Beats of the Heart

by B. Rose, Charli

  “I’d rather bite you than my tongue. And nothing has ever been more beautiful than you.”

  Lifting his head from the pillow, he pressed his lips to mine. My head jerked back from the contact. “You know I haven’t brushed my teeth in like…” I mentally counted and tried to adjust for the time zones. “In like twenty-four hours or something.”

  He pried my fingers from where they blocked my lips. “You do know that true love is kissing with morning breath.” He winked at me.

  I laughed in his face, and he didn’t even flinch at the wave of air I breathed on him. “I suppose if you can’t swap spit and share stale, sleep breath with the one you love, then who can you?”

  He pulled my face to his and drank from my mouth like a man dying of thirst. With his hand grasping my hip, he urged my body more fully onto his. Without breaking our kiss, his fingers began playing my body like his guitar. Plucking, strumming and stroking me to frantic heights. As I reached the peak, he shifted beneath me and thrust upwards, sinking home. Pulling my mouth from his, I leaned back, pushing him deeper. My gaze flitted to the mirror on the wall. We were a work of art. His hands guiding my hips, my hands pressed over his heart, we moved to a melody sung by our hearts. With our bodies married, the dreams in my heart burst into sparkling colors like fireworks, showering the air around us with love and passion and forever. The colors swirling around me were begging to be captured with paint and paper. The color of love.

  When all the color exploded to brilliant, blinding white, I collapsed onto his chest. As I was dozing, our bodies still joined, Dawson’s lips moved against my forehead, “I love you so damn much, flutterby.”

  My palm rubbed his chest over his heart as I breathed, “I love you too.”

  ♪ “Never Be the Same” by Camilla Cabello

  * * *

  A couple of hours later, my growling stomach woke me up. A chuckle rumbled underneath me.

  “My baby needs sustenance. You stay here. I’ll go get us some food, and I’ll bring your bag up.”

  With a groan, I eased myself out of his embrace. “Wish you had superpowers that would bring me food without you having to get up.”

  “That wouldn’t be very fair to the rest of the world, now would it?”

  “What?”

  “Me having magic powers in addition to being handsome, a good songwriter, a wicked guitar player and amazing in bed.”

  Laughter bubbled up. “You’ve got a point.” My stomach rumbled again, demanding to be filled. “If only I could survive on love alone.”

  “I’ll be fast. Believe me, I don’t want to waste any of our time being away from you.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed, the muscles in his back bunching as he leaned over to grab his jeans from the floor. If only I could capture the power and grace of it. Maybe in clay I could. All thought flew out of my head when he stood and slid the denim up over his naked butt. My mouth ran dry, and my breathing picked up.

  Dawson turned, and no doubt read the lust written all over my face. With a smirk, he ran down the stairs. I eased off the bed and padded in the direction of what I hoped was the bathroom. I pushed open a door and peered inside. Jackpot. Immediately to the right of the doorway was a small sink with a door next to it. The tile was cool beneath my feet when I opened that door. The overhead light slowly illuminated a toilet.

  When I finished up, I washed my hands and went back to bed to wait for Dawson. As I passed my pile of discarded clothes, I rifled through them, unearthing my phone. I crawled back into bed, settling against the pile of pillows and drawing the sheet up under my armpits.

  My fingers made quick work of connecting to the hotel’s Wi-Fi and logging into my Facebook account. I posted a simple, but vague status. “Blissed out and in love overseas.” I declined the option of tagging my location. With Lyrical Odyssey’s contract being seventy-five percent over, I didn’t want to make the record label execs mad at Dawson. Soon enough, the world could know that he was mine and I was his.

  While I waited for him, I scrolled through my newsfeed. After looking at the most recent happenings of my friends, I checked the trending stories. After a few moments, a headline jumped out at me. I stopped scrolling and clicked to read more.

  Members of LO hit up Red Light District

  In between shows, members of the hit rock band Lyrical Odyssey were found enjoying themselves in Amsterdam’s Red-Light District. The area provides easy access to all things that go hand in hand with rock ‘n roll: sex and drugs. As seen in the photos below, the members enjoyed a performance while partying with a few fans.

