Drumline

by Stacy Kestwick

  He demonstrated, and this time, he didn’t stop until his palm cupped me fully. I dug my nails into his hard thighs and arched my back, wordlessly asking for more. One long finger traced my seam, and I bucked against him.

  “I think it’s my favorite too,” I whispered raggedly.

  “I’m thinking I need to study that one a little closer.” His lips closed around my earlobe and I shuddered.

  “Wouldn’t want you missing”—and my breath hitched as his thumbs hooked the waistband of my shorts and pushed them over my hips—“that one on the test.”

  After he memorized the path with his hands, he slid to his knees on the floor and retraced his steps with his tongue.

  And I lost the ability to think altogether.

  The heat from his mouth ripped a harsh exhale from my throat, and I rolled my hips in response. The mere sight of his dark hair between my thighs was enough to have me panting. I don’t know why, perhaps just from my past experiences, but I didn’t expect a guy like him, who could have his choice of girls servicing him at a moment’s notice, to put my pleasure first. But, fuck, that dark glow in his green eyes when he peeked up at me erased any doubt I had that he was just going through the motions. It was the look of a man who was finally getting something he’d been denied for far too long. Bold and greedy, but tinged with a certain softness I’d never seen before.

  His hands closed around my waist, dragged me to the side of the bed, and settled my thighs over his shoulders, before slipping lower to cup my ass. There was no time to feel shy or embarrassed or self-conscious, because his tongue swept away everything except for an achy restlessness.

  He licked me, traced my opening, learned all my most intimate secrets. And all I could do was fist his hair in my hands and pull him closer, his name the chorus to the incoherent chant I mumbled, curses and pleas forming the verses.

  When he sucked on my clit and hummed a primal sound deep in his throat, it sent me over the edge, and my thighs closed around him like a vise, my toes curled and tense. He continued, the suction and the flutters of his tongue relentless as I hovered in that place of blinding ecstasy, suspended between heaven and earth.

  When my fingers loosened their grip on his dark strands, he lessened the intensity, but didn’t stop. It wasn’t until I’d said his name for the third time that he lifted his head, his face smeared with my release.

  “Laird,” I repeated, scooting his direction, until he had no choice but to sit back on the floor. I followed him, straddling his lap, my wet core throbbing anew as his hard cock rose against me beneath the thin barrier of his shorts.

  The satisfied smirk barely had time to settle on his face before I took his mouth in a hungry kiss, thanking him without words. One of his arms circled low on my hips, while the other aligned with my spine, his hand gripping my neck to angle me the way he liked.

  His hot length pulsed under me and I rocked on top of him, relishing in the deep groan that vibrated his broad chest. I tucked my knees on either side of his hips, then leaned forward into the kiss, until he fell back onto the Moroccan-style area rug I’d brought from home.

  And once I was astride his hips, I pulled back and grinned down at him before biting my lip. His lips were full and dark, his cheeks flushed, the green of his eyes barely visible beneath his hooded gaze. A sense of wonder slid into the silence between my heartbeats. I’d put that look on Laird’s face. Me. Those gorgeous arms of his were relaxed as his palms rubbed my legs softly, in contrast to the steely tension in his thighs as he pressed himself to the damp heat between my legs.

  I leaned down and licked his neck, closing my eyes when he sucked in a sharp breath. My lips pressed an open kiss to the angle of his jaw as my fingers gripped the waistband of his shorts.

  “My turn,” I whispered.

  And when his shorts were gone and my tongue was sliding over the swollen head of his dick, I got it. With past guys, blowjobs had always felt more like a chore, performed more out of expectation than desire on my part. But with Laird, I understood the sweet power that came from taking a man in your mouth, knowing at that moment, he was completely at your mercy.

  I savored the way Laird lost himself to my touch, and the unselfish way he shared his surrender. As I hollowed my cheeks and took him deep, my hand rolling his balls at the same time, his fingers traced my jaw and tugged my hair into a messy ponytail. Rough sounds of pleasure came from his throat, and he flexed his hips. The pressure from his hands never increased though. He let me control the tempo and depth.

