by Nora Flite
Pleasure welled up in a rush. It was hot and heavy, my weight settling on his fingers while he pet my clit. Fuck, I was close. The approach of my release brought sweat down my spine, juices down my thighs. My jeans were ruined, and I did. Not. Fucking. Care.
“Ah!” I knew the orgasm was inevitable, but my body still shook wildly, like it wasn’t prepared for the delightful tingles. His fingers found their way inside of me. The thin panties couldn’t block him out. I came hard, clenching around his knuckles, all while he pressed himself against me. He was more solid than the wall at my back.
“Good, so good,” he whispered. I was soft in the middle; he held me up, one of his powerful legs gliding between mine. The shape of his erection ground hard on my jeans.
I went to reach down. Bach pushed my hands above my head with one of his—the one not buried in my cunt. “Take my pants off,” I begged. “I want to fuck you. Please, I’m dying here.”
“Dying?” he chuckled wickedly. “I’ll help you get naked, you don’t have to ask me twice. But are you okay with me taking my fingers out of your sweet pussy?” He crooked his fingers for emphasis.
Groaning thickly, I wriggled my hips. “It’s fine, hurry up!”
He laughed harder that time. “Yes, Ma’am.” His hands let go of me at both ends. I was depressingly empty, but I knew the sooner my jeans were off, I’d get something even better.
Bach tugged my pants over my thighs, helping me step out of them. I had to kick my shoes off before the jeans got stuck around my ankles. Grinning, I balanced myself on his shoulders. He caught my eye as he crouched, my jeans bundled in his arms. “You look hyper,” he said.
“Hyper?” I giggled.
“Yeah, like you just ate a pound of candy. Or took drugs. Are you on something, Amina?”
Cupping his cheeks, I gave him a lingering kiss. “You make me feel like I’m high. Blame yourself if I start acting silly.”
I tasted his teeth as he smirked to full capacity. Bach balled my jeans up, ready to toss them aside. Before he could, my wallet toppled out of the pocket. He glanced down at the mess; I pushed my nails into his hair. “Leave it,” I insisted. “I’ll get it after.” What was the point in trying to be organized when we were about to throw more of our clothes off?
Bach had stopped kissing me. He was staring down at the floor, his attention fading from me. Confused, I let go of him and backed up. “Bach?”
He didn’t pick up my wallet or my jeans. He picked up something that turned my heart’s core into solid ice. “Why the hell do you have this?” he asked, staring at me like I’d just stabbed him in the back. In his hands was a red rectangle with rounded corners.
Sherman’s business card.
- Chapter Twenty-One -
Bach
I was dizzy from whiplash. The moment had gone from amazing to horrifying.
Amina was staring at me—had she gotten paler? I tried not to worry about how she was feeling. I couldn’t spare any energy for that until I understood why. Why did she have this?
Holding the card higher brought my hand closer to my face. It still smelled like her, of how much fun we’d been having seconds ago. “Amina,” I said, turning the card over. It was only frail paper, why did it feel like it was dragging me down to Hell? “Answer me.”
“Bach, please, it’s not what it looks like.”
“No?” A ripple of acid burned through my veins. “Because it looks like you’ve been talking to my biggest rival behind my back. What happened, did he promise you glory? Platinum record success?”
Amina swung her head violently. Her eyes locked on me, appealing to my sanity, but I was having none of it. “That’s not it. Sherman ran into me when I was out shopping.”
“Oh, good. I give you transportation and a line of credit, and you use those to arrange a meeting with another record company.”
“No! I’d never do that!”
Throwing the card to the floor, I snatched up her pants and chucked them at her. She caught them in shock. “Get dressed.”
“What?”
“Put your clothes on, then get out of here. I’m not going to let you use me to practice your music before you run off with Sherman.”
She wasn’t pale anymore, she was burning red. “Asshole.”
Barking a bitter laugh, I crossed my arms. “Sure, I’m the asshole here.”
