Drumline
Page 15
“I’ve missed you, Reese.” His voice was rough and deep, quieter than before. “And I want to apologize again for fucking up last Saturday.”
I straightened cautiously, knowing I needed to choose my words with care. He’d moved again, so close I could touch him or he could touch me if one of us reached out the slightest bit. “Look, Laird, maybe it’s a good thing we’ve been busy. That we’ve been forced to slow down the last few days. Because the way things were headed…”
I trailed off at the blazing heat in his gaze as it slid down my body. It screamed the opposite of slow.
“Yeah. About that.” And then his lips covered mine in a hungry swoop, one palm cradling my neck while the other supported the small of my back. I responded immediately, no pretense, no trying to push him away. My mouth clung to his as he tasted me urgently, his lips searching for the best angle to claim me.
I sighed into his mouth, and he took swift advantage of the opportunity, his tongue slipping in to tangle hotly with mine. My hands, still holding the drumsticks, fisted the cotton of his shirt for balance as the force of his kiss arched my back over his arm. Because of my height, most guys in my past hadn’t been able to manipulate my body this easily, but with Laird, I felt small and delicate in the best way possible. Like there was no safer place than his arms because he’d never let me fall. I melted against him, answering each slide of his lips, each parry of his tongue with one of my own.
He moved us deeper into the room as he devoured my mouth, until we were tucked away behind the large floor to ceiling cabinets in the far corner, my back against the cool, painted concrete-block wall. His hand slid around the front of my neck, dropping lower until his thumb toyed with my hard nipple. I trembled beneath his teasing touch.
“Tell me you don’t want this.” Hot breath fanned over my cheek. “Tell me your heart isn’t racing as fast as mine.”
His hand shifted until the flutter of my pulse against his palm was unmistakable. He tugged one of my arms from around his waist, pried my drumsticks free, and pressed my shaking hand to his chest, where his heart pounded the same rapid tempo as mine.
“Tell me to stop,” he dared me.
I couldn’t. I was drowning in the incandescence of his hungry eyes, the heat of his embrace, the intensity of his blunt words. He caged me between the wood cabinets and the unforgiving wall, but I didn’t feel trapped. I felt alive, bright and shiny and ripe in the way only Laird Bronson could evoke. I drew my hands down his chest and slipped my fingers under the edge of his shirt, needing to ground myself with his solidness.
“Laird,” I breathed.
And that was all it took. His name. His eyes blazed and his mouth captured mine in a fiery kiss, while the hand holding the drumsticks lowered until I felt the gentle pressure of solid wood nudging between my thighs. With only a thin pair of shorts and my damp panties blocking him, the soft friction he started as he slid the sticks back and forth had me grinding against him, wanting more of his sweet brand of torture.
“I’ve got you, Reese.” He spoke against my jaw, his mouth nibbling a path to my ear and then down my neck. He nipped the sensitive skin and I shuddered, my nails digging into his muscled back. Laird braced himself with his free hand against the wall, while the other continued the onslaught between my legs. He used the unevenness of the drumstick heads to rub circles around my clit with a teasing lightness that drove me wild. Pleasure began to coil slowly, my breath escaping in jagged puffs as it built.
I pushed my face into his shoulder to muffle my soft cry while my hips rocked in counterpoint to his strokes, seeking more pressure. One of my hands dipped between us, cupping his hardness through his gym shorts. He throbbed as my grip traveled to the base of his dick and squeezed.
Two could play this game.
He growled and sucked the tender flesh on the side of my neck, using the edge of his teeth to scrape my skin. The hand holding the drumsticks moved faster but not harder. I bent my knees, trying to force the issue, and matched his technique, stroking him quickly but softly.
