by Pam Godwin
I trace the wet curve of his lip with a finger. “When you’re too old to get it up, I’ll still love you.”
He curls his fingers inside me and puts his face in mine, baring his teeth in a wicked smile. “Viagra, sweetheart.”
I shake my head. He has a solution for everything.
He removes his fingers from inside me and tackles the button on his jeans. “I’ve spent every day here for the last three weeks.” He releases his zipper and yanks the skirt of my dress out of the way. “Every day imagining fucking you here, just like this.”
“You could’ve told me.” I balance on the ledge of the piano, my bare legs trembling around his hips. “I would’ve come.”
“Oh, Ivory.” He notches the broad head of his cock against my pussy. “You’re going to come.”
His gaze holds mine as he thrusts. A low deep groan rumbles in his chest.
Pleasure floods my body in whipping torrents, one on top of the other, gathering into an overwhelming haze of need.
He kisses me passionately as our bodies slide together, rocking against the edge of the piano. My fingers sink into his hair. Our breaths mingle in a harmony of panting groans, and my hips absorb the impact of his as he fucks us into a wild and frantic crescendo.
His eyes never leave mine as he wraps a hand around my throat. He squeezes, and I whimper against the blissful pressure.
I love the way he holds me. “Harder.”
His fingers tighten, and he drives his hips faster, ruthless in his urgency.
We strain toward each other, hands clutching, eyes locked as we soar, lost in our private world of notes and dreams.
Three years later.
People from all over the world come to the French Quarter for food, culture, and music. Bourbon Street is an endless party, day and night. Our dueling piano bar is smack at the center of it, booming with the overflow of enthusiastic tourists. Most nights, the line out the door snakes around two blocks.
The sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and scuffing shoes charges the atmosphere with excitement. We’re so crammed in tonight the combined body heat stifles the air, made hotter by the bright lights above me.
I shudder with happy nerves and take a long draw from my beer, returning it to the shelf on my piano.
Stogie sits behind the bar, as old as the ninety-year rafters, smiling a youthful smile. Laura and Frank Marceaux sip their drinks in the seating area, surrounded by their friends.
Sharing the bench beside me, Emeric faces the other way, the shift of his hips creating a pleasurable glide against mine.
Our pianos sit in opposite directions and slightly off-center to allow elbow room as we play side by side.
He leans back against the keyboard of my piano, his eyes sweeping over my fitted ivory dress. “You look good enough to eat tonight, Mrs. Marceaux.”
I take in his jeans, white t-shirt, and gray fedora, and damn near purr with appreciation. “Hope you’re hungry, Mr. Marceaux.”
“Endlessly.” He launches at me, gripping my hair and giving me a kiss so scandalous the crowd explodes in whistles and catcalls.
When he breaks the kiss, my body swims in his lingering heat.
I focus on his bright blue eyes. “What are we dueling first?”
Grinning, he poises his fingers on his keyboard and nudges his shoulder against mine. “Guns N’ Roses.”
I tilt my smile upward and shiver beneath the lights. “And Kodaline.”
Then the music begins…
Scriabin’s Sonata No.9
“Toxicity” by System Of A Down
Balakirev’s Islamey
“Patience” by Guns N’ Roses
“Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica
“Symphony of Destruction” by Megadeth
“Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana
“Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd
“I Will Follow You Into the Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie
“All I Want” by Kodaline
OTHER BOOKS BY PAM GODWIN
DELIVER SERIES
Deliver (#1)
Vanquish (#2)
Disclaim (#3) Coming Summer 2016
TRILOGY OF EVE
Dead of Eve (#1)
Blood of Eve (#2)
Dawn of Eve (#3) Coming 2016
STANDALONES
Beneath the Burn
Dirty Ties
To my street team—the Freedom Fighters—for being the most badass, fun, full of life, drama-free, supportive hookers on the planet. You guys know how much I love you, but I’m saying it anyway. I love you, and I’m so damn blessed to have you in my dark and dirty corner.
To my critique group—JC Kang, Lindy Winter, Rachael Tamayo, Greta Stone, Dan Alatorre, Ann White, Jill Bitner, and Aries75—for sticking with me till the end, offering your cutthroat honesty, and sharing your impeccable brilliance. What an incredible group of writers!
To my beta readers—Author Barbara Elsborg, Author E.M. Abel, Shabby Arora, Angie Plumlee, Beverly Tubb, Shea Moran, Ketty Beale, and Amber Bauswell—for all your smoothing and tweaking and highlighting. Your feedback is invaluable and greatly appreciated.
To my editor—Jacy Mackin—you’re a rock star. Hopefully, you’ll forgive me (for that one scene) by the time I send you my next book. LOL
To my proofreader—Lesa Godwin—for your microscopic eye. There isn’t an oops that slips by you. Your detail to finding things is unparalleled. Thank you for letting me depend on you.
To my greyhound, Goliath, for being my constant companion, giving me puppy kisses when I’m stressed, and waking me up with your toxic gas when I’m nodding off at my desk. My happiness is measured in greyhound heartbeats.
To my family for loving me despite my crazy, prolonged absences and embracing me when I finally emerge. I wouldn’t be able to follow my dreams without you.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.
Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.
You can follow her at pamgodwin.com