Vibrato

by Tamara Mataya

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you play much?”

  I shake my head. “I play cello and violin, a little upright bass. I’m okay on the piano. Do you play anything other than guitar?”

  “A bit of piano, but I started out in percussion. I learned the drums before anything else. Don’t you dare make a drummer joke. My uncle had a set in his basement and I always bee-lined straight for that kit whenever we went for a visit. He started giving me lessons, probably because he got tired of listening to my loud flailing.” His smile is soft, gaze faraway. “It really opened things up for me musically, gave me the fundamentals and showed me different layers of the music I write.”

  “I wouldn’t joke about any instrument. Well, maybe the triangle. Your music is amazing, Dylan.”

  “Thanks.” He stares at the carpet, posture closing as I bring up something I wasn’t supposed to know.

  “No, I really mean it. I truly didn’t know who you were, but when I found out, I listened to your albums.” It feels good to get the words out. Part of the frustration with finding out who he was after I discovered his music, was knowing I couldn’t tell him how good it was.

  He bites his lip, betraying the fact that he actually cares about what I think about his passion, his creative expression. His music means the world to him and it’s written in his eyes before a careless grin slides into place, covering it. “You like my music? Even though there are no bassoons?”

  “I love it. It’s rich, complex, beautiful. I could talk about the things you do with chromatics, or time signatures, but really, the thing I love the most about it is how it makes me feel.” It was like having a piece of you with me when we were apart. Does he remember that conversation we had about what makes music matter? “If more modern music was like yours, I’d be a raging fan.”

  When his silence stretches out, I try to draw him out again, feeling self-conscious. “I had a sort of lonely childhood, crammed with my father’s expectations. Music gave me a way to soar despite the weight of his goals for me. In a song, I could fly away for a few minutes at a time. Classical is the type that showed me that freedom first, but your music does that too.”

  He leans back on his hands and bites his lip. “Music saved my life.”

  “It did?”

  He nods. “Where I grew up, it was shitty. You already know I was poor. But I think if I hadn’t had music to focus on, I’d have ended up overdosing or getting arrested like a lot of my friends did.”

  Our lives are so different. How people so different could connect is amazing, but guilt flows inside my veins again. My life’s been so easy compared to his, and—

  “Stop it.”

  I frown. “Stop what?”

  He crosses his arms. “You’re doing that thing again where you think you’re a bad person.”

  “How did you—”

  “Who was the douche you were with at the concert?”

  “Why do you care?” Sudden coyness rolls through me. And something else, something that makes me want him to be jealous, which is awful because that’s not what this can be and I shouldn’t taunt him—or myself—like that.

  He leans back on his hands, showcasing those taut abs. “Who says I care?”

  I shrug. “You asked, so it must matter on some level.”

  “Forget I did.” But there’s something between us, a crackling electricity, and he’d never mention Paul if he wasn’t interested.

  Dylan’s lying. He’s lying because he cares and I want to roll in this feeling and smile for days.

  Dylan stands in front of me and reaches out. “Give me my guitar.”

  I hand it over, excited to get a private show from my new favorite musician. “Are you going to play something?”

  He sets the guitar down and takes my hand. “Yeah. I'm going to play you.”

  This time, I give in to his suggestion, letting the blanket fall away as I stand. I’ve let him, begged him to do such things to me, but the question burning through my mind makes me shy. I shouldn’t ask because it doesn’t matter, it can’t matter, but I can’t stop the words from leaving my mouth. “Is Tilt about me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did I really taint you, like the song you sang tonight said?” It’s stupid, but the thought of hurting him somehow, even inadvertently, makes me feel bad.