The drumsticks fell to the floor with a dull clatter on the cheap carpet, and his thick fingers replaced the lifeless wood. “I love how greedy you are.” His lips tickled my ear as he whispered the words. I slid my hand along his forearm, reveling in the way his muscles flexed as he touched me. I never wanted him to stop touching me. He cupped me with his hand and ground the heel of his palm against my clit, finding a rhythm that drew the coil even tighter, and I squeezed his hip in response as his name fell like a plea from my parted lips.
“Nothing better.” His pace increased, and one finger pressed up against the thin fabric. I knew he could feel my wetness right through it. I was soaked. “Nothing better than you saying my name.”
The edges of my vision blurred. Everything ceased to exist beyond his hand and the hot, achy anticipation building higher and higher. I was so close. I whimpered, my thighs shaking. He moved impossibly faster, and I bit his shoulder, hard enough that it’d probably leave a mark, but I didn’t care. Those perfect fingers stroked and twisted, and then he pinched my nipple, the sudden sting of it snapping the coil, sending me spiraling into my luminous release while I clenched his hand between my thighs. My toes curled inside my shoes, and no air left my lungs as a soundless moan pushed past my swollen lips. I trembled in his arms as I flew to the stars and back, weightless but unbearably heavy at the same time, while he held me close, supporting me when my legs threatened to give out.
Our warm breaths mingled, his exhale becoming my inhale and vice versa. I was dizzy with remnants of my orgasm when his dick pulsed against my hand, reminding me that I still held it in my grasp. I resumed my lazy torment, aftershocks of pleasure making my strokes eager but disjointed. Laird pushed his shorts partway down, and shifted my hand until it wrapped around his impressive length. He was so big my fingers didn’t touch. I pumped him slowly, reveling in the contrast of hard steel covered by hot velvet. With a rough growl, he wrapped his fingers around mine until I gripped him harder, and then he showed me how he liked it, tight and slow at the bottom, fast at the top, sometimes pausing for a few shorter passes at the head before dropping back down. The chords of his neck stood out in sharp relief, and his eyes darkened and fell halfway closed as he watched our hands.
Biting my lip, I reached down to cup his balls as we worked together to stroke him off. They were already tight and drawn up, and I knew he was close. I rolled them in my hand, and he cursed when I tugged on them, golden satisfaction swirling through me at his response. He crushed my hand tighter around him, our fists a blur as we jacked him faster.
“Do it again.” He pressed haphazard kisses to my neck. “Fuck, Reese, do that again.”
I did, twice. He groaned the first time and came the second, his hips jerking with his release as he spilled over our joined fingers. Laird shuddered as he repeated my name in a whisper with each of the half dozen strokes it took for him to finish.
It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, his face slack with pleasure as he watched me watch him. He made no attempt to hide his reaction, and he held my gaze with a quiet fierceness, as if he wanted to make sure I saw exactly what I did to him, how he came apart because of me. Something inside of me shimmered and sighed when he used his clean hand to stroke my cheek and trace the curve of my lip reverently. “Reese. I—” He broke off and the moment sharpened. The musky scent of our arousal, the hum of the ancient air-conditioner, the stillness of our bodies after the impetuous intimacy. He dipped his head and his lips met mine softly, like he was saying thank you for something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
Hot tears I couldn’t explain pricked the back of my eyes as he released me, and I blinked rapidly, ducking my head so he wouldn’t see. His gentleness in the aftermath was my undoing.
He whipped his shirt off and used it to clean us up, then wrapped me in his damp embrace, peppering my face with aimless kisses, as if he wasn’t quite ready to stop touching me yet.
“Forgive me
, Reese.” His lips skimmed along my jaw. “Forgive me for last Saturday.” Across my forehead. “Don’t.” The tip of my nose. “Please don’t push me away.” The corner of my mouth.
I shivered. My hands roamed from his waist to his ribs. I couldn’t form words.
And then the door banged open, and Marco’s sharp voice cut across the room. “What are y’all still doing in here?”
Ice froze my veins and I couldn’t move, my wild eyes flashing to Laird’s in a panic. He put a foot of distance between us, keeping his back to Marco and partially blocking his view of me.
