Strum Your Heart Out (26 page)

"Come on." Drew slides his arms around my waist. He pulls me under a wave with him.

Fuck. It's freezing.

I surface with a gasp. Drew's wet hair sticks to his skin. His lips curl into a smile, his cheeks crinkling, his eyes lighting up.

Once again, the words form in my throat. I want to say it so badly. I want to hear it back.

But I can't.

The two weeks are up. The ball is in his court.

This might be over.

I might have to walk.

I try to push the thought out of my mind, but it won't go. Even when his arms slide around my waist. Even when his laugh rings in my ear. Even when his lips sink into mine.

This might be the last day we get together. I want to enjoy every moment I have with him, whatever this is.

After another ten minutes of swimming, I'm freezing. Not just my body but my heart.

I whisper in Drew's ear. "Let's go inside."

"Thought you'd never ask."

***

It's amazing how easy it is to forget all about your scar-induced anxiety when your stomach is in knots and your throat is ragged.

The beach is empty as we run back to the house. Drew leads me into three different rooms before he finds the master bathroom. It's huge—marble tile, wide glass shower, windows letting in the late afternoon light.

He slides his hands around my ass and presses me against the wall, sucking on my lower lip. He pushes my bikini bottoms to my knees. They fall to my feet with a wet thud.

His hands go right between my legs. No waiting, no teasing, he slides his fingers over my clit. It's too wet for proper friction. I grab a towel from the rack and wipe my skin and his hands.

"How long has it been?" he reaches around to unhook my bikini top.

"About five days?"

"Worst five days of my life." He pulls the bikini top off my shoulders. His eyes go wide. "How the fuck am I going to be away from you all May?"

"And most of April and June."

"Don't remind me."

He presses his fingers to my clit. There's enough friction now to send heat through my body. I press my lids together. I want to feel this moment, not a vague sense of dread over how wrong this might go.

"Come on." He presses his hand into my lower back.

I open my eyes and follow him into the shower. He slides off his swimsuit and kicks it aside. He's already hard.

My breath hitches.

He turns the water on, holding his hand under the showerhead to test the temperature. He slides his arm around it and pulls it away from the wall.

It's detachable.

His eyes meet mine. He smiles mischievously. "I always wanted to try this." He slides his arm around my waist and pulls my body into his.

Our lips connect in a wet, messy kiss. My feelings rise up in my throat. They want out. They want into the space, into his ears, but it's not happening. Not verbally.

Instead, I channel my feelings into my kiss. Into the way my hips shift against him. He brings the faucet over our heads. It rains down with a steady stream, making our bodies slick and frictionless.

He moves me toward the wall and turns me around so my back is pressed against his chest.

Drew sinks his teeth into my neck. My earlobe. My shoulder. He toys with my nipples until I'm panting.

I'm still thinking.

I don't want to be thinking.

I bring my hand behind my back and rake it over his torso. Lower and lower until it's wrapped around his cock. I pump him with steady strokes.

"Kara." His nails sink into my hip. He lifts my leg, positioning me so his cock brushes against my sex.

I arch my back so he enters me.

A gasp escapes my lips. His low groan echoes against the glass walls.

He brings the showerhead over my chest. Then my stomach. Then beneath it.

The water streams over my clit. It's light and warm, a soft pressure. Not enough to consume my thoughts.

"More." I arch to take him deeper.

Drew groans as he thrusts into me. He moves the showerhead closer. Closer.

There.

"Yes," I breathe. "Fuck me."

"Put your hands on the wall so you can keep your balance."

I press my hands against the wall. It's rough concrete, easy to grip.

With one hand, Drew points the showerhead at my clit. The stream of water hits me with a warm, steady pressure. It's different than his hand or his tongue or even a vibrator. More intense, wetter, warmer.

My sex clenches. I arch my back as if to beckon him to fuck me, but he stays put.

His other arm holds my body against his at the chest, angled so his fingers brush against my nipple. He toys with me, teasing me, pinching me.

It feels good, but I'm not getting there. Those damn words are in my throat. Those damn words are ruining this.