She hugged her jeans tight. Then, with obvious frustration, she started shoving her feet into the legs and yanking them up her soft hips. Hips that I adored, and now struggled to ignore as I kept myself cold and quiet. “You’re an idiot,” she said under her breath. When I didn’t respond, she glared at me. “A real giant idiot. How could you think I was planning to abandon you for someone else?”
“People always pick what’s best for them.”
Her eyes flashed. “Do you think he’s best for me?”
That caught me off guard. “Maybe. If you believe Sherman, and everyone else in this miserable city, my company is dead. A smart, talented singer like you wouldn’t choose a risk like me when you had a solid bet like Sherman Proud.”
“He said you were selfish,” she growled. “But he didn’t warn me that you were blind, too.”
My arms loosened on my chest. “What are you talking about?”
She strode out of the booth and to the studio door. I tensed up as the reality of her exiting my life finally hit me. She glared at me over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to listen to me? A second ago, it sounded like you’d made up your mind that I was some blood-sucking, fame-hungry monster.”
“I’m just...” Running my hands over my hair, I let out a tired groan. “People are abandoning me left and right, Amina. Why else would you have his card if you weren’t at least considering working with him?”
“He said a lot of things about you. Made me worry you were using me to attract the kind of musicians you really wanted. And then when all those girls showed up to audition, and you and Violet weren’t letting me record anything, I thought Sherman was right.”
Pain curdled in my stomach; I clenched my hands, unsure what to do with this wave of anger. This sense of... regret. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you. At all. If anything, you were ignoring me.”
“I know. I wanted a smooth work environment, Bach. I was terrified if you got me alone we’d end up—”
“Like this,” I mumbled, remembering how good her lips tasted.
She blushed as she met my stare. “I’m a little pissed at you, and a lot at myself. I was probably being really confusing. I’m sorry, I really am.” She came back into the booth. “I shouldn’t have taken his card. I regretted it the second I did it. I swear, I wasn’t going to call him. Especially not after all of this.” She gestured at the mic, at my book of songs on the floor. “I don’t want to work with anyone else, Bach. Not even if it’s ‘best for me.’”
I took a steadying breath. “He really called me selfish?”
“He was definitely trying to paint you in a bad light. He also said... that you never believed in your own father.”
The muscles in my neck ached from how tight they became.
“Bach,” she said gently. “It’s not true, right?” She stood in front of me, her hands twitching at her sides. She wanted to comfort me but was unsure how to.
Reaching down, I linked our fingers together, but I didn’t look at her face. I couldn’t while I told this story. “I wasn't born as one of the ‘angels’ in this city. I grew up in a tiny corner of Connecticut. The whole area was rough, it shaped me into a young man who knew better than to dream. But my father, god. All he talked about was dreaming. He'd sit in our little one-bedroom apartment, practicing music, tuning his guitar — not paying the electricity so we'd be sitting in the dark.”
I didn’t have to shut my eyes to see him strumming at the kitchen table as the single streetlight outside illuminated him. It was a memory that burned bright.
“I told him constantly that he was a fool,” I said, my voice stony.
“He'd tell me, ‘You are who you are in your soul, even if no one else sees it.’ Bullshit, right?” I lifted my eyes to hers, saw they were gleaming with emotion, and looked away quickly. “But sometimes... when I caught him sitting outside, looking at the stars, singing to himself... I almost believed he could make it big. Then, when I was nine, my father got his demo into the right hands.”
“Sherman,” she whispered.
I nodded sharply. “Overnight our lives changed. He became a star. All of that success, and he never once rubbed it in.”
“Never rubbed what in?”
It hurt to smile, but I did it anyway. “That I'd been wrong about him. That dreams could happen.” I stared at my book on the floor. “We were never close. I went from being angry at him as a kid, to barely seeing him as a teen. I became a shithead with money. I'd get into fights; my dad would pay people off. He had publicists chasing me all over. I still didn't care, why did my image matter? I know you saw all those articles online tearing me down.”
When she said nothing, I turned back towards her. Amina had her arms wrapped around her body, like she was trying to hold herself together, or protect herself. “Yes. I looked your name up before I got on the plane.”
