Still Life with Strings (21 page)

His hand glides along
the outside of my thigh to the inside before skimming up to the apex of my
legs. He rubs lightly through my jeans and says in a voice that’s deliciously
lustful, “I want to suck on your clit until you scream.”

Wow. My sophisticated
concert violinist has a dirty mouth, and it thrills me.

“Jesus, Shane…”

His hand comes up, and
his thumb brushes over my bottom lip before dipping inside my mouth. I gasp and
then touch my tongue to it, sucking hard. He groans.

“You’re beautiful,” he
murmurs, his eyes on me the entire time.

“I’m a sure thing, you
know. You don’t have to butter me up with flattery,” I joke, my voice strained.

He stares at me for a
long time, slowly shaking his head. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever
seen,” he says firmly, each word enunciated sharp and precise, like he’s
sending a message. Reaching up, he unbuttons my shirt to expose my bra. He
trails his hand over the lace before pinching my nipple through the fabric. I
let out a little whimper, and he grins full-on, moving down to undo my jeans. I
lie on his couch, transfixed, unable to bring my attention away from him as he
casually undresses me. It’s like he’s been doing it all his life.

Soon my jeans are gone,
thrown onto the floor. He licks a line across my abdomen, nipping and kissing
my belly. I gasp softly when really I want to scream for him to take everything
off me. I’m hardly taking part in this at all, too fascinated by how sexy he
is, so focused and attentive. I think it’s true what they say about the shy
ones being the complete opposite in the bedroom.

Turn off the lights and
turn off the shyness
.

Shane’s got this subtle
confidence in his sexuality that can’t be taught. I’m totally at his mercy. His
teeth graze the edge of my knickers, teasing, hinting at the fact that he could
probably rip them off me if he wanted to. Instead he slowly pulls them down,
exposing me inch by agonising inch. I’m breathing like I just ran five miles,
heaving, obsessed with how his golden eyes drink me in.

He kisses my mound, and
for a second I’m relieved I keep everything neat and tidy down there. Then I’m
not thinking at all. I’m only feeling his tongue as it flicks over my folds,
soft and feather light, almost like a question. His warm hands push my legs
farther apart, and he looks up at me, gaze hooded, as he goes deeper. Every
time he licks me, so carefully, so skilled, a spark of pleasure rips through my
system.

Groaning, he parts my
lips and finds my clit, rubbing circles into it with his thumb and making my
body shake. Then he moves fast, his mouth going to the tiny bundle of nerves
and sucking hard. Before I can think another thought, he thrusts two fingers
deep inside me, and I let out a moan so loud I actually feel like blushing. Me.
Blushing. Has the world turned upside down?

How have I survived
this far without knowing the pleasure of having this man worship me with his
mouth?

“You’re…really…fucking
good at this,” I gasp, letting my fingers drift into his hair.

I can see him smiling,
but his mouth is far too indisposed for a response. His fingers start to pump
hard and fast as he begins to swirl his tongue around my clit. Jesus Christ,
but he knows what he’s doing.

His other hand moves up
my body to squeeze one of my breasts. I practically cry when he drags his mouth
from me and pulls me up to sit.

He seems to see the
question in my disappointed gaze because he replies, “We need this off,
Bluebird.”

I understand then as he
unclips my bra and throws it onto the floor with the rest of my things. I’m
suddenly aware that he hasn’t removed a single item of his own clothing, so I
make quick work of disposing of his shirt. Before I get the chance to take off
his trousers, he’s moving back down my body, his mouth doing all sorts of
amazing things to my most intimate parts. He reaches up and pinches my nipple,
rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Then he begins moulding my breast
with his hand.

“How are you so good at
this?” I breathe as a fire starts to build in me. I’m going to come in seconds
if he just keeps circling my clit with his tongue. Unfortunately, I was dumb
enough to ask a question.

He comes up for air and
replies low, “Maybe I spent a little too much time imagining doing it to you.”