I whisper them as softly as I can.
I love you
.

There.

The damn words are in the space. Too quiet for him to hear over the water, but at least they're not trying to suffocate me anymore.

He brings his mouth to my ear. "Shower's not working for you?"

I'm close to an orgasm but it doesn't feel good. Not the way it's supposed to.

Drew pulls out. He turns me around and stares into my eyes. I swallow hard. I can't stand the intensity of it.

"Come on." He returns the showerhead to its usual spot, pulls me out of the shower, and then towel-dries me himself.

I follow him to a plush, king-sized bed. Drew lifts me by the ass and throws me onto the bed. He climbs on after me and pins my knees to the bed.

He plants kisses up my inner thighs. Then his mouth is on me, licking and sucking and biting like he's desperate to feel my release.

What if this is the last time? It can't be like this.

I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head. Drew is eating me out. It's as good as ever. I should be enjoying it.

I focus on the feeling of his soft, wet tongue. I bring my hands to the back of his head, to lead him to the right spot. It's better. A few more licks and pleasure spreads through me. Not as intense as normal, but enough to command my attention.

He groans into my thigh between his movements. That sound feels better than anything else his mouth can do. As long as I'm stuck with the weight of these damn feelings, I need to focus on something besides my release.

His.

I tug at Drew's hair. "I want to try something."

"Anything." He groans into my thigh.

"Sixty-nine. I've never done it before."

He pokes his head up to look at me. "Fuck yeah. Might take some adjusting." He presses his lips to my stomach. "With our height difference."

He kisses his way to my chest. My neck. My lips. I kiss him harder, plunging my tongue into his mouth. I need this kind of intensity. I need to be in control of something, because I'm sure as shit not in control of my feelings.

I release him. "I want on top."

"Yes Ma’am." He brings his body next to mine, propping his head and neck up with a few pillows. He pats his shoulders. "Knees here."

I turn my body and plant my knees near his shoulders. His hands go to my hips and he pulls me onto his mouth. His tongue plunges inside me. He's not wasting any time.

I have an amazing view of his body, from his chest to his toes. I spend a long moment taking it in. The details pull me back into the moment. I trace the lines of his chest piece. The lines of his stomach. I shift lower, wrapping my hands around his cock.

It takes a few tries to get into position. I brush my lips against his cock, teasing him until his nails sink into my hips. I'm merciless. I flick my tongue against his tip again and again, until he groans against me.

Yes. That's what I need. I take him into my mouth and slide my tongue around him. He gets more aggressive with his movements, licking harder, sliding two fingers into my sex and rubbing against my g-spot. I respond with equal enthusiasm, sucking hard, taking him as deep as I can.

There's something amazing about the position, giving and receiving at once. He's making me feel good, and I'm making him feel good. It's like an endless cycle of pleasure, better and better and better.

I love the feel of him in my mouth. The taste. The way his thighs shudder and his nails sink into my skin.

He moves faster. Harder. An orgasm rises up inside me. This time, it's not just pressure. It's pleasure too. We're so good together here. It's possible we can be good together when our clothes are on.

I suck as hard as I can. I dig my fingers into his thighs. I moan against him.

The next flick of his tongue sends me over the edge. My sex pulses as I come. It's intense, unrelenting. I channel the feelings into my movements.

Drew groans into my thigh. He grabs my hips, shifting me. "I want to come inside you."

I flick my tongue against him one more time, then shift. I don't give Drew time to get on top. I turn around, plant my knees outside his hips, and bring my body onto his.

His cock slides inside me. I'm already throbbing. The depth is intense. But I'm in control of this. I rock my hips, riding him.

He grabs onto my hips, thrusting into me with the same rhythm.

"You're so fucking sexy." He stares up at me like he's lost in how much he loves my body.

I move faster. Until I'm out of breath. Until my thighs are burning.

Drew's groans spur me on. Pleasure spills into his expression. His eyes close. His teeth sink into his lips.

"Fuck, Kara." He digs his nails into my skin. "I'm gonna come."