“And you still came?” I asked cynically. “Five years ago, at my lowest point, Violet dragged me from the basement of some gambling ring in Vegas where I'd lost six days of my life and over one hundred grand. I thought she was there to shame me... knock sense into me... but she wasn't. She'd come to tell me my dad needed to see me. I knew it right away. It was all over her face... she couldn’t hide the pain, or her sympathy. Dad was dying.”
Amina had gone pale again. “Bone cancer.”
“Guess you read about that, too.” Inclining my head, I sighed into my fist. “He couldn't teach me how to keep his empire, his dream, from falling apart. There was no time for any of that. Honestly, a lifetime wouldn't have been enough. None of this,” I gestured wildly at the studio around me, “is who I am. He said it, you know? ‘You are who you are in your soul.’ He was a musician and it took years for someone to notice. Me? I'm a fuck-up, and the whole world's been aware of that since I was born.”
Her eyes shimmered, pupils so tiny they vanished in her clear-gray irises. Tiny leaves on a rain-flooded pond. I was ready, eager, to drown in them. “You’re not a fuck-up.”
“Don’t waste your time trying to soothe my ego.”
The lines by her lips deepened. “If you’re stumbling along, messing everything up, then what am I? Another mistake?”
My breath caught in my throat. “Of course not.”
“You said I had the most amazing voice you’d ever heard. You’re the one who brought me here, the one who made it possible for me to record my music. If that’s the only thing you didn’t fuck-up, it still counts.”
I noticed how tall she was standing. A young woman challenging me to say she wasn’t worth all my effort. Of course she was; she was talented through and through. But she’d misunderstood me the way I’d misunderstood her. I needed to make it clear so that didn’t happen again. “Amina,” I said, pulling her against me. I loved how she sucked in a sharp breath. “When you asked if you were a mistake, and I said no, I wasn’t talking about how you fit into my company.” I set my chin on top of her head. “Us, right here, right now? This is no mistake.”
Amina was quiet. Suddenly she pulled away, leaving me unsteady... nervous. “You want to know why I got weird when you tried talking dirty to me our first time together?” Tears welled in her eyes; she fought them back. “Those exes you told me you're better than? One of them used to guilt me about it.”
A ripple of anger made me clench my fists. “He what?”
“I opened up my heart to him... told him my secrets, the things I liked, and he twisted them around and used them against me. He said I was a slut, and he meant it. He refused to eat my pussy because he was sure I was sleeping around, and he didn’t want another guy’s jizz in his mouth.”
“That piece of shit,” I seethed.
Her face screwed up as the tears finally glided down her cheeks. “He made me ashamed for ever liking sex, for wanting it, for even thinking about it. He gaslit me every single day, telling me I was crazy for suspecting he was seeing anyone else, that I only thought that way because I was the unfaithful one. If I hadn’t caught him in the act... I think... I might have stayed in that relationship. Isn’t that pathetic?”
I was too angry to speak. Drawing her in, I hugged her like I could crush all the shame from her. I hated the idea of her feeling anything about herself but pride. “Nothing about you is pathetic,” I whispered into her scalp. “I wish I could have half the courage that you do, Amina.”
She struggled out of my arms; not to flee, but so she could kiss me. Her palms fit onto my cheeks as if they were designed to be there. This woman was beautiful, talented, brave—
and all mine.
Crouching, she scooped up something from the floor. I saw the garish red of Sherman’s business card. She held it up between us, making sure I saw.
With a beautiful smile on her lips, she tore the card in half.
- Chapter Twenty-Two -
Amina
One week was all it took for me to record seven songs for my debut album.
Violet was so busy with the new singers that she’d managed to convince Bach to sign to his label that she had no idea what I was doing until we pulled her into the recording studio, set her down, and pressed play on my track.
She listened to the whole thing without saying a word. Her palm covered her mouth; I couldn’t tell if she was frowning or smiling. I don’t think she even blinked. When it was over, she looked me directly in the eye and asked, “Are you even human?”
