BorntobeWild (5 page)

She grunted. “Huh. That didn’t last.”

“It lasted right ’til I got offstage and discovered you’d
gone home.”

“I sent my apologies.”

So defensive. He had her on the ropes, so to speak. The
notion gave him ideas he shouldn’t be experiencing. Not part way through an
argument. Although with her in this state maybe more pressure would help her
tell him more. Changing his angle of approach might work.

He leaned toward her, put his weight on his forward foot.
She tilted her body back. Ha. “Not enough, Cyn. Not nearly enough. Now I know
you didn’t have the hint of a migraine. I want to work through this. First, I’ll
tell the band exactly who and what you are. And what you mean to me.”

He’d deliberately left the comment open but she didn’t take
his lead and ask him what she meant to him. Just as well, because he didn’t
want to define their relationship. Not yet, for he wasn’t sure himself. He
badly wanted to find out though. Since her, no other woman had meant as much,
which was weird to say the least because he’d met and fucked some awesome
females. They’d fucked him. He couldn’t remember what one of them had looked
like now. Not when he was in the same room as she. The woman of mystery.

Not for much longer. He’d have answers this time.

She swallowed. “I can’t go back.”

“You can. Whatever else you are to me, Cyn, you’re my friend
and you’re part of my life. I’m not letting you leave unfinished business again.”

That sent her hands to her hips and she pushed her chin
forward. “I get no say?”

“Sure you do. Tell me to fuck off and consider me gone.” He
paused. “For a while, until I work out another way to get to you.”

“Stalking?”

He laughed, short and sharp. “Me? C’mon, Cyn, you know me
better.”

She
had
to. He didn’t care about anything but the
music and he could do that in a place in the middle of nowhere. Except he’d
found the people who worked with him and each other to make something even
better. He’d miss that but he didn’t have to worry about money. Never had. He
came from wealthy parents, had the wherewithal to do what he wanted, a factor
he’d always been painfully aware of. Especially when meeting Zazz, who slept in
squats because he had to, not out of a need for life experience or a grudge
against his folks.

True, Zazz’s father had been one of the most amazing
musicians the jazz world had ever known but he’d shot most of his money and
reputation up his arm or tossed it down his throat before Zazz had grown out of
short pants. Not that Riku could imagine the edgy Zazz wearing short pants.
Except on stage sometimes for effect.

“Besides, what’s with the amateur shrink? I don’t do that!”

“Isn’t that what you did tonight?” He kept his voice quiet,
carefully controlled. “You didn’t face them.”

She sounded as hushed as he did but he heard the tremor when
she spoke. Just a single quiver but it was enough. “I didn’t feel like music.”

He breached the divide, taking the steps that brought him
around the counter and to her. He reached for her, settled his hands on her
upper arms. A ripple eased through him, a release of some of his tension. If
she did this when he merely touched her then what more could she do? He already
understood and he wanted it. More than he cared to admit. “I’m sorry. But you
should have told me.”

“A couple of hours before you were due onstage? How could I
do that?”

He understood but only because she’d shared some of his
past. “Did you feel like that about performing, too?”

“Always.” Auditions, performances, most of their fellow
students, however talented felt that way. Nervous stage fright. They’d said
they had to experience tension to perform.

“I don’t. I’m excited. Know when I’m nervous? When I’m
presenting a new piece to the band. In the old days, it was auditions. But not
when I perform. Then I’m fine. Want to show people what I can do.”

She smiled. “You showed them tonight.”

He grunted. “Yeah. So they say. I only wanted to show you.
Which was stupid.”

“Why?”

She wasn’t shying away from him now. She unclasped her arms
and reached for him, resting her hands on his hips. It was all he needed to
draw her close. He bent his head then drew away again. “I can’t kiss you. We’ll
both end up looking like clowns but I really want to.”

“I don’t care but I have a shower. It’s small but we can fit
in there.”

“Is that an invitation?” He hardly dared breathe. He knew he’d
nearly lost her tonight. Her bathetic no-show reminded him too strongly of what
she’d done before and he didn’t want it to happen twice. Ever. If they parted
he wanted them to part with full understanding of why and how. No lingering
mysteries this time.

Fully aware she’d use sex to avoid a deeper connection, he
couldn’t resist her and she knew it. But he wouldn’t forget his objective, not
this time.

She sighed, a sound of consent. “I owe you that, at least.”

“You owe me nothing, Cyn. I strolled back into your life
this afternoon half expecting you to walk into my arms.”

“Which I did.”

“Which you did. But I walked into yours too. It’s always
that way between us. Nobody gives in to the other, unless they want to.”

