Tomorrow he’d be a sex god on stage. No, belay that. Tonight he’d be a sex god. Fuck tomorrow.
“You’re wrong. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need this. I tried for patience, to behave like a civilized person, but fuck, Cyn, whenever I look at you I want to get you naked.”
She chuckled shakily. “Me too.” She jerked her head up, stared at him, her gaze meeting his with a direct clash of awareness. “Do you think that’s all this is? Physical? Don’t get me wrong, I can deal with that.” She seemed relieved but he wasn’t about to let her off the hook.
He cupped her cheek. “Honestly? No, but I can handle that too. We’re already more, we always were. Friends, Cyn.”
Her body, slippery and hot now the water had come through, felt like all the women he’d ever had rolled into one. The woman. For him, she was. He leaned back and grabbed the soap, swiping his palms over his face to get rid of the worst of the makeup. He didn’t want to smear her. He’d joked about it but he wanted her like this, stripped of every artifice except the small diamond studs winking in the lobes of her ears. Open to him and then he wanted to open himself to her.
Urges he barely understood. His life had been a series of masks, donned for his own protection and for the convenience of others. The only people who knew him, really knew him, were the band and Chick. Even Cyn didn’t know the man he was now. Because she hadn’t been there. If she had he had no doubt she’d know him too.
Her skin felt like the finest silk, burnished to a sheen by the soapy water, smoother but living. He stroked her nipple with the tip of his finger, watched the delicate shell crinkle and harden. “Sweet,” he murmured, not knowing if she heard. It didn’t matter. She’d know from the expression on his face. With his makeup mostly gone he could hide nothing. Nor did he want to. He had nothing to hide from her, she understood him. “This is different.”
“To what? Frantic fucking in the back of my store?”
So that rankled, did it? “You wanted it as much as I did.”
“Yes.” She dropped her gaze to where he was tracing patterns on her. “I hated wanting it that desperately. I believed I had my life under control but the minute you walked back into it—I went wild for you.”
“Hey, we’ll get there.” He smiled. “Maybe not tonight. We’ll make sense of this. I won’t hurt you, Cyn, I swear.”
She touched her lip with her tongue. “I should be saying that to you. I didn’t turn up in Paris.”
She had a point but he didn’t give a flying fuck right now. He stroked her jaw, gently tilted it so the water rained on her. “We’ll talk about that later. Not now. Maybe we should forget the past and just reboot our lives.”
He knew and she knew they couldn’t. They’d drag their past along with them until they hashed it out, one way or another. He was dead-on about one thing though. Not now.
Enough talking. He’d gone past the edge of desperation, something he didn’t want to repeat. He’d take more care this time, needing to feel her response instead of sweeping her along with him.
He lifted her, bringing their faces level and tucked his hands under her ass. Lordy, she filled his hands to perfection. If he wiggled his fingers a little bit—oh so good—he touched her, felt her soft outer pussy lips and worked his way in, toward her opening. He groaned, a small sound deep in his throat.
Before he did anything else he wanted one thing clear. “How long does this hot water last?”
She chuckled. “Best feature of this apartment. As long as we want it to. We had a flood last year and the landlord had to put in one of those new boilers—”
He didn’t care. He had his answer. Now his fear of getting doused in ice had passed he could do what his body screamed at him to do without a time limit. He eased two fingers inside her and she gave a soft, feminine grunt of appreciation. “Nice. You have big hands.”
“Long fingers. The better to play you with.” He sent her a wolfish grin and she smiled up at him. She tipped her head back, resting it against the tiles behind her. They didn’t have much room but enough. His cock, sheathed and erect, only needed a supporting hand at the base. He held her with one hand and withdrew his fingers to spread his palm over her backside and support her when he lowered her.
Keeping it slow, he slid her onto him, impaled her so their bodies eased together, helped by a little of the sudsy water trickling between her ass cleavage. Cyn closed her eyes and gave an appreciative “Ah!” as he joined them. Then he moved his hands to her thighs and pushed her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in.