I’d laughed and laughed and laughed. Then she’d scolded Bach for letting me work so hard, while praising me for doing the same. That was how I ended up agreeing to this silly wrap party for an album that no one else had heard yet.
Violet rented the entire top floor of a swanky restaurant in downtown LA called the Cloud Bar. It was nice to be celebrating, but I wasn’t expecting so many people. Staring at the crowd, I partially hid behind Violet as she led me onto the roof. “Who did you invite?” I hissed in her ear.
Violet pointed to a group. “That’s Mina Minx, one of our new singers. Oh, and that’s Delarize Shawn, she’s head of marketing for Video Parade. And that’s Sammy Tito, runs a hot music blog.” She must have seen the anxiety in my face, because she squared off with me, grabbing my shoulders. “Relax. You aren’t going to be quizzed on this, just grab a drink and have fun.”
I’d have more fun back at the house soaking in the pool. Especially if Bach wore one of his super tight swim trunks. I scanned the busy crowd once more. Bach hadn’t driven with us because he’d needed to finish a meeting with one of the agents beating down his door.
Violet pursed her lips. “He’ll be here soon.”
“Oh,” I blurted, going pink. “I’m not—I don’t know who you mean.”
Rolling her eyes, she nudged me towards the bar. “I’ll pretend you’re not salivating for Bach’s presence if you go and get a damn drink.”
“You’re not mad?”
“How can I be? The album you two finished together is astounding.” She started to say something, then sighed. “Whatever my feelings on Bach mixing work and play, it’s obvious you both are making this...” she waved her hands, like this was the only word for what Bach and I had, “...work.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot.”
“Thinking about him makes you smile.” I bit my lip to try and control it, now that she’d pointed it out. “Use that good vibe to mingle. These people are your people. You’re going to see a lot of them, and events like these, once your debut launches.”
Feeling better, I headed towards the brightly lit bar. My kitten heels tapped on the hard floor, but the buzz of conversation muffled the noise. I’d almost worn flats, but on a lark, decided to try to rec
reate the feel of dressing up for the gala. I wasn’t able to doll myself up with the same eye Alexis had, but I was still proud of my efforts.
Adjusting my tight white cocktail dress, I sat on a stool. The bartender caught my eye and hurried over. “What can I get you?”
“Something that doesn’t taste like alcohol,” I said.
He snapped his fingers, then quickly mixed some ingredients in a metal shaker. I marveled at how he flipped the glass, performing for the people who were gathered nearby. He lifted his arms over his head, filling a high-ball glass from several feet above.
“Wow,” I laughed. “Impressive. What do I owe you?”
He made a face. “Not a cent. Open bar. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“No, but I won’t complain.” I took the drink from him.
He wiped the bar top down as he winked at me. “These big parties run by bigwigs are always open. That’s half the reason people even come.”
My mood deflated a hair. “You don’t say.”
“Sure. I mean, the majority of people here don’t know what the event’s for.”
I sat a bit taller on the stool. “Do you know?”
“Not a clue.” He said it with a giant grin, like he was proud to be clueless. “I do hundreds of these. That’s life out here in LA, having fun with strangers.”
He has no clue this is my wrap party. He has no clue who I am. It was like reliving the day Korine dropped me at the airport. Only this time, I did expect people would know who I was. Was it arrogant? Was I getting an ego?
I drank deep from my glass. “This is delicious. Thanks.” He waved me off, busying himself with other guests. I was already forgotten.
Weaving through the crowd, I ended up hitting a dead-end: the edge of the roof. Below, the tall, brightly lit buildings of downtown LA glittered. Was that guy right? Was this whole city full of fakes? Did anyone here know my name?
“Hey, there she is, the woman of the evening.” I looked up and saw Roshio approaching. His hair was the same spiky blue and orange, but he’d done something to it. “Glitter,” he said, noticing how I was squinting. He fluffed his hair laughed. “I like to spice it up for parties. It looks great in the right lighting.”