Colors bleed into sound. Pleasure into sensation. Everything becomes him.
I can’t move. Can’t continue to chase the high he offers. My muscles spent from exertion.
So he does it for me, pulling me down as he continues to thrust into my spasming core, prolonging my bliss until I reach that point. The point of too much, too sensitive, and glorious with pleasure to the point of pain.
His favorite moment when my core contracts so tightly around him, it attempts to expel him from my body, but fails in his ruthless need to keep us joined. Together.
His thrusts lose their rhythm, becoming jerky and desperate. He pulls one final cry from me as he swells. A guttural roar erupts from him before he clamps his teeth down on my shoulder, surrendering to his release.
We lay wrapped around each other, motionless…shattered. The only sound is our heavy breaths trying to bring air into our lungs.
And for the first time in forever, there’s no stress. No fear. Just…utterly content.
Jagger
My fingers trace over delicate skin, imagining ink trailing to the curve of her ass. Pebbles appear with each stroke, disappearing, only to reappear as I follow the path again.
It’s a view I indulged in all yesterday as I worshipped her mind, body, and soul, while she healed pieces of mine I thought would always be broken. My little painkiller. When her performance was canceled due to the entire main cast, minus her, getting food poisoning, we only left the bed for food, water, or take a piss.
“That tickles,” she mumbles, turning her head to face me. Wild, fiery hair hangs over her face, hiding those brilliant, kaleidoscope eyes. My hand lifts from her back to push it away, needing to see her. “What are you thinking about?”
“Why do you dance?” The question has been on the tip of my tongue since the salon, but no conversation we’ve had has presented the opportunity. I suppose it wasn’t offered now, either. I just took it. Like I took her.
“Because I love it.” The response is automatic and robotic. Even if I hadn’t heard the bits and pieces I had, that alone would tell me all I need. She’s said it so many times, probably to herself as well, that it comes without thought. “Why do you work at a record label?”
Reciprocation. The reason why two weeks ago, I didn’t press or ask questions. Now I need to know everything about her. So I have to give her something.
“Because I love music. It’s in my blood.” That’s the truth, but the observant minx knows it’s not the whole truth. Her eyes shine with consideration. I see the hunger for answers.
“Not fighting.”
“No.” I return my fingers to her back, using her soft curves as a distraction. “Fighting is a high and a release for everything I keep bottled up.”
“Self-aware.”
“Mhmm. Very.” Hard not to be when everyone calls you out. What’s the point in denying the consensus?
“So you always wanted to work in an office?”
“Hell, no,” I laugh. “That’s why I scout talent. My damn title is way too much for what I do.”
“I doubt that. Sooo…” She turns, facing me, her hands tucked under her head. “I’ve seen the guitar. Do you play?”
Gold and green sparked, giving her away. “Someone’s been snooping,” I chuckle.
“Not snooping, observing what was left out on the coffee table for anyone to see.”
“Still snooping.” I give her side a playful pinch, making her yelp. “Okay. I’ll tell you, if you tell me the truth about why you dance.”
“Fine. I do it for my mom. She pushed me to this. Tried with Phoebe too, but she hated it. It was her dream growing up, but according to her, she had us, and it was over. I think she was trying to fulfill her dreams through us. She died bringing me my shoes for a recital, so I guess it’s my way of honoring her and her wishes.” Her chest rises with heavy regret while her fingers trace the ink on my chest, using the same distraction I used moments ago. “I should’ve quit after she died. It’s honestly causedme nothing but problems. Phoebe blames me for Mom favoring me, which she did because I kept going when Phoebe stopped, and for her death, for the same reason. And she’s right, if I had been honest, she wouldn’t have been rushing to me. She also blames me for Dad. If our mom were still here, he would be too. It’s part of the reason why I lost my sister.”
I’ve heard all of this before, but in much more general, vague terms. Brows dipping, I think back to the conversations we had, our shared bond over siblings we could never live up to—and how they let us down. Graham let me down by forgetting me, but she said… “The other part is over a guy.” Fiery eyes snap to mine, full of anger, ready to lash out. “Hey.” I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb over her anger. “No judgment here. I heard one side of the story. Trust me, I understand when people only know one perspective.”
“I didn’t go after him,” she demands. “I was in a towel, getting ready to go to rehearsal for a show, when he walked in. I told him to get out, but he wouldn’t listen. He kissed me and tried to do more than that, but Phoebe walked in.”
My jaw ticks, red hot fury races across my skin. That’s a much different story than the one I heard. “I need his name.”
“Calm down, Rocky. I handled him a few days later when he came over, looking for Phoebe. I bet his balls still hurt.” She smiles, and I feel it in my chest—that kind of sharp, searing warmth that never came before her.