  I remembered the lesson from the storage room, how he liked it, and when I switched from soft and fast to slow and deep, I was rewarded with Laird hissing out a curse before whispering my name.

  And when I lightly squeezed his sac and brushed my thumb over that thin skin just behind it, he spilled in hot spurts into my mouth, his strangled warning coming too late for me to do anything but swallow him down. Those green irises were nearly molten as he watched the motion of my throat, his fingers tightening in my damp hair.

  With an impatient growl, he hauled me up to his chest, seizing my mouth in a fierce kiss that had me thinking things I had no business thinking when it came to him.

  “Fuck, Reese,” he murmured against my lips, his hands slipping up to frame my face. “What am I going to do with you?”

  I lost myself in the nocturne of his kiss, the endless way his mouth slanted over mine, our bodies tangled together like a chord. I kissed him until I was breathless, the answer to his question settling quietly between my ribs.

  Everything.

  Reese

  As I left Martin Hall after my calculus exam, headed for some desperately needed caffeine, my phone vibrated.

  Laird: Hope your test went well. I’m sure you nailed it. Drumline party tonight. 9pm. Mandatory.

  I hesitated, not entirely sure how to respond. The first half had been personal, but the second half sounded all business. It also didn’t escape my attention that he didn’t ask me to go with him to the party.

  Well, you’re the one who wanted to keep it quiet around the drumline. It probably wasn’t fair of me to get mad at the guy for respecting my wishes. But still…

  I weighed my options, finally deciding to answer in kind.

  Me: I think I did pretty good, thnx. Good luck on yours later! See you tonight.

  My thumb pressed send before I could overthink it further.

  It’s just a text. Just a text. Just a text. I chanted to myself as I crossed the quad. With the guy I’m probably sleeping with tomorrow. My feet quickened their pace, as if I could out walk my nervousness over our first official—albeit secret—date.

  Laird: Looking forward to it.

  Laird: But not as much as Saturday.

  I smiled, one of those goofy, dorky smiles dumb girls get when hot guys flirted with them. This was bad. Like, butterflies and rainbows and big puffy hearts bad. I refused to turn into a goopy, brainless mess around him. He could hang with the cymbal girls if he wanted that.

  My phone buzzed again a few minutes later as I skirted around the fountain of the shark, thought to bring good luck if you rubbed his dorsal fin. I gave it a quick pat as I walked by, because, hey, it couldn’t hurt.

  Smith: Drumline party tonight. Have you heard? Want me to pick you up?

  Me: I just got a text. And, yes, that’d be great.

  Smith: What are sidekicks for?

  Me: For insider information, duh. Hint hint. Have you heard anything about this party? Anything I should be prepared for?

  There was a long pause and I entered the student center, joining the line in the food court for a soda. By the time I reached the front, the smell of the oversized cinnamon rolls had completely seduced me and I added one to my order on a whim.

  It shouldn’t take him this long to answer. Something was definitely up.

  Me: Robin?

  Smith: Yeah, I’ve heard rumor of something. I just don’t think it’ll affect you.

  Me: Spill.

&
nbsp; Another pause. Dear holy avenging archangels with lightning bolts and personal agendas. How bad could it be?

  Smith: I heard there’s going to be a literal dick measuring contest. So, I think you’re safe for this one.

  I almost choked on a bite of pastry, the white icing on my finger suddenly reminding me of something much, much dirtier.

  The story of how Laird acquired Oscar had my brain spinning. I had to be prepared. I needed a way to top his prank, to hold my own with the guys.

  I did a couple of quick Google searches on my phone, crossing my fingers we weren’t too deep into the Bible Belt for what I had in mind.

  Bingo! Only twelve minutes from campus. And I only had one more class today.

  Me: You’re right. I should be fine. Thanks for the heads up though.

  Smith: I see what you did there.

  Me: I expected no less, Robin. There’s a reason you’re my sidekick.

  Smith: You know it. I’ll see you at 8:45.