“She needed to work on her stance some before this weekend. Her shoulders were slumped and her arms were too low at practice earlier.” He nudged me fully against the wall and raised my arms parallel to an imaginary drum. “It’s nine inches, Reese, not six.”
My eyes widened at the double meaning of his words and he winked at me. I choked on my next breath.
Marco snorted in disgust from the doorway. “Told you we shouldn’t have picked her.”
“It’s not a problem.” Laird dropped his hands to his sides and moved back a step. I bristled at the insult but held my position. “I’m gonna make her do it over and over and over again until I know she’s got it right. Even if it takes her all night.”
Images of us doing it over and over again all night long cartwheeled through my mind. Until we got it right.
“Need any help?” The offer from Marco was grudging at best, the words sour as they lingered in the air.
“No,” Laird responded easily. “I can handle her.”
Dear sweet mother Mary and her perfect virgin womb.
Yes. He could.
Laird
“And then at the end of the second quarter, we were down by three to Louisiana State. That fumble on the opener really cost us in the first half.” Eli hung on my every word as I recounted Saturday night’s game.
“Then you killed it in the halftime show?” His expectant smile took up half his face, the other half mostly hidden beneath a blue knit beanie. Rodner University blue with the shark mascot embroidered on the front.
“You know it.” I held up my hand for a fist bump and pretended like my knuckles were sore after he tapped me. “Watch it, man. Don’t make it so I can’t play this weekend.”
“Did someone record it?”
I gave an exaggerated huff and withdrew my phone from my pocket. “Of course. Our biggest fan needed to be able to watch it.”
I pressed the screen to make the video play, pointing out which speck was me and which one was Reese. She did well that night, much to Marco’s disappointment. She stumbled a bit on the first roll, coming in a beat too late, but it was a minor bobble easily attributed to her first time playing for such a large crowd. No one would’ve noticed unless they studied her specifically on the video afterward, which I did only because I couldn’t take my eyes off her. With her height, she blended right in to the rest of the line, and if it weren’t for the fact that I knew she was second from the left, I probably wouldn’t have been able to pick her out. Her skill level more than held its own.
A little swell of pride filled my chest as Eli watched our performance, his nose inches from my phone.
As the band marched in perfect sync off the field to a drumline cadence, he glanced at me with a solemn expression. His eyes seemed even bigger without eyebrows or eyelashes, dominating his face now that he was no longer smiling. “She did good, didn’t she? I prayed she would do good.”
My ribs threatened to crack open from my heart breaking so hard for this kid. “She did great.”
“When she comes by tomorrow, I’m gonna tell her she sucked. That she needs to work harder.” A sly smile curled the corner of his mouth. “That even I could’ve done better than her. Don’t want her getting a big-ass ego like you.”
I reached down for my bookbag and withdrew two pairs of drumsticks. “Big claims, little man. Let’s see what you’ve been working on.”
He held the sticks expertly, just the way I’d shown him in the past, but he hesitated. “Can we get Amelia to play with us too? Last time Reese was here, we had a joint lesson. I think Amelia really liked it.”
“Yeah, I’m sure wanting Amelia to be a better drummer is your only motivation,” I teased him.
The blush on his face spread down his neck until it disappeared under his green hospital gown. “Suck my dick, Bronson.” He used the plastic bedrail to bang out the cadence I’d been teaching him for the last few weeks, not missing a single beat. When he finished, he looked at me expectantly.
I ignored his performance. “You talk to me like that and pray to God with the same mouth?” While I appreciated his spunk, one day he was going to say that to the wrong person.
“Do you talk to God with the same mouth you eat pussy with?”
Little shithead. Now I was the one blushing. “What do you know about,” I cleared my throat, unable to say the word pussy to him, “…girls?”
“Enough to know that’s what makes them crazy.” His voice was confident, but his eyes wavered, shifting from side to side.
I held back a laugh. He didn’t know what the fuck he was even saying.
