling herself it was better this way.
Chapter 7
Three weeks passed so quickly, Rory would’ve thought she’d imagined it if it weren’t for the mid-May blossoms that finally popped out on the trees, or the appearance of tulips pushing up through the ground. A portion of every day had been spent in James’s company.
The boy was as punctual as the freaking post office.
He’d wormed her schedule from her and, come rain or shine, he’d shown up whenever she was free, dragging her outside for strolls around town or walks through the park. Full hours had been spent listening to him practice his guitar. He’d even enticed her back to Puck’s for a few more performances. They’d hung out with his bandmates afterward, and then he’d asked her to shown him more of her favorite secret spots around campus.
No matter how nasty she’d gotten with him, he kept rolling with the punches. Or the thrusts, as it were. And every time she was with him, she seemed to only want him more.
James was an addiction, a fix she’d gotten quickly hooked on. Withdrawal was inevitable, but she wanted the high to last as long as possible, so she’d continuously dodged his attempts to talk about the future, using her body to distract him whenever she could. He’d give in with a groan, and the constant charge between them provided a nice little bubble of bliss.
He started getting busier once the end of the semester arrived, handing in papers and taking exams. Rory knew the day finals were over without having to be told. The town changed, the population thinning out as all the underclassmen headed home. Senior week at Pearce was a quiet time for Hammond Falls, a lull before the hotels were full up with parents celebrating their children’s achievements with folding chairs and champagne.
It was a reminder of how soon she’d be alone again. As was the arrival of a new postcard from her parents.
It seemed they’d gotten tired of being on the move, and had set up camp in Portland, Oregon. They’d set up a land line, and were wondering if Rory would give them a call some time, or maybe even come visit.
She’d dumped the postcard in the trash.
As the days to James’ graduation ticked closer, Rory started preparing herself, beginning the process of rebuilding that brick wall of hers, mentally lining up the stones and preparing the mortar. Two nights before that Saturday celebration of pomp and circumstance arrived, he showed up at her door.
She let him in, and he undressed her slowly, as if she were a gift he was unwrapping or a dessert he wanted to savor. He marked every inch of her body with kisses. The backs of her knees. The insides of her elbows. The pearled tips of her nipples, the hollow between her hips and her pubic bone. Rory tried to memorize the rough chafe of his calloused fingers, the feel of his beard on her skin, her nerve endings on fire by the time he finally pressed inside. She clung to him, eyes shut as he rocked her to release.
It was the first time they’d done it in her bed.
It was the perfect way to say goodbye.
“My family is coming up tomorrow,” he said afterward, fingers drifting in a lazy stroll up and down her back. They were laying side by side, their faces close together on her pillows. “I know you have issues with your parents, so you totally don’t have to meet them if you don’t want to, but I’d really love it if you had dinner with us.”
“Do they know about me?”
“No. Do you want them to?”
She wanted to tell him yes, but that was almost as dumb an idea as saying she would come. This was ending in a few days. No reason to make this any more than it was by telling his parents about it.
His fingers rested on the small of her back. “Rory?”
Longing caged her heart at the look on his face, so wide-eyed and hopeful. She knew it was going to make the dagger she was about to get stabbed with that much sharper, but she couldn’t turn him down. Not if it meant getting to spend a few more hours with him.
“I’ll come.”
She met him at a restaurant downtown the following evening. Gretchen had agreed to take the second half of Rory’s shift, and she’d run home as soon as she was done. Nerves had her hands shaking as she tried to make herself as presentable as possible, leaving her hair down to air dry and donning a white sundress she’d bought at a street fair sophomore year. It the single nice piece of clothing she owned.
James was waiting outside when she arrived. He was surrounded by a group of people, all laughing and smiling and looking like him.
“Hey,” he said as soon as he saw her. Dressed in beige slacks and a blue polo shirt, he looked more like a Pearce student and less like the flannel-wearing boy she’d come to know. “Everybody, this is Rory. Rory this is, well, everybody.”
A chorus of hellos was the response to her wave. Inside at the table, Rory was introduced to them all one by one once: mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, and James’s little sister Karen. Rory didn’t need to make much conversation because they all made it for her, the discussion ranging from college experiences they’d all had to issues with government and international politics she was embarrassed to say she hadn’t kept up on.
How much more of the world would continue to pass by her, while she was stuck here alone?
Once the main courses were cleared away, James’s mother turned to Rory, her chin in her hand. “So, Rory, how do the two of you know each other?”
James chuckled nervously, and Rory realized they’d never finished this part of the discussion. He rapped his knuckles against the table with one hand and took Rory’s with the other, a clandestine move he performed beneath the table.
She wasn’t sure if it was for her benefit or theirs.
“Well, this all happened very recently, but, actually, Rory is my girlfriend.”