  Noticeably absent from the party was LO’s lead singer, Dawson Anderson. Perhaps he was attending a private party of his own. Or maybe the rumblings that the band’s PR people have denied for over a year are in fact true and Dawson Anderson is off the market.

  Light steps on glass pulled my attention from my phone. I set my phone to the side as Dawson came into view. Balanced on my suitcase was a tray of food. Tucked under his arm was a bottle of Mt. Dew.

  “Figured you wouldn’t want to wait for coffee.” He set his burden down on the lounge. Leaving my bag, he brought the tray over and settled it over my lap.

  “You figured right. Besides that has got enough pick-me-up in it.” I pointed to the bottle of Mt. Dew. Holding up the cups of ice, I waited while he filled them with lime-green heaven.

  Sounds of satisfaction filled the room as we both took a sip of the cool refreshment. Using a knife, Dawson cut us each a piece of what looked like cake and slathered butter on each slice.

  “What’s this called?” I asked as I broke off a bite with my fingers. The bite of ginger filled my nostrils as I brought the thick, spongy bit to my mouth.

  “I’m going to butcher the pronunciation, but it’s called ontbijtkoek. It means breakfast cake.”

  “Mmm,” I moaned and tried to catch the crumbs falling from my fingers. “It’s so good.”

  “I know we kind of slept through breakfast, but it’s the first meal of our day.” Dawson tilted toward me and licked my lips. “You had some crumbs.”

  I giggled and ate another bite and another until it was all gone. After licking the sweet butter from my fingers, I sighed in satisfaction. “Thanks for breakfast, baby.” I beamed at him.

  “Anything for you.” He moved the tray off the bed. Picking up my phone, he handed it back to me, so it wouldn’t get lost in the covers. “Anything interesting going on back home?”

  “No. I was actually reading about the guys. Seems they caught the attention of some journalist last night while they were out and about. The band is trending this morning.”

  “Wow. One night out in the Red-Light District and the paps already found them. What did the article say?”

  I pulled it back up on the screen and handed it over for him to see for himself.

  “Humph,” he muttered as he set the phone on the nightstand. “It’s actually not as scandalous as I expected. I mean they were at a sex show. Those photos are pretty tame.”

  “You’re right. No naked photos or disorderly conduct. Maybe the boys are growing up,” I teased. “I’ll make sure to get some grownup photos of them for your fan pages in addition to the show pictures the label wants.”

  “Maybe they are growing up. So, what did you want to do today?”

  “Besides you?” I joked.

  “Hey, that’s my line.” His fingers tickled my ribs.

  “Stop,” I squealed, thrashing around in bed trying to escape his wiggling fingers. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

  “I’ll rub one off on you.” His brows waggled at me, making me giggle again.

  “Later. My muscles need to recoup.”

  “I was thinking while you were here, we’d go see some of the sights, so you could get some sketching done. And we’d hit up a canal dinner cruise. Maybe go to a club for some dancing. But first, I recognized that look on your face earlier. The one that you always get when an idea for a masterpiece is swirling around in
your mind. So, I think you need to spend some time feeding your muse.”

  I launched myself at him, throwing my arms around his bare shoulders. “You know me so well. I actually have a couple of things clawing to get out of my brain. And I need to blog a little too while I’m here. Boost my readership to make the advertisers happy. But creating comes first.”

  I ran my index finger round and round the ink encircling his thumb, letting the idea for the color of love piece I wanted to create marinate in my mind.

  “You going to create while I create?” It was something we’d done countless times before—me creating art for the eyes and him composing art for the ears.

  “Of course. I’ve been without my muse in the flesh for too long. Got to take advantage of it while you’re here.”

  ♪ “You’re the Inspiration” by Chicago

  “Let’s get to work then.” I scooted off the bed and moved to my bag. Unzipping the large section, I found my camera, sketchpad and pencil case. From the small pocket on the front of my bag, I removed my toiletries. “But first, I have got to brush my teeth and my hair.” I held up the pouch.