My mind drifted back to Saturday. To what happened after the game with Reese that I didn’t share with anybody. We’d already put our equipment on the trailer to go back to East Hall and I’d tugged her back inside the stadium to a darkened corner away from security and the cleaning crew that was starting to make their rounds through the bleachers.
I pulled her against me, her back to my front. The boxy polyester uniforms we wore did nothing to hide the sweet curve of her ass. Our military-style jackets with yards of looped braided detailing and a yellow sash had been ditched after halftime, the band allowed to strip down to matching t-shirts in deference to the Alabama heat. The lack of sun did little to lower the temperature this time of year. Her shirt hung loosely around her hips, but clung to the slope of her breasts. The cotton was slightly damp from the pervasive humidity.
“How’d it feel? Your first game, the crowd watching and cheering for you?” My fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt, found the synthetic waistband of her pants. They were unisex, fitting her better at the hips than the waist. I took advantage, letting the pads of my fingers sink under the scratchy black fabric and slide along the smoothness of her stomach.
She gasped at the contact, bowing her back into me and pulling her shirt over my arms to hide my wandering hands. “I doubt it was me they were watching.” Her voice caught on one of the words when I plucked at the waistband of her underwear.
“Did your parents watch?” We never talked about her family. But we didn’t really talk about mine either. My dad didn’t watch, that much I knew for fact.
“They don’t have cable. TV is a waste of perfectly good time to them.” She didn’t tense or stiffen in my arms, nothing to indicate my statement upset her.
“Still,” I pushed the issue, not sure why I was chasing it so hard, “to see their only daughter?”
She turned her head and scrunched her nose at me, her eyebrows squeezing together. “I’ll send them a link to the YouTube video of it if you’re so concerned.”
I pulled my hands back, unfastened the button, and lowered the zipper of her pants. The only thing keeping them from falling to her ankles was her ass tight against me.
“Laird! What are you doing?” Her ponytail tickled my chin as she twisted her head both ways, checking on the proximity of the closest cleaning crew.
“Scoring.”
Her hands slid to my wrists, not stopping me, just resting there.
I circled her navel with my middle finger. “I couldn’t get enough of you the other day before Marco interrupted us.” My finger sailed a slow arc down her stomach until I reached the edge of her pubic hair. She only kept a small ribbon of it, closely trimmed. I liked it. My finger trailed through it slowly, and I groaned when she clenched her ass, my growing erection throbbing behind its polyester cage.
She whimpered, her grip on my wrists tightening for a moment.
“I wanted to do so much more. Rip your shorts off. Get on my knees. Lick you until you screamed and keep your wet lace as a souvenir.”
I dipped in, found her wet and melting for me. I coated my finger and drew the dampness higher until her hips bucked in response when I reached the right place. My other arm banded across her abdomen, keeping her snug against me, until not even a sixteenth note could’ve squeezed between us.
“What—” She stopped and licked her lips when her voice cracked. Tried again. “What would you have done with my panties?”
“Later that night, after I’d climbed in bed, I’d have used them while I stroked my dick. Pretended the slight scratch was your nails. Or your teeth. Pumped myself raw into the same scrap of cloth that had been pressed to you all day until I came.” I paused to run the tip of my tongue along her earlobe, and an absurd sense of pride swelled my chest when her breathing stuttered. “Then I’d have done it all over again.”
She tipped her pelvis up, her breathy moan floating away on a rare breeze. “Is that a thing you do? Steal underwear from your…” She didn’t finish, whether it was because she didn’t know how to label herself—label us—or because that was the exact moment I sank two fingers deep inside her with no warning.
Her grip convulsed around my wrists.
“No. I don’t have a drawer full of lingerie at the townhouse, if that’s what you’re asking.” But it made me picture a spot for her stuff. Top right of my dresser maybe. A place where she kept some spare clothes for the nights she didn’t leave, stayed in my bed—in my arms—all night long.