There were no words, just a haunting aria of loneliness and brokenness, laced through with a low delicate melody on the smaller, higher strings—no fancy chords or finger work, just a slow melody that carved a hole in your heart and left the bitter taste of sadness its place.
I grabbed my phone, brought up the external camera, no flash, and hit record. I could just make out her outline; see that she was naked without seeing anything except her and the guitar.
I recorded until she stopped, hands squealing on the strings, and I heard her sniffle. She was playing my first guitar, an old Yamaha I’d gotten thirdhand; I could tell by the sound of it. It was old and battered and hard to keep in tune, but I’d written some of my best songs on it, and still liked to play it when I was feeling melancholy. Interesting that she’d chosen it—Betty-Lou was with me, unlocked at the moment, as I’d spent a few minutes playing before I went to bed; Na’ura was here in the hotel, too, also unlocked as I hadn’t gotten a more protective case for her yet.
She opened her eyes, perhaps alerted by that sixth sense that told her she was being observed—looked over and saw me sitting up on the bed.
“Hi.”
“Hey.” I wasn’t sure if I should tell her I’d recorded her and decided against it. I would figure out what to do with it later.
For now, I couldn’t take any more awkwardness. I left the bed and went out onto the balcony—it hot and humid outside. I was naked, like her; we were both habitual nude sleepers, and had established that early on.
She watched me, holding the guitar in place across her torso. “You heard?”
I nodded. “It was beautiful. Haunting.”
She shrugged. “I wrote it when I had some things to express, but no words for what I wanted to say.”
“Well, you said it loud and clear.” I hesitated. “And I guess I just…I’m sorry for whatever happened to cause you to feel that way.”
She shrugged. “Thanks, but it’s just life, I guess.”
I was leaning against the railing, facing her. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Shook her head. “Not a wink.”
“Lex, I…”
She carefully set the guitar aside. Set the chair down on all fours. Sat up, hands on her thighs, naked, gazing up at me. “Myles, can you just, please, for right now, just don’t––”
I knelt and tipped the chair back up on the hind legs and balanced it as she’d been; she squealed in surprise, and then found her balance. I slid my fingers around one dangling ankle, lifted her foot, and draped it on my thigh. Then the other. Held her eyes. She understood what I was offering: distraction. Another avoidance of the topic. I ached to know the source of her pain, but I knew she had to offer the story on her own terms.
When—orIF––she would ever be ready.
Until then, I could offer her nothing but myself. My patience. My understanding.
And this.
A distraction.
An escape, if only for a moment, from everything.
I was going to give it to her onmyterms, though.
I didn’t plunge right in and devour her. I took my time—kissed her calf, her knee. Lifted her leg and licked the tender underside of her knee. The inside of her thigh. So close that my nose nuzzled her soft warm seam, and then I kissed over it. I kissed my way down her other thigh, and now she was breathing slow and deep, watching me.
“Myles…”
“Lex?”
“I…”
I knew it was going to excuses and prevarication, so I slid my tongue up her slit. She was distracted, as I knew she would be. She gasped, and I teased her clit with the tip of my tongue, and then went back to kissing the insides of her upper thighs as I dragged a fingertip up her seam and down, up and down, teasing in, and in, and deeper, until I was sliding through her wetness and she was hiking her hips up in a silent request for more. I flicked her with my tongue, and then delved my finger deep, and she cried out. She was usually quick to come the first time, and I was determined to draw her out, this time. Once, but so hard she wouldn’t know what hit her.
So I drew her out. Teased and tickled, licked and kissed, never settling into a rhythm, fingers sliding in, curling, withdrawing—butslowly. When I gave her my tongue, it was as slowly as I could move it; fat flat licks to her slit, upward and inward, ending at her clit. She gripped my hair and groaned, held my head between her thighs and thrust hard against my face, legs splayed apart with her heels locked together around the back of my neck.
“Myles, god Myles, I need to come.”