  “Come here.” He sat near the edge of the bed and patted the space between his thighs. Unable to resist the pleading look on his face, I eagerly obliged. My naked butt pressed against his jean-clad crotch. The rough ridges of the denim brushed against the soft skin of my legs as I settled into place.

  “I’ll brush your hair,” he offered taking my zippered pouch from me and finding my brush. I fell in love with him a little more in that instant.

  One hand dragged the bristles through my long rainbow-colored locks, while the other trailed it, smoothing my tresses. After he’d eliminated all the tangles, he continued to brush a little longer. “Your hair is so soft.”

  Shifting my hair to one shoulder, he peppered kisses on the bare shoulder. Then he slid us to the edge of the bed and stood us up gracefully. “You’d better go before my good intentions of letting you draw get thrown out the window.”

  “Yes, sir.” I moved to the bathroom, making sure to sway my hips as I went. Once in there, I banished my morning breath with a dollop of minty paste on my toothbrush. As I dropped my toothbrush back in my bag, I caught a glimpse of a flat, plastic rectangle. My stomach plummeted. I popped the lid open. Counted pills and empty spots.

  “Baby, what day is it?” there was an edge of panic in my voice.

  “Umm. I’m not sure. Let me check my phone.”

  While he looked for his phone, I walked back into the bedroom with the container clutched in my hand.

  “Ah-ha.” He held up his phone. Tinkling music floated in the air from his phone as he swiped his screen awake. “It’s Tuesday afternoon. Why?”

  Silently, I held up the container of pills.

  “Your birth control?” Confusion made his brow wrinkle.

  “Yeah. In the excitement of packing, leaving home and getting here…” I looked at the floor, wishing it would swallow me up. He’d trusted me to be responsible with this aspect of our relationship and I’d failed. “I forgot to take some of my pills. I’m sorry.”

  “Is that what has you looking so sad?” His head cocked to the side as he tried to figure out what was troubling me.

  “I’ve never forgotten before. Not in seven years,” I whispered. How could I be so irresponsible?

  I sank to the foot of the bed. He pulled me into his arms. “How many did you forget?” The words were spoken against the crown of my head.

  “Well I took Saturday’s. So, I forgot Sunday, Monday and today.” I was thankful my back was to him. I couldn’t meet his gaze right now.

  “What does that mean? You have to double up or something?”

  “Yes. And it means we really should’ve used a condom.” Finally, I turned my head and met his eyes to emphasize the seriousness of the situation.

  “Oh.” He shifted my body, so I was stretched across his lap. “We should’ve used several condoms. I mean, we made love…” He ticked each round off on his fingers. “I’m not even sure how many times we did it in the middle of the night. Izzy, I’m so sorry. I should’ve thought to remind you.” His face fell.

  I covered his mouth with my fingers, halting his apology and hoping to stifle his guilt. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s not yours either.” He cupped my cheek lovingly.

  “What are we going to do? You planted a lot of seeds in me,” I tried to joke and lighten the mood.

  “You mean if you get pregnant?” he asked in a calm voice.

  Words wouldn’t come, so I just nodded. The thought terrified me. We were young. My career hadn’t really taken off yet. I still had a class or two I wanted to take. And Dawson and I were rarely in the same country, let alone the same house.

  “What do most people in love do when they find out they’re having a baby together?” He paused and kissed my lips. “They celebrate.”

  Convinced I’d heard him wrong, I stared at his face. “What?”

  “We would celebrate. We’d get married and start planning our forever.”

  “You want kids?” Probably a conversation we should’ve had before we ever had sex the first time.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a dad. Having a family with you would be a dream come true. How about you? Do you want children?” His face lit with an internal light.

  Tears filled my eyes. His thumbs swiped them away when they spilled over my lids. “Ever since I was a little girl, I imagined being a mom. Of course, I figured I’d be a world-famous artist and done with college before it happened. But I’m flexible.”