  Me: Wait! You’re not expecting me to be your fluffer, are you?

  Smith: Nah, I think I can manage. But as your sidekick, you totally should’ve offered.

  Me: …

  Smith: I bet you would’ve said yes if it was Laird asking.

  Smith: Just saying.

  Me: Shut up.

  I finished my cinnamon roll, trying really hard not to think about Smith or Laird or their dicks as I licked the cream cheese frosting off my fingers. They weren’t going to ruin my breakfast treat. Nope. Not happening.

  Okay. I lied. I thought about Laird. And his cock. Especially when I was licking my fingers.

  Smith: I’m down here. You ready?

  Me: I need two minutes.

  I adjusted the long skirt of the sapphire blue maxi dress, double checking my reflection in the mirror. My hair was in a casual updo, a sort of fauxhawk from where I’d pinned it back in a column of purposefully messy knots. My back was mostly bare, except for a few skinny straps holding the dress in place, and I was trying out those bra cups that adhered right to your skin. Putting them on wasn’t bad, but I wasn’t looking forward to the removal later. Pale gladiator sandals that showed off my bright coral nail polish completed the look.

  For a moment, I second guessed everything, wondering if I should change into jeans and a tank top like last time.

  But, no, I could do this.

  Me: Okay, I’m coming now.

  Smith: That’s what she said.

  Me: Are you going to be like this all night?

  Smith: Absolutely.

  I rolled my eyes as I waited for the elevator. Greaaaaat.

  When I walked out of the dorm, Smith was waiting by the open passenger door of his truck, ever the gentleman. Except then he wolf-whistled as he caught my hand and spun me around so he could view me from all directions, effectively ruining the illusion.

  “Do I look okay?” I winced a little at how anxious I sounded. “Is this too much? Does it look ridiculous?”

  I held my breath as he ran a critical eye over me again.

  He reached out and rubbed a spot by the corner of my mouth. “A little smear with your makeup, but it’s fixed now. You’re gorgeous. Are you looking to make Laird crazy or piss off Marco by making Laird crazy?”

  My lips parted in a mischievous smile I couldn’t smother fast enough. “Oh, I’m definitely hoping for a reaction tonight. I’m just not sure what it’ll be yet.”

  He squinted at me and tipped his head slightly. “You’re plotting something.” His tone made it clear it was a statement, not a question.

  I plastered an innocent expression on my face, and he pointed at me, waving his finger around.

  “Nope. Not buying that. Not even for a second. You gonna let your sidekick in on it, or am I supposed to be surprised too?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t exactly be a surprise if you knew it was coming, now would it?” I winked, then sobered. “Just be ready to help me escape if it all goes to hell.”

  “I got your back, Batman. Let’s go start some trouble. You know Willa and Amber aren’t gonna appreciate the level of hotness you’re bringing to this party tonight.”

  “Yeah, they’ll live.” I rolled my eyes. “And they’re welcome to Marco. In fact, I would love nothing more than for one—or both—of them to distract him all night long.”

  Smith had a weird look on his face as we got in the car and he cranked the engine.

  “What? Is there something else about tonight you’re not telling me?” I demanded.

  “Nope. I’m just as curious as you are as to how it’s all going to go down. I feel like we need one of those—what are they called? Safe words? And if one of us says it to the other, we’re gone.”

  I thought for a moment. “Scrotum Breath.”

  He choked as he turned left. “Seriously, Reese?”

  “It’s not like it’s a phrase that would just come up in conversation. Plus, if I needed to leave early, I’m sure it’d be because of him.” I shrugged.

  We were almost there. It was just off campus.

  “Fine. Whatever. If one of us says Scrotum Breath, we jet, no questions asked.”

  Two minutes later we walked inside, the volume on the wireless speakers cranked almost uncomfortably loud. Everyone was already in various stages of getting their drink on, and it looked like a cymbal player was already hooking up with a bass drummer in the corner, wasting no time at all.