She seemed to know what he meant. They’d understood each
other, however abstruse the other person got. “Yes. I’m tired, Riku. I’m sorry
I didn’t stay but I didn’t want to. If I went to the gig, stood in the
audience, everything would sour. What I felt in that room tainted the way I
felt, brought me right down. I do love your music and I didn’t want it taken
away from me. I’d like to put on a Murder City Ravens album and enjoy it like I
always have.”

“You have? You can tell me how much in the shower.” He drew
out his phone and the card. “I need to call my driver. Tell him to go back to
the hotel. I’m hoping we’ll be a while and then if you want to kick me out I’ll
get a cab.”

“I’ve got a double bed.”

He whistled. “A spacious apartment you have here.”

“For Queens it’s not so bad. But I don’t have a long lease.
I can move.”

An idea percolated through his mind but if he wanted her to
listen to him he’d need to take care. Otherwise she’d ask him to leave. Enough.
He had a glimmer of understanding why she’d left, tonight, and it wasn’t just
being mistaken for a groupie.

Nobody had been unkind. Chick had sat with them. Cyn, who
knew something of his world, had noticed the closeness, the way musicians
excluded others before a performance. And she wasn’t part of it.

She’d never related to him what they’d told her in her final
audition. He’d always taken it for granted and never pried. But she hadn’t joined
him. Just dumped him with that email and letter. The letter he still had. Maybe
he’d find some clues there. Because he knew he wouldn’t get any more
information from her tonight.

As she’d promised, her shower wasn’t the most spacious. She
didn’t have a tub, so the cubicle took the space a bath must have once occupied
in the miniscule bathroom. He stripped, throwing his clothes over the laundry
basket. When she laughed he glanced at her in inquiry.

“You have a purple embroidered kimono, a yellow under-kimono
and a pair of orange pants and a green shirt—how are you getting home tomorrow?
On the subway?”

“Cab.” He grinned. “I’m heading home, not to the hotel.
Right now I’m going nowhere, except in here with you.”

She put her hand on his, where it rested on the drawstring
waistband of his silk, wide-legged pants. While he hadn’t gone to the elaborate
lengths of the original samurai, his outfit was still jaw-dropping. “Let me.”

He let her with absolute pleasure. She pulled the bow undone
and his remaining garment slithered down his legs. He’d worn plain black pumps,
since what was on his feet wouldn’t show much. Sneakers seemed a bit wrong for
this magnificence, so it was a matter of seconds for him to slip them off and
help her with her robe.

Thick and fluffy though it was, she didn’t wear anything
underneath it and it instantly became the sexiest outfit he’d seen for some
time. Since that afternoon as a matter of fact. When he told her she only
laughed, as if she didn’t believe him, but he did. Every word.

He hustled her to the shower, pushed her under and turned
the lever to one side. The shower had an old-fashioned turning lever to switch
it on and—his thought processes came to a violent halt. He yelped.

“I did try to tell you but you were too quick. It takes the
water a good five minutes to warm up.”

Even the icy blast didn’t do a lot to quiet his erection,
although he supposed it was a good thing. “Do you have condoms? Please tell me
you have condoms.” He had some but in his inner kimono pocket too far away, the
other side of the eight-foot expanse that formed her bathroom. He needed them
now
.

She slid open a small, mirrored cabinet, revealing a box. He
grabbed it, relieved to find it nearly full and took out an orange wrapped
packet. “I need you, Cyn.” His hand shook with the cold but the water had grown
lukewarm, on its way, he sincerely prayed, to hot.

“No, you don’t. You want me. That’s different.”

Rivulets of red makeup poured down his chest as he turned
his attention to his cock, concentrating on getting the protection on fast. The
lip paint and the bright red he’d used to put blush on his cheeks in the
traditional Japanese fashion were dissolving under the stream.

Tomorrow he’d be a sex god on stage. No, belay that.
Tonight
he’d be a sex god. Fuck tomorrow.

“You’re wrong. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need this. I
tried for patience, to behave like a civilized person, but fuck, Cyn, whenever
I look at you I want to get you naked.”

She chuckled shakily. “Me too.” She jerked her head up,
stared at him, her gaze meeting his with a direct clash of awareness. “Do you
think that’s all this is? Physical? Don’t get me wrong, I can deal with that.”
She seemed relieved but he wasn’t about to let her off the hook.

He cupped her cheek. “Honestly? No, but I can handle that
too. We’re already more, we always were. Friends, Cyn.”