  “Not tainted.” He closes his eyes and breathes his next words against my lips. “But you tilted my world.” His lips brush against mine, soft and sweet, a delicate cotton candy kiss that gives me a rush and makes me crave more. “When I saw you sitting in the audience, I hated you for lying to me and pretending to be someone you weren’t in Chicago. I thought you’d been a groupie the whole time, getting your kicks on the back of my ignorance.” He nips my lip when I try to protest, and continues. “I know now you really had no idea who I was. But I’ve thought about you every night and then there you were tonight, looking like a wet dream—with some other asshole—and I wanted to stop everything and take you away, get you alone and get the truth.” He wraps his arms around me, pressing my body closer. “I didn’t know whether to hate you or fuck you. I did both, I guess. But now you’re here again and you’re exactly the person I originally thought you were, that woman I wrote the song for. Tonight’s felt like one of the longest nights of my life.”

  My heart pounds with his words, but they’re leading into dangerously emotional territory, so I divert him by pressing my body against his. “And when you pulled me into your dressing room?”

  His cock hardens immediately, swelling between us. “You’re lucky I let you leave. I almost did so many things to you in that room.” His eyes darken, but his hands gently caress my hips, velvet touches that send shivers across my skin.

  I lean close to whisper in his ear, “I’d have let you do all of them.”

  “You still will, my bad girl.” With one swift movement, he scoops me up and tosses me to the bed, climbing on top and savaging my mouth with his while he roughly insinuates himself between my legs, spreading my legs with his hips, and he’s right, I will, I’ll let him do anything he wants because when it’s him doing it, I want everything he’ll give me and more.

  He uses one hand to pin both of mine above my head and I shiver beneath him. What’s he going to do to me this time? Am I in for another amazing, disorienting tumble? But he slows down, pulling back like he’s trying to memorize me just like this before dazzling me with a slow, deep, thorough kiss that leaves my body limp.

  It’s not right that he can be dark and dangerous and domineering, but sweet and gentle as well, confusing my body about what exactly it wants from him.

  It just wants more.

  More of that nuzzling against my neck.

  More of those dizzying licks.

  More of his free hand lazily wandering over my skin, decorating it with goosebumps.

  More of his hips, easing his cock against my clit, sensuously grinding me toward madness. Because wanting someone this much can’t be sane.

  I wrap my legs tightly around him. He may be claiming me, but it’s with my full blessing and I want him to know it.

  He smiles like he already does, and kisses his way down my torso, steadily moving toward the place I want him most. His mouth pauses just below my belly button, lips curving into a grin.

  “What?” I whisper, wanting to unlock the mischief in those teal eyes.

  Sharp suction is the answer, pain-tinged pleasure, as he leaves another mark.

  Satisfied, he skips down to where my thigh meets my body, and sucks another bruise in the delicate crease there. His hair tickles my clit while he marks me, gaze never leaving mine while he does it.

  He wants me to know that he’s doing this, marking my intimate places so if anyone sees me naked, they’ll know someone else was here. He swirls his tongue in the crease on the other inner thigh, and sucks harder.

  That suction so close to my aching pussy is too much, the couple inches feel like miles, and my hand flashes down to grab a handful
of his hair and move that hot, devastating mouth where I need it.

  He’s quicker than I am and catches the offending wrist, easily subduing me, but he dips down and swirls his tongue right where I wanted, unleashing a primal, lusty moan from my throat. Instead of sucking hard there, he flicks his tongue over my sensitive clit, teasing me into an even higher frenzy, flickers of electricity lapping my skin in time with that tongue.

  His finger circles but doesn’t penetrate.

  A few minutes of these teasing touches, and tears of frustration leak from the corners of my eyes. He stops everything to slip on a condom, and I cry out with relief when he shoves that thick cock inside with one brutal, welcome thrust. I’m sensitive and swollen with need after the past few minutes, and his hard length stretches my inner walls, rubbing against parts of me that short circuit my brain.

  I wrap my arms around his back, reveling in his closeness, kneading the tight muscles right above his ass before grabbing it, wanting to feel that too.

  So tight and hard.

  My touch drives his thrusts harder, moving us up toward the headboard where his hand braces against the wall and his hips go wild with his cock inside me.