Deep, hot, wet, everything he wanted. “So fucking good. I could keep doing this all night.”
“Suits me.” She opened her eyes, gazed at him, the azure the color of the sky on a hot Italian day. He’d have to take her to ensure he was right. Her long blonde hair clung to her skin in damp tendrils, twists that resembled a Botticelli portrait. He’d heard all the women in the artist’s paintings were the same one, a woman who obsessed Botticelli, the woman of all women for him. Riku knew exactly how he felt.
Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. His life had been a series of disparate shapes, seemingly random, but recently they’d started to slot into their rightful positions. This was another one. Although “friend and lover” seemed the best label right now he wasn’t sure it might not turn into something else before they were done.
He withdrew, thrust and sensed every inch of her as her pussy clenched around his cock, gripping it in a group of flutters presaging her climax. He grinned at her, saw the need in her eyes. “Not yet, sweetheart. Wait awhile.”
“Wait? Are you kidding me?” She jiggled, trying to move him but he had control of this one. He pressed in, moving closer, crowding her against the wall and then kissed her. When he opened his lips over hers she responded so fucking well, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, doing her best to drive him frantic again.
He had to wonder why she wanted this so hard and fast and concluded that maybe she wanted it over with. Physical satisfaction without the connection he looked for. Another piece slotted in, but for him, the reason he preferred lovers in multiples, or quick, happy hook-ups with no lingering afters. Because he wanted afters with Cyn. Remembered them from their student days, lying in a bed together, laughing, sharing jokes and confidences in a relaxed way he’d never experienced with anybody else. In a way he’d never allowed with anyone else.
The hot sex didn’t hurt either.
She gripped his shoulders, her nails biting in and he moved against her, sank his cock as deep as he could get inside her. She sheathed him, her pussy walls surrounding him in a light hold. If he stayed here without moving he’d come just from being here.
Their kiss went on and on, exploring, tasting. She sucked gently on his tongue and he ground his body against hers, her nipples hard points against the muscles of his chest. Pretty, gorgeous peaks of flesh. He worked his shaft inside her, rotating his hips. She groaned into his mouth, the sound reverberating right down to his balls, currently tight and ready to go.
Oh yeah. He finished the kiss, touched his lips to her face, bent to her neck but couldn’t travel any lower as that meant bending and siding out of her. He straightened, withdrew and pushed in again, watching her eyes spark and her lids half close. “Do what you want, Cyn. Anything. Or I’ll do it all.”
“Mmm.” Pressing her shoulders against the tiled wall, she angled her body to give him greater access. He watched them, stared down at where they joined. Loved that she only kept a small tuft of hair there, so he could see more, her pretty clit peeking from between the protective lips of her labia. And lower still, his engorged and darkened cock drove into her pussy. He worked her, push in and felt her stiffen, cry out. She might not come this way, her sweet spot below his cock but not in direct contact with it on every stroke. He freed one hand from under her backside and found her clit, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
This time she cried louder, a single, fraug
ht sound, better music than any he’d heard all evening and he made the most of it. Her turn to call his name, groan her encouragement, as with deep, slow thrusts and increasingly harder rubbing and tugging he brought her to orgasm.
Her pussy clenched around him, the gentle movements transformed into hard, rapid convulsions and finally he let go. With a roar he tilted his head back, the hot water cascading around him, forcing him to close his eyes, the better to enjoy his complete release of all inhibitions.
They stood, or rather, he stood, his heart pounding stronger than the water stream, his breath ragged, while the sensations washed over him. Holding Cyn, supporting her, just improved the feeling.
She wriggled, her back squeaking against the tiles behind her. Laughing in sheer delight, he leaned forward to separate them and lower her gently to the floor of the shower. Leaning over him, her breasts grazing his chest, she switched off the water. “We’ll turn into prunes if we stay here much longer.”