  “And when you’ve thought about the father of your children, who have you pictured?” his voice held a note of uncertainty, and his eyes were focused on where his finger traced the tattooed ring on my thumb matching his.

  “Ever since you moved in next door to me when we were six years old, you’ve been the daddy in my daydreams.”

  He breathed out a sigh of relief. “It’s settled then. If you, no, we do wind up pregnant at any point, we’ll be in it together. You’ll start planning a mural for the nursery, and I’ll start composing lullabies. And in the meantime, we won’t worry about our future babies until they’re on the way. Deal?”

  “Deal.” And we sealed it with a kiss. With strong arms, he set me on my feet. He slipped his discarded t-shirt over my head, then pulled my hair out from under it, sending shivers over me.

  “Now, go make your masterpiece.” He swatted me on the butt.

  Before I immersed myself in trying to capture the sparkling fireworks of color I’d envisioned earlier, I needed to clear my head. So, I picked up my camera and moved around the room taking photos of the flowers Dawson had gotten for me, symbols of our relationship. The lens didn’t quite do them justice, but I had to preserve their beauty. Who knew if they’d hold up for the rest of my trip or if customs would even let me bring them home with me?

  From the corner of the room, Dawson watched me with his guitar across his lap. He idly strummed. His eyes were filled with love.

  I settled in the chair, drawing my knees up in the seat, so I could prop my sketch pad against them.

  “Damn,” Dawson growled from across the room.

  Puzzled, I looked up. “Everything OK, baby?”

  “Is everything OK? No, everything’s not OK. You’re about to get lost in sketching. I’m supposed to be writing you a love song. And you’re perched in that chair with no panties on. How the hell am I supposed to concentrate or leave you alone to work?” his voice was ragged with need.

  “You want me to put more clothes on?”

  He sat there, chewing on the corner of his lip, thinking. “No. I’ll just have to suffer through it. But maybe I should take my pants off and even the playing field.”

  “Yes. I think you should.” I’d never turn down an opportunity to see his body. It was a masterpiece. All lean muscles stretched over hard lines. Shadows and contours. Perfection.

  Never one to back down from a
challenge, he set his guitar aside and got to his feet. The flaps of his jeans were already flared open where he’d never fastened them. He shimmied out of them, smirked at me, and picked his instrument back up.

  My blood heated but seeing that expanse of skin was extra fuel for the fire of creativity raging inside of me. Closing my eyes and drawing a deep breath, I brought the reflection of us making love earlier to the forefront of my mind. The pencil moved fluidly across the page. Long lines created a torso spread over rumpled sheets. Ripples of shadow added a sense of movement in muscle. More lines and curves hinted at shoulders, breasts and an abdomen perpendicular to the muscular frame on the bed. The bend of a leg and curve of a hip blocked the marriage of bodies only hinted at with the series of lines and pencil strokes.

  Digging through my pencil case, I found the perfect shades of blush pink, orchid, cornflower, mint and lemon. Messy, sweeping strokes with them generated a tangle of rainbow locks that somehow managed to look as if fingers had just been run through them or wound them around a fist. It was hot. Then I added streaks and swirls of color to the background, bursting like explosions of love between the two bodies. The sensual melody Dawson was composing was the perfect backdrop to my work.

  ♪ “When You Say Nothing at All” by Alison Kraus

  By the time I was satisfied, my fingers ached from gripping a pencil for so long. A glance out of the crack in the drapes revealed the sun had sunk below the horizon at some point while we worked. Standing, I stretched my arms over my head and rolled my neck to loosen it up. Before I could drop my arms, Dawson was across the room in ten strides. With gentle hands he took my sketch pad and pencil from me.

  “It’s not finished yet,” I protested as he turned the paper, so he could see it better.

  “Gosh, Izzy… Is this how you see us?” his question was a strangled whisper.

  Fear of his critique stole my voice. My head bobbed up and down. No matter how many times I created something, the first time anyone saw it, I was always nervous.