Okay, that was the best
answer. The. Best. Answer.

I moan. “Don’t stop.”

His grin is
intolerable, and then his tongue is on me, his fingers are inside me, and I
feel like I’m going to explode. I hold onto his hard shoulder with one hand, my
other hand gripping a cushion so tight I might rip a hole in it. It’s a good
job cushions don’t need to breathe; otherwise, I’d be suffocating the thing.

“You feel amazing,” he
says as he licks me, his words vibrating through my sex.

I whimper as I feel
myself reach my climax, pleasure ripping me apart. I’ve never come so hard with
a guy. Never. It’s almost like this has been building up for days. Being around
each other and not touching at all is like the most torturous kind of foreplay.

He keeps on tonguing
me, even after I’ve come, and it’s so intense that I have to beg him to stop.
He kisses his way up my body until he reaches my mouth and starts nipping at my
lips. I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him deeply, needing to taste him. It’s
a heady sensation, the mix of the two of us.

He hooks one arm around
my back and the other under my legs, and then unexpectedly lifts me from the
couch. I slide my arms around his neck and hold on.

“Where are we going?” I
whisper.

“My room. You’re
tired.”

“I should go home…”

“You’re not going
anywhere. We’re sleeping, Bluebird. Just sleeping.”

“That’s kind of
crossing a boundary, isn’t it?”

He shushes me, and then
we’ve climbed the stairs and he’s kicking open the door to his room. The walls
are bare, and the bed is gigantic. He puts me down on the mattress and flicks
on a low lamp. There’s a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a tonne of book
shelves. In the far corner there’s a small couch with a bunch of sheet music
spread messily across it.

I stay sitting on the
bed, stark naked, not knowing what to do. He wants me to stay over, but I’m not
sure that’s a good idea. I mean, what are the rules here? Do I return the
favour by going down on him? Do I leave early in the morning before he wakes up
so there’s no awkwardness? I’ve always felt that ideas seem much better at
night than they do in the harsh light of day.

Will I regret this
tomorrow? Probably.

Do I want to stay here
now and let him hold me as I sleep? Most definitely.

God, this is such a
shady situation with way too many grey areas. He pulls back the covers and
drags me under with him, curling his body around mine, his arm tight around my
middle. He traces shapes over my skin, the soothing touch causing me to close
my eyes and drift to sleep.

When I wake up it’s
morning, bright light streaming through the window. Groaning, I stretch out my
body, remembering where I am and the exact events that brought me here. Yep,
hasty decisions definitely seem better at night. A feeling of dread is forming
in my gut, not because I didn’t enjoy what happened between me and Shane, but
because I enjoyed it
too
much.

We took to each other
like we’d been together forever, not like it was only the second time we’d been
intimate.

I’m alone in the bed,
but I can hear someone pottering around down in the kitchen. I look about the
room and remember that I left all my clothes downstairs, so I grab a clean
T-shirt of Shane’s from one of his drawers and throw it on. It hits me
mid-thigh, which is just enough coverage to be considered decent.

When I go in search of
him, I find him sitting at the table, topless, a cup of coffee in front of him
and a violin in his lap. His back is turned to me, so he doesn’t know I’m there
yet. The muscles in his shoulders move as he puts new strings on his
instrument. The movement sort of holds me transfixed. I never imagined this
would be a strenuous activity, but by the looks of it, it is. His muscles tense
up and release as he works.

I step fully into the
room and walk around the table to sit across from him. His hands pause, setting
the violin aside, and his eyes come up to meet mine.

“Morning,” I whisper,
feeling strange about being here. Though by the way he’s eating me up with his
gaze, I’m thinking he’s not feeling the same way.

“Is that my T-shirt?”
he asks, smiling widely.

 “Yeah, we left my
stuff in the living room, remember?” I reply, folding my arms over my chest and
shifting uncomfortably as my stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble.