He thrusts violently, forcefully. I press my hands against his chest, widening my knees so he can go deeper.

And then he's there, his thighs shaking, his stomach tightening, his cock pulsing inside me as he comes.

I collapse onto his chest and hold him as close as I can.

No thinking.

No feeling.

Just his body against mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY

We drive to a luxe karaoke joint in Korea Town. The place is lit in soft shades of blue and gold. A twenty-something dude in a button-up black shirt points us to a room at the end of a long hallway. He doesn't look at us funny, like it's strange a rock band is congregating in a private karaoke room.

Not strange at all.

Drew runs his hands over my inner thighs. He takes his time to trace three of my scars. It's careful, like he finds them fascinating instead of off-putting, like they only make him want me more.

It's funny. When I'm with him, I forget all about the scars.

I'm not a poor, damaged girl. Maybe a girl driven mad with lust and some other l-word she can't admit.

But not poor, damaged Kara.

He removes his hand, tragically, to push the door open. Meg jumps to her feet and rushes to me.

"Thank God. I thought I'd have to hear Tom and Pete do another duet." She throws her arms around me. "Your brain working yet?"

"If I never see another Scantron again, it will be way too soon."

"Ditto." She turns to Miles. "Only one more quarter of college."

"And then four years of med school," he says.

"You're no fun." She sticks her tongue out at him then looks to me. "Miles refuses to sing, which means—" She points to Pete and Tom and shakes her head.

"You don't sing?" I ask.

"Not for free." He turns to Meg. "Except maybe for you, babe."

"Uh-huh."

"But it wouldn't be fair to get you dripping wet then make you wait all night to fuck me." He slaps her ass. "Now would it?"

"I could live with it," Meg says.

He picks her up and spins her. They fall onto the couch, Meg landing perfectly in Miles's lap.

Tom flips through the karaoke book. He points something out to Pete. They share a look of glee.

And then Pete nods. "Okay, okay. I'm more than happy to rise to this particular occasion." He winks at me and Meg. "And many others."

"He and the girlfriend are on a break," Tom says.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up," Pete says.

"Tom, why are you so obsessed with other people's relationships?" Meg asks. "Like first you pulled that shit with me and Miles. And now you're meddling with Pete. And I'm sure you—" She looks at me, then clears her throat like she didn't say anything. "You're a manwhore. What do you care if other people are settling down?"

"I want what's best for my friends," Tom says.

"Yeah, what you think is best," Meg says.

Miles pulls her closer. "Babe, Tom is as stubborn as you are. This is not an argument you're gonna settle." He kisses her neck. "How about you let him work himself into a fit?"

"You happy with how things turned out or not?" Tom asks.

She nods like he has a point. I guess he does. Whatever Tom did to fuck things up between Meg and Miles, they're happy now. They're gooey, madly in love.

Tom opens a bottle of whiskey and pours shots for everyone except Miles. He passes them around the table. Each slides, smoothly stopping near the intended shot taker.

It's impressive, really.

Meg pushes hers back. "I'm not drinking."

"It's not like your pussy is going to get Miles tipsy." Tom slides the shot back to her. "You gotta celebrate properly."

"Haven't you heard of solidarity?" she asks.

"Heard? I spent an entire tour sober because of your boyfriend and spent another tour celibate because of her—" He points at Drew. "Because."

Meg shakes her head. "You fucked like eighteen girls in Japan alone. No way you spent more than three days celibate."

"He did," Pete says. "Shocked us all."

Tom looks to Meg. "You drinking or not?"

"I don't need my girlfriend dry.” Miles smirks.

Just in case we all missed his double entendre, he slides his hands up her thighs. She groans like she can hardly pull herself off him. Thankfully, she manages.

"Okay." She holds up her shot as a toast. "To our last quarter of college!"

I hold up my drink. And then, all at once, we all—well, everyone but Miles—slam our shots. It burns my throat, but there's a certain pleasant richness to the whiskey.

Pete taps something into the karaoke machine. "If you'll excuse me."

The name of the band and song flashes onscreen. "No Way in Hell" - Sinful Serenade.