  The first hour was fine. I nursed a cup of NAD juice that was pushed into my hand and made a point to stay on the other side of the room from Marco. Charlie, Cade, and I got into a heated debate about the best brand of drumsticks to buy. I was a fan of Vic Firth, Cade liked ProMark and Zildjian, and Charlie was adamant that AHEAD’s synthetic drumsticks were going to eventually gain a majority market share over the traditional wood style.

  When I found my way to the kitchen for a cup of Goldfish crackers to help absorb some of the alcohol, Laird cornered me, reaching around for some snacks of his own while effectively caging me against the counter in the process.

  “I’ve never seen you in a dress,” he murmured against my ear, his stubble brushing the sensitive skin on my neck and sending a shudder through me.

  “You would have,” I returned smoothly, “if you’d been at your townhouse the other weekend when I showed up.”

  He pulled his head back, but not his arms. “Fair enough.” His gaze dropped down my body before starting a slow journey back up, his attention lingering on my boobs. “I saw you earlier from the back and almost didn’t recognize you. You’re not wearing a bra, are you? In that dress? I’m not gonna lie, it’s making me crazy. On one hand, I love the idea that your tits are right there, just under this one little layer of fabric. On the other, I don’t want anyone else but me enjoying the view.”

  “You think I wore this for you?” I pinched his forearm, sending him a subtle signal he needed to back up to keep this from looking too suspicious in front of everyone else. He begrudgingly put twelve inches of linoleum between us, disappointment clear in his eyes. “Maybe I just got tired of wearing pants?”

  “You don’t ever have to wear pants around me if you don’t want to.” His voice was just loud enough for me to hear him, but there was no way to miss the heat in his green eyes.

  “Does that mean you want me to wear a dress tomorrow too?”

  “I don’t care what you wear as long as it includes those lace panties from the other night. I have plans for them.”

  I turned as pink as the punch in my cup.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He swore under his breath. “I can’t fucking wait to see what you do tomorrow, Reese. Can’t fucking wait.” With one last searing look, he grabbed a beer from the cooler on the floor and headed over to Bubba and some of the bass drummers.

  I retraced my steps past a group of cymbal players grinding on each other to find Smith again when Marco let out one of those piercing whistles that I thought only PE coaches in tiny shorts knew how to mak
e. I was still cringing when I walked the last dozen steps to stand with Smith and Justin. Justin ended up being an alternate for a field spot—meaning, if someone couldn’t perform for any reason, he’d step in. I think he was secretly hoping someone would get drunk and break an ankle or something. He’d been fetching drinks like he was majoring in bartending instead of chemistry.

  “All snares, listen up!” Marco motioned for the music to be cut. “It’s time for—hey! I’m talking!”

  Despite the eardrum piercing whistle, the suddenly quiet sound system, and his repeated demands, people ignored him, continuing their conversations.

  Laird stepped in and slapped his hand on a wooden console table and paused. Heads swiveled and talk dissipated when they realized who it was.

  In his normal voice, he said, “Good evening! We had a great first game last week.” He smiled as hoots and cheers filled the room. I wondered briefly who lived in the apartment under this one—if they’d left for the night or been paid off to ignore the noise we were making.

  “Now, I know y’all have all been waiting for this moment. Time to stand tall and be measured against your fellow drummers. Who should we have do the honors tonight?” Laird glanced around the room. Willa and Amber had their arms in the air, both waving frantically to get his attention.

  “Marco?” Laird threw him a bone. “You want to pick?”

  Amber, who had been flirting shamelessly with Topher earlier, fluttered her fake eyelashes at Marco. He shot her a scathing look and turned to Willa, the sweetest smile I’d ever seen from him curving his lips. “Well, traditionally, the most beautiful woman on the whole drumline is picked. So, I’m thinking the obvious choice here is Willa, right, Laird?”

  Clever. He was snubbing Amber and baiting Laird, all in one fell swoop, and the smirk he wore said he was well aware of it.

  Laird didn’t even pause. “I gotta let Marco win at something tonight, so Willa it is!”

  Snickers came from one corner of the room where beer pong was set up, and Marco glared at them until they fell silent.