“I don’t care.” But he did care about her. He swept the plastic curtain aside and found a couple of towels, handily placed outside the stall. He dried her, sweeping the towel across her body, plumping her breasts so he could dry the fold beneath. He loved that she had such pretty breasts, responding to his touch in a way that worked with it instead of against it. He made the mistake of telling her so.
“I did think of getting a boob job,” she said. “Would you want me if I did that?”
“Nothing would stop me wanting you.” He bent and kissed a nipple. They weren’t as hard as before but still tipped with delicious, rose-pink beads of flesh. He rolled one against his tongue then did the other to match. Nice and hard.
He’d already removed the condom. After he ensured every part of her was dry he dragged the cloth over his own body, scrubbing himself clean with none of the care he’d used with her. Only haste. “So can we go to bed now?”
He’d never seen a bedroom as small as this one before. The divan, a double, barely fitted and the closet, accessed by a narrow strip of floor barely six inches wide, had a sliding door. One of those concertina ones, a grubby white. However, the sheets were fine high-count cotton that slid silkily against his skin as he settled next to her. He drew her close and kissed her, contentment washing through him. “I don’t want to cast aspersions on your closet,” he murmured, “but I’d really like to spread out a bit sometime. Come to my apartment next?”
“So there’ll be a next?” She mumbled the words, her face against his chest. He stroked his hand over her still-wet hair. He’d rubbed it towel-dry and it fluffed in a cute way, totally unlike her usual sleek style. She had wavy hair and took satisfaction from knowing only he saw her this way. Right now.
“Sure there’ll be a next. And one after if I have anything to do with it.” He touched her chin, tilting it so she gazed at him, could see his sincerity. “I want you all to myself.” He let his mouth relax into a crooked one-sided grin. “I’m not usually so possessive and if you say no, I want you anyway. But I’ll promise you exclusivity in return.”
“You never did that before.”
No, he never had. Not with anyone except her. He hadn’t felt he could do that before, while other women appealed to him so strongly. This time he only wanted her. “It’s different. We’re friends. We were exclusive before, remember?”
“Nearly.” She tucked her chin down but he wouldn’t let her, brought it back up again. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
“Kind of.” A threesome with his roommate. He could hardly recall what the guy looked like. He’d had plenty of ménages since but usually with more females to males, since his tastes ran in that direction. But that was his first. A limited success because while he usually relished watching a woman enjoying herself, even one he was involved with, for some reason he’d hated it with Cyn. His heart warmed at her words with a possessive streak that half scared him, half fascinated him. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why ‘kind of’?”
She shook her head slightly. “I guess I’m a prude.”
He laughed, holding her tight. “Not a word I’d associate with you. Ever. Admit it, Cyn. You didn’t enjoy sharing me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And I didn’t enjoy sharing you. So we won’t, okay?”
“Sure.”
A sense of lightness invaded his body. Another point fought for and won. He didn’t want anybody near her while he was by. The intensity of his feelings shocked him, sent a new feeling of rightness through him.
He kissed her and she kissed him right back, sweet now their initial need had gone. They could fuck with the finesse and care he sometimes brought to the act when the mood took him, as it did now.
He let his hair, currently cut in a straight bob to a breath below his jaw, trail across her skin as he nuzzled down her throat. He touched the cord at the base with his lips before gently suckling the hollow in front. She made a sound he felt rather than heard, watched the vibrations before moving on to her breasts. He loved her breasts. Not big, not small, just right. Who said ‘anything bigger than a handful is a waste’? Whoever it was, Riku tended to agree. He couldn’t quite hold them completely in his hands, giving him a sense of luscious abundance. Firm but not rigid, he caressed them, enjoying the softness and took his time before he kissed them, keeping his movements gentle but determined.
“You’re a breast man?”
“And a leg man and a waist man and a navel man.” He went farther down, dipping his tongue into the part in question then kissing the skin inside her hipbones. She squirmed and he laughed, sheer delight infusing him.