Her body, slippery and hot now the water had come through,
felt like all the women he’d ever had rolled into one. The woman. For him, she
was. He leaned back and grabbed the soap, swiping his palms over his face to
get rid of the worst of the makeup. He didn’t want to smear her. He’d joked
about it but he wanted her like this, stripped of every artifice except the
small diamond studs winking in the lobes of her ears. Open to him and then he
wanted to open himself to her.

Urges he barely understood. His life had been a series of
masks, donned for his own protection and for the convenience of others. The
only people who knew him, really knew him, were the band and Chick. Even Cyn
didn’t know the man he was now. Because she hadn’t been there. If she had he
had no doubt she’d know him too.

Her skin felt like the finest silk, burnished to a sheen by
the soapy water, smoother but living. He stroked her nipple with the tip of his
finger, watched the delicate shell crinkle and harden. “Sweet,” he murmured,
not knowing if she heard. It didn’t matter. She’d know from the expression on
his face. With his makeup mostly gone he could hide nothing. Nor did he want
to. He had nothing to hide from her, she understood him. “This is different.”

“To what? Frantic fucking in the back of my store?”

So that rankled, did it? “You wanted it as much as I did.”

“Yes.” She dropped her gaze to where he was tracing patterns
on her. “I hated wanting it that desperately. I believed I had my life under
control but the minute you walked back into it—I went wild for you.”

“Hey, we’ll get there.” He smiled. “Maybe not tonight. We’ll
make sense of this. I won’t hurt you, Cyn, I swear.”

She touched her lip with her tongue. “I should be saying
that to you. I didn’t turn up in Paris.”

She had a point but he didn’t give a flying fuck right now.
He stroked her jaw, gently tilted it so the water rained on her. “We’ll talk
about that later. Not now. Maybe we should forget the past and just reboot our
lives.”

He knew and she knew they couldn’t. They’d drag their past
along with them until they hashed it out, one way or another. He was dead-on
about one thing though. Not now.

Enough talking. He’d gone past the edge of desperation, something
he didn’t want to repeat. He’d take more care this time, needing to feel her
response instead of sweeping her along with him.

He lifted her, bringing their faces level and tucked his
hands under her ass. Lordy, she filled his hands to perfection. If he wiggled
his fingers a little bit—oh so good—he touched her, felt her soft outer pussy
lips and worked his way in, toward her opening. He groaned, a small sound deep
in his throat.

Before he did anything else he wanted one thing clear. “How
long does this hot water last?”

She chuckled. “Best feature of this apartment. As long as we
want it to. We had a flood last year and the landlord had to put in one of
those new boilers—”

He didn’t care. He had his answer. Now his fear of getting
doused in ice had passed he could do what his body screamed at him to do
without a time limit. He eased two fingers inside her and she gave a soft,
feminine grunt of appreciation. “Nice. You have big hands.”

“Long fingers. The better to play you with.” He sent her a
wolfish grin and she smiled up at him. She tipped her head back, resting it
against the tiles behind her. They didn’t have much room but enough. His cock,
sheathed and erect, only needed a supporting hand at the base. He held her with
one hand and withdrew his fingers to spread his palm over her backside and
support her when he lowered her.

Keeping it slow, he slid her onto him, impaled her so their
bodies eased together, helped by a little of the sudsy water trickling between
her ass cleavage. Cyn closed her eyes and gave an appreciative “Ah!” as he
joined them. Then he moved his hands to her thighs and pushed her against the
wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in.

Deep, hot, wet, everything he wanted. “So fucking good. I
could keep doing this all night.”

“Suits me.” She opened her eyes, gazed at him, the azure the
color of the sky on a hot Italian day. He’d have to take her to ensure he was
right. Her long blonde hair clung to her skin in damp tendrils, twists that
resembled a Botticelli portrait. He’d heard all the women in the artist’s
paintings were the same one, a woman who obsessed Botticelli, the woman of all
women for him. Riku knew exactly how he felt.

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. His life had
been a series of disparate shapes, seemingly random, but recently they’d
started to slot into their rightful positions. This was another one. Although “friend
and lover” seemed the best label right now he wasn’t sure it might not turn
into something else before they were done.

He withdrew, thrust and sensed every inch of her as her
pussy clenched around his cock, gripping it in a group of flutters presaging
her climax. He grinned at her, saw the need in her eyes. “Not yet, sweetheart.
Wait awhile.”

“Wait? Are you kidding me?” She jiggled, trying to move him
but he had control of this one. He pressed in, moving closer, crowding her
against the wall and then kissed her. When he opened his lips over hers she
responded so fucking well, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, doing her best
to drive him frantic again.