Shane chuckles. “Do you
want some breakfast?”

I stand up and nod,
needing something to do to keep my nerves at bay. His eyes follow me as I walk
to the fridge and open it. “Sure. What have you got?”

I spot a carton of
eggs, some bread, milk, butter, the usual mainstays. Then I feel his breath hit
the back of my neck and the warmth of his body tingle along my spine. His hand
slides across my belly and then dips down under the hem of the T-shirt I’m
wearing. My thighs drift apart slightly as I gasp and he cups me right between
the legs. His lips brush over my neck, causing goose bumps to scurry down my
spine. He caresses my sex, and I’m instantly wet for him, so full of need.

A surge of arousal
rushes through me, and then all of a sudden I’m taking the lead.

I turn around swiftly
and push him over to where the kitchen opens up into a sun room extension. I
push him again, down onto a narrow sofa before straddling his hips. He watches
me as he lies there, mouth open, chest heaving. His eyes glitter in the
sunlight, and I’m so turned on I don’t even care that we’re in a room made of
glass for all the world to see.

I reach down and try to
get the fly of his jeans open. I have absolutely no underwear on, grinding my
sex against him. Once I have them open I pull him free, practically shaking as
I run my hand down his length. He’s perfectly long and thick, just what I need.

Raising myself up, I
position his cock right at my entrance and then slowly lower my body down all the
way. I can feel every inch of him as he fills me, and a loud moan erupts from
the back of my throat. Shane lets out a guttural groan, his hands fisting at my
hips. Then I start to ride him, pushing myself up and down on his cock slowly,
seeking pleasure from his body and giving him a show in the process.

He grips the hem of my
T-shirt and drags it up over my head, my long hair falling through it and my
breasts bobbing free. His eyes are glued to my chest as I ride him, and I feel
his cock hit every sweet spot inside me. If I thought standing up was good, it
had nothing on being on top. This is the deepest he can possibly get, and it’s
maddening. All my inhibitions fall by the wayside as my sounds fill the room.

“Incredible,” he rasps.
“We fit so well together, Bluebird.” His hand moves up along my hip to my
ribcage.

Those words momentarily
break my lusty haze. They’re too romantic, have too much meaning, and they make
this something it’s not supposed to be. Now I’m no longer lost in the sex.
Unprotected sex, might I add. Completely my fault, too, since I practically
jumped on him without thinking of the consequences. I’m on the pill, so
pregnancy’s not an issue. Diseases aren’t really an issue, either. We’re both
mature and responsible enough to keep track of those kinds of things.

It’s the intimacy
that’s the problem.

Being skin on skin. No
barriers. It creates an emotional, almost soul-deep connection that’s not
supposed to happen between friends with an “arrangement.” But God, it feels so
good to have him inside me, to be able to feel all his hot, silky skin, that I
almost don’t care about the implications. Almost.

He reaches up and grips
my neck, pulling my mouth down to his for a deep, earth-shattering kiss. Now
I’m not the one riding him anymore; the pleasure is so much that my body has
gone limp. My bones have turned to mush. Now he’s moving his hips from his
position below and pumping up into me.

“Babe,” he murmurs as I
drag my mouth from his so I can bury my face in his neck. It’s warm here, and
nice. This way I don’t have to look into his beautiful, deep eyes and feel
things I’m not supposed to be feeling. Hands clutching my hips again, he starts
to pump faster, and I rise up, all of my insides tightening with impending
release. Now we move together, fast and frenzied, coaxing each other to that
perfect place where for seconds that feel like hours there isn’t a single
thought in your head, there’s only the feeling of coming.

So in tune with one
another’s bodies, we orgasm together, my walls pulsing around his cock, milking
him dry. He swears profusely under his breath, because swearing is the only way
to express how amazing this feels. I swear, too, because I know this is bad,
really fucking bad.

Anything that feels
this perfect needs to be vocalised with a couple shits and fucks.