Sweet Ache by K. Bromberg
Her eyes light up when she hears my comment and it’s such a turn-on how her mouth falls lax when I pull back and just stare at her. “Stand up,” I order and I see the slight hesitation in her movement before she slowly rises from the couch. The funny thing is that as much as I demand a woman give me the reins in bed, there’s something sexy as hell in the fact that she questions handing her control over to me. It’s as if she’s telling me I don’t need you, don’t have to do this to feel needed, but I want to.
And fuck if that wouldn’t bring this man to his knees.
Her hair falls down around her shoulders when I lift her shirt over her head. I lick my lips and slide my eyes over the lacy pink bra, my dick already stirring and ready for round two at just the thought of what’s hidden beneath. My fingers tickle over her stomach and push down her jeans, and I’m momentarily mesmerized by the matching panties underneath.
I lean into her so that I can unfasten her bra but I pull back just as she leans forward to kiss me. “Hmm,” I exclaim, part groan, part protest because I want her lips on mine more than anything … but I want her naked first. The straps fall from her arms to reveal those hard nipples begging me to graze my teeth over them.
“I think …” I say, stepping back and angling my head at her. “I think it’s time to test that rumor after all.”
Confusion darkens her golden eyes before recognition flashes in them when she sees me reach out and pick my old guitar up by the neck. Her lips tilt up in a dare of a smile as she steps into me, taking her own lead in this seductive game. “Tell me, rocker boy,” she says coyly, her tone breathless and her fingertip skimming up my chest, “is it true that you can you play this body like a guitar?”
Her fingers leave my skin and she palms her own breasts, thumbs rubbing over her nipples just like I want to, causing her head to fall back and a soft sigh to fall from her lips.
“I’m gonna bang you like a goddamn drum set if you keep that shit up,” I murmur as I use every ounce of restraint not to drag her to the floor and fuck her until we’re breathless and spent.
Her rasp of a laugh only challenges me further. “Arms out, Trixie,” I command, causing her head to snap forward to figure out what I’m going to do next.
She holds her arms out to her sides and doesn’t say a word when I stare at her body momentarily as I figure how to work this, before stepping forward. Screw it, never hurts to try new things.
I take the guitar and place it at her back much like I had earlier before the jam session except for this time, I plan on it staying in place on its own volition. I match the neck of the guitar to her outstretched arm before looping the strap around her biceps once. Next I run the strap under the swell of her tits, my mouth dipping to taste and flick my tongue over each nipple in the process. She hums in appreciation, her eyes brimming with desire when she realizes my intent after I repeat things, looping the strap around the other biceps before reattaching it to the guitar.
When I step back and look at her, trussed up on my favorite guitar, strap pushing her boobs up so that her nipples are begging for attention, I know that even though I may be the one playing her like a guitar tonight, she sure as hell is unknowingly playing with my heart by standing here so willing, so open, infiltrating every part of my life.
She’s such a sight standing before me, I can’t hold back any longer. I place my hands on the side of her face and brush my thumbs over her cheekbones before kissing her softly. Taking my time, I build up the kiss and the moment to try to curtail that constricting feeling in my chest as I try to accept truths about what I feel for her that I don’t want to face yet. I want to give her soft and gentle before I work her into the frenzy that’s coming.
I’m still moving too fast, and I want to draw this out so I drop to my knees in front of her, fingertips trailing up and down her outer thighs and then tracing the lacy edge of her panties. Goose bumps chase across her skin, visual proof of how much my touch affects her as I pull the fabric down, my lips grazing kisses here and there as I follow their descent.
“Hawke.” She moans my name softly in that please stop, please don’t stop tone that urges me on further.
There are so many things I want to say, so may things I want from her right now, but as hot as the idea of telling her them are—spread your legs more, get ready to come, how bad do you want me—I say none of them. Sometimes the use of touch to speak is all the words you need.
She gasps when she sees me take a guitar pick between my fingers and her reaction is music to my ears. I begin to trace lines very slowly up each inseam, my actions causing her to spread her legs for the access I need. She begins to writhe, pushing her hips toward my face in front of her as I reach the apex of her thighs.
I can’t resist. She’s just proven the chink in my armor of restraint because no man is going to forgo his mouth on a pussy when it’s being thrust into his face. So I give into her temptation. I move both picks to one hand while my other hand parts her slick lips. My tongue flicks out and hits her clit, moving over the bundle of nerves before sucking on it.
She moans my name into the silence of the room, and I love the sound almost as much as watching her squirm from the onslaught of sensations caused by my mouth. Keeping her sex spread apart with one hand, I use the other to take a guitar pick and slide it softly over her clit.
“Oh God!” she groans, her hands fisting in their strapped position. I guess I don’t have to worry about if she likes it or not.