He had to wonder why she wanted this so hard and fast and
concluded that maybe she wanted it over with. Physical satisfaction without the
connection he looked for. Another piece slotted in, but for him, the reason he
preferred lovers in multiples, or quick, happy hook-ups with no lingering
afters. Because he wanted afters with Cyn. Remembered them from their student
days, lying in a bed together, laughing, sharing jokes and confidences in a
relaxed way he’d never experienced with anybody else. In a way he’d never
allowed with anyone else.

The hot sex didn’t hurt either.

She gripped his shoulders, her nails biting in and he moved
against her, sank his cock as deep as he could get inside her. She sheathed
him, her pussy walls surrounding him in a light hold. If he stayed here without
moving he’d come just from being here.

Their kiss went on and on, exploring, tasting. She sucked
gently on his tongue and he ground his body against hers, her nipples hard
points against the muscles of his chest. Pretty, gorgeous peaks of flesh. He
worked his shaft inside her, rotating his hips. She groaned into his mouth, the
sound reverberating right down to his balls, currently tight and ready to go.

Oh yeah. He finished the kiss, touched his lips to her face,
bent to her neck but couldn’t travel any lower as that meant bending and siding
out of her. He straightened, withdrew and pushed in again, watching her eyes
spark and her lids half close. “Do what you want, Cyn. Anything. Or I’ll do it
all.”

“Mmm.” Pressing her shoulders against the tiled wall, she
angled her body to give him greater access. He watched them, stared down at
where they joined. Loved that she only kept a small tuft of hair there, so he
could see more, her pretty clit peeking from between the protective lips of her
labia. And lower still, his engorged and darkened cock drove into her pussy. He
worked her, push in and felt her stiffen, cry out. She might not come this way,
her sweet spot below his cock but not in direct contact with it on every
stroke. He freed one hand from under her backside and found her clit, rubbing
it between his thumb and forefinger.

This time she cried louder, a single, fraught sound, better
music than any he’d heard all evening and he made the most of it. Her turn to
call his name, groan her encouragement, as with deep, slow thrusts and increasingly
harder rubbing and tugging he brought her to orgasm.

Her pussy clenched around him, the gentle movements
transformed into hard, rapid convulsions and finally he let go. With a roar he
tilted his head back, the hot water cascading around him, forcing him to close
his eyes, the better to enjoy his complete release of all inhibitions.

They stood, or rather, he stood, his heart pounding stronger
than the water stream, his breath ragged, while the sensations washed over him.
Holding Cyn, supporting her, just improved the feeling.

She wriggled, her back squeaking against the tiles behind
her. Laughing in sheer delight, he leaned forward to separate them and lower
her gently to the floor of the shower. Leaning over him, her breasts grazing
his chest, she switched off the water. “We’ll turn into prunes if we stay here
much longer.”

“I don’t care.” But he did care about her. He swept the
plastic curtain aside and found a couple of towels, handily placed outside the
stall. He dried her, sweeping the towel across her body, plumping her breasts
so he could dry the fold beneath. He loved that she had such pretty breasts,
responding to his touch in a way that worked with it instead of against it. He
made the mistake of telling her so.

“I did think of getting a boob job,” she said. “Would you
want me if I did that?”

“Nothing would stop me wanting you.” He bent and kissed a
nipple. They weren’t as hard as before but still tipped with delicious, rose-pink
beads of flesh. He rolled one against his tongue then did the other to match.
Nice and hard.

He’d already removed the condom. After he ensured every part
of her was dry he dragged the cloth over his own body, scrubbing himself clean
with none of the care he’d used with her. Only haste. “So can we go to bed now?”

He’d never seen a bedroom as small as this one before. The
divan, a double, barely fitted and the closet, accessed by a narrow strip of
floor barely six inches wide, had a sliding door. One of those concertina ones,
a grubby white. However, the sheets were fine high-count cotton that slid
silkily against his skin as he settled next to her. He drew her close and
kissed her, contentment washing through him. “I don’t want to cast aspersions
on your closet,” he murmured, “but I’d really like to spread out a bit sometime.
Come to my apartment next?”

“So there’ll be a next?” She mumbled the words, her face
against his chest. He stroked his hand over her still-wet hair. He’d rubbed it
towel-dry and it fluffed in a cute way, totally unlike her usual sleek style.
She had wavy hair and took satisfaction from knowing only he saw her this way.
Right now.

“Sure there’ll be a next. And one after if I have anything
to do with it.” He touched her chin, tilting it so she gazed at him, could see
his sincerity. “I want you all to myself.” He let his mouth relax into a
crooked one-sided grin. “I’m not usually so possessive and if you say no, I
want you anyway. But I’ll promise you exclusivity in return.”