  Everything tightens, even my hands spasm open and closed on his ass.

  He grabs my face. “Look at me.” His voice is almost angry, and I open my eyes.

  Four more thrusts and I come, unable to look away from his sex-sharpened gaze, dripping with possessiveness that thrills me to the trembling core. It’s a deeper orgasm, maybe because I’m already so sensitive, but the rhythmic clenching of my pussy almost hurts and seems to go forever.

  I never want it to stop.

  He sucks my tongue into his mouth as he stiffens, pulsing deep inside as he fills the condom, releasing me with a sigh and one more gentle kiss before wrapping his arms around me and squeezing tight, body still joined with mine.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  We doze off like that. I wake when he pulls out of me, wincing a bit at the soreness in my hips, now that his weight has shifted.

  Dylan kisses my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I close my legs and rub my hips, encouraging blood flow. “Yeah, but I may come after you for a hip replacement when I’m eighty.”

  He chuckles and heads to the bathroom. I roll over, body heat from my back now radiating into my side from the mattress, relishing every ache in my body. How can I be so sore but feel so good about it? No shock there. Dylan.

  Why couldn’t I have met him even six months ago? Things could have been so different, if only...

  I block that train of thought from leaving the station and thundering toward things that don’t matter, now that my life’s heading the way it is. Besides, Dylan’s not exactly asking me to start picking out china patterns. This is, was, only ever going to be sex.

  A gust of air washes across my skin as Dylan spreads the blanket over me and climbs back into bed, nestling at my back, throwing an arm over me and wiggling it until his palm lies flat against my chest, arm between my breasts. Sinking into his heat, I allow every silly, warm emotion, every impossible dream to wash over and drown me in happiness that tugs me back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  The sunlight does its best to poke through my eyelids, and I roll over to get away from the bright, offending rays. My knee collides with something warm.

  “Hey, watch out. I’m partial to my nuts.”

  My eyes fly open, sleep forgotten as last night comes slamming back to me.

  “Morning, beautiful.” Dylan lies on his back, white sheet flowing over one thigh and over his crotch, cutting off to the side below his waist, like it was deliberately positioned there by someone with a Greek God fetish but a PG rating. He half-turns and the sheet gaps open.

  Make that an XXX-rating.

  The man makes me insatiable. I shake my head at myself.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I prop myself up on my elbow. “I’m hungry.”

  His hand trails across his chiselled abs. “I’m starving as well. What do you feel like? I’ll order room service.”

  Glad we don’t have to leave to eat, I grin. “French toast, milky coffee, and an indecent amount of bacon?”

  “Sounds perfect. You can have the shower while I order.”

  I slide off the bed taking the blanket with me, and head to the bathroom.

  There’s a train wreck in the mirror.

  My big curls have turned into something a country music super star from the eighties would have worn—a big bouffant mess. My lips are puffy, there’s a spot of beard burn on my chin, and mascara’s smudged all over, giving me a raccoon-chic look.

  Horrified, I grab a facecloth and an expensive facial bar of soap, and climb into the shower to mitigate the disaster.

  I can’t believe Dylan didn’t say anything!

  He called me beautiful.

  The thought melts through my mind while the hot water cascades over my skin, chasing the lather away. I remove all the makeup, then wash my hair. Better to be bare and clean than look like something the cat dragged through a department store cosmetic section. Everywhere I wash makes me think of him and his hands and mouth and cock. Every hickey he put on my skin turns me on a little bit more.

  Staying deep inside, he ground his hips and moved his finger all the way in and out. “How does it feel?”

  “Like I’m yours.”

  God, that felt good. What...what would it be like if we did have anal sex while he used my vibrator on me like he said he would? Heat pools between my legs and I’m wet when I clean myself. It would be too easy to close my eyes and picture it’s his hand instead, slippery with soap, rubbing against my crotch, but I’m not masturbating when he’s right outside.