“You remembered,” she said breathlessly.
“That you’re very sensitive there? Yeah.” He’d remembered that part a lot. Her voice sounded more musical, almost singing, a husky tone adding an edge to her vocals. “Have you practiced?”
“What?” She sounded startled, as if she thought he meant something else.
“Singing. Do you still sing?”
A pause, a telling one. He didn’t know if she was wondering if she should tell him the truth, or if she had to think about her answer. “I do occasionally but not opera. Folk sometimes, English folk. And jazz. Classics or whatever I’ve heard on the radio. Just because I gave up my career doesn’t mean I have to give up the enjoyment I get when I sing.”
He detected a wistful note. He was always good at interpreting the meaning behind words, because of his highly trained musical ear, he guessed.
Enough. The scent of her wreathed him, maddening him into taking hasty action. He reined back the urge to dive in and teased her instead, kissing down the line between her navel and pubic bone. Taking his time, reacquainting his mouth with her body. He licked her, allowing the tip of his tongue to graze her clit. With a short “Ah!” she arched.
“Sing to me now,” he commanded. “If you do I’ll eat you out until you’re screaming.” He looked forward to it. Immensely. Curiosity took him. Did she still possess that glorious voice? Even if it hadn’t pleased her teachers it had delighted him. It still baffled him that they hadn’t grabbed her while they had her.
Their business but he wasn’t there for the aftermath. He was here now.
She sang. At first her voice quavered but he heard when she opened her throat and then the sound soared. She launched into an old tune, something he vaguely recognized from their time before. She’d always enjoyed folk music. A pretty, joyful melody, a song of celebration.
Entirely appropriate.
Enraptured he fell on her, took what he’d denied himself and sucked her clit fully into his mouth. He imitated the regular rhythms of lovemaking, sucking and releasing, working her until the little pearl stiffened and jutted out. That gave him the liberty of increasing his fierce attack on her until she caught her breath, the melody halting with a suddenness that left it echoing around the small room.
Immediately he halted. “Keep going.”
She moaned his name, clutched his hair. He kn
ew what he’d done, stopped as she was about to come but he wanted this and he’d ensure she did it. “Sing,” he commanded.
Again the sound rolled over his head, and he went back to his task. This time she lost the words but kept the tune, the tune sending him soaring with giddy delight. He pushed two fingers deep inside her pussy and sucked her clit as she clenched his hair and came and came.
Never, ever had he felt anything like the joy of that moment, her voice ringing in his ears, her body subservient to him. Whatever happened next, he wouldn’t forget this. It would remain with him until the day he died.
She was trembling when he disentangled himself and returned to her. He didn’t care if he orgasmed or not. Could the mind climax? He thought so.
The sight of a small package on the little shelf by the bed took his interest. He grabbed the packet and gazed down at her, loving her total openness. “I’m yours,” she murmured. “That was amazing.”
“Spectacular,” he agreed. “Is that enough?”
She shook her head, her hair clinging to the pillow in golden threads. “No. Fuck me, Riku.”
He gave her a gentle kiss and kept his lips nuzzling hers as he said, “I’ll make love to you if you want.” That was what he felt like. “But you have to sing.”
He’d take the possible deafening, because her voice wasn’t a paltry instrument. He wanted her singing more.
“Any requests?” She threaded her fingers through his hair, smiling gently in post-climax euphoria. He shook his head and took his attention away for the brief moment he needed to sheathe himself.
“Whatever you feel like.”
He entered her to the sound of her song. This time he didn’t know the tune. It had the folk vibe but with something else added, a touch of classical. It shouldn’t work but it did. The husky edge he’d noticed earlier returned to frame the sounds. Without it, the song wouldn’t sound right. She sang about sitting in a window seat with a book, waiting for the person who was tormenting her thoughts, so much that she couldn’t concentrate on her story. Bits and pieces interspersed her thoughts.
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