  I’d rather he got me off instead.

  Feeling a bit self-conscious about being naked in his shower while he’s in the next room, I cut it short and am towelling off in just a few minutes, using the hotel lotion to soothe my skin. A puff of steam emerges from the bathroom with me when I head back into the bedroom.

  Dylan eyes my legs and gives my towel an appreciative grin. “Easy access. I approve.”

  “Very funny. I left my clothes in here.” I pick my way around the various articles of clothing on the floor, eventually gathering all of mine. The panties I subtly kick under the bed, hoping he doesn’t notice, but there’s no way I’m putting them back on as they are.

  “Hey.” Dylan’s arms wind around me and as surprised as I am that he snuck up on me, my body turns to a relaxed puddle at his touch. “My jeans won’t fit you, but here’s a t-shirt you can wear home. It covers a little more than what you wore here last night—especially after I sort of tore it when I removed it.” He opens the shirt and holds it against my body. It’s not a Fallen Angels t-shirt, it’s one of his own, some other band I don’t know. A pleasant, gooey feeling takes residence in my chest.

  “Thanks. I’ll make sure I get it back to you.”

  He kisses the back of my neck. “I’m going to jump in the shower. I should be out before the food gets here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He turns me around, gives me a lingering kiss, and stalks into the bathroom, stark naked.

  I slip his shirt slowly over my head, breathing in the citrusy smell. It’s baggy on me, but the fabric is well-worn and soft against my skin. My reflection in the dresser mirror is unfamiliar, the woman there sort of edgy and relaxed like she doesn’t give a fuck what people think of her...but she’s also kind of glowing.

  I hear the water start running, and I shiver. Dylan’s behind that door, naked and slippery with water and soap I can still smell on my skin. How can I crave more of him already?

  The dining room is much fancier than I’d noticed—then again, last night I’d been more focused on the bedroom. Or rather, who’d be joining me inside the bedroom.

  A large, round table sits in the corner of the room—floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides offer a lot of sunlight and a gorgeous view of my new home city b
eyond the balcony wrapping around the corner. It’s beautiful.

  “It looks good.”

  I raise my eyebrows in question, raising them higher at the sight of Dylan in nothing but a low-slung pair of faded jeans, drops of moisture beading against his tanned skin.

  He smiles. “My t-shirt.”

  The longer we stand, staring intensely at each other, a charge builds between us, nearly palpable in the air. I want to fly into his arms, but I want to draw this unfamiliar sensation out, too.

  A knock at the door breaks the tension. Dylan blinks. “The food. I’ll get it.” He frowns and heads for the door.

  On shaky legs, I move to the table and take a seat. Dylan brings a cart over, and sets down a cloche-covered plate in front of me, taking a place a couple seats down, angling his chair so he’s facing me.

  The food is perfect and I dig in, suddenly ravenous.

  Dylan swallows a bite of strawberry. “So, I’ve got another show later. Tonight.”

  Ah, here it is. Inevitability. Time to make myself scarce since he wants me to leave and is dropping hints. “Okay. Well, I’ll—”

  “So I want you to spend the day with me until then.”

  “Oh.” I can feel the ridiculous grin on my face, but can’t suppress it. I relax and munch on another crispy slice of bacon.

  He steals one from my plate. “You gave me a tour to remember of Chicago. Maybe we can come up with something equally interesting here. See if Beantown can compete with Chi-city.”

  Shit. Reality invades the room. I can’t go out on the town with him. What if someone saw us together? We were lucky our last encounter went unnoticed by the tabloids, and even if we’d been caught in a photo, it didn’t matter then. It matters now and lightning doesn’t strike twice. My career could be ended over the tiniest scandal.

  “I have rehearsal first, but after that, I’m yours.” The words slip out with a life of their own, but I can’t take them back because they’re true.

  I want to spend as much time as I can while he’s in this city. No matter the consequences.

  The pure happiness in his eyes thrills me more than I can say.