“Is there something you want?” I ask, grazing her clit with another flick from the pick.
She jerks her hips forward as I sit back on my heels, my dick more than begging to get in on this action. Her tits jiggle with the motion and I wonder just how long I can draw it out, bring her to the brink and then let her fall without crossing over the edge. I have no clue but it’s sure as fuck going to be fun trying to find out.
“Hey, Quin?”
She looks down to meet my gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her bottom lip is tugged between her teeth, and her eyes are hazy with desire.
“This studio is soundproof. Make sure you scream when you come.”
Chapter 23
QUINLAN
Stretching my legs out, the sheets slide over my bare skin that still carries Hawkin’s scent from the incredible sex we had last night. Incredible? That’s an understatement. How about the kind of sex that I’ll forever think of as the time that ruined me for anyone else?
The man is definitely creative with his instruments. Damn. He brought me to the brink and denied me so many times that when he finally granted me my orgasm, I willingly drowned in the wash of pleasure that felt like it lasted forever.
And if I didn’t know the answer before, I sure as hell know it now; Hawkin most definitely lives up to his last name and the rumor.
I let my mind wander over everything that happened between us last night. Watching their jam session was incredible but when Hawke started singing, it was almost like watching him purge the emotion he doesn’t think he has the right to feel or express otherwise. His lyrics were a confession, a trace of the tumult he feels on a daily basis. From the continuous glances shared between the guys when Hawke left his head hung low and eyes closed, I could tell that him baring his demons like that was unusual. And of course when he was finished with the song, I could tell he was just as surprised by his lyrical confession as the guys were.
So I did the only thing I could do. I let him gather himself for a moment before using humor to dispel the unease in those gray eyes of his. And then once I got him to laugh, I let him use my body to help him forget. Little did I know that Hawkin’s way of forgetting was by working me up into such a frenzy that I would have begged, pleaded, or borrowed for one more kiss, one more touch, one more look at him as he hovered over me before sinking into me.
I may not believe in the fairy-tale ending, but who cares? I’d challenge anyone to prove to me that Prince Charming can turn a woman out better than Hawkin Play did to me last nigh
Bracing myself, I brave the bright light of the bedroom and open my eyes to find the bed empty beside me. I groan with disappointment but then notice the guitar pick placed on his pillow. My smile is automatic as is the ache stirring awake inside me at the little reminder he’s left me—although there’s no chance I’ll be forgetting last night anytime soon.
Lost in that thought, I roll back over to notice that it’s eleven o’clock. A cat ate the canary grin spreads on my lips because I’m an early riser, so the fact Hawke sexed me up so good I slept this late is a testament to just how fantastic last night really was.
And as much as I want to snuggle back under the covers, I want Hawkin more. I rise from the bed, muscles stiff from being oversexed, and I grab Hawke’s Pink Floyd shirt draped over a chair. It’s long on me and with my boy-short panties, I’m comfortable enough to cruise the house and look for him even with the other guys around.
After brushing my teeth and pulling up my hair in a messy ponytail, I open the bedroom door and pad down the hallway. Music plays near Gizmo’s room and Rocket’s distinctive laugh startles me from a room past the staircase. As I descend, I catch snippets of conversation floating up the stairs mixed with the clink of silverware against dishes from the kitchen below.
I must be crazy because I suddenly have butterflies over the idea of seeing Hawke. It’s ridiculous and silly but I love it because a man who gives you butterflies is definitely a man you can lose yourself in.
“Dude, sugar does not equal breakfast.” Vince’s comment has the smile spreading across my lips.
“To me it does. Now get back to what you were ragging on me about. Please. Nothing is better than a lecture after a great night of sex,” Hawkin says sarcastically.
“Look, I haven’t seen you like this about a chick in a long-ass time. If ever.” Vince’s words cause my feet to falter, the rational side of my brain and the curious side in an instantaneous war whether to announce my presence or eavesdrop.
Curiosity wins.
“What business is it of Quin’s? She’s my life, my responsibility.” My ears quirk up at the same time a sinking feeling clips the butterflies of their wings. “I still love her. Regardless of everything … I can’t not.” The resignation and pain in Hawke’s voice tug at my compassion while the actual words make my head spin with a slow, uneasy discord.
“Look, I like Quin a lot too. Think she brings out a side of you that I’ve never seen before … I just think she has a right to know that Helen comes first. And always will. That you’re going to leave at the drop of a dime when you get the call.”
Helen? Calm down. There has to be a reasonable explanation here.
“I know—it’s a fucked-up situation….” Hawke says and then the clatter of dishes drowns out the rest.
“That’s exactly the problem though, Hawke. If this plays out, Quin deserves to come first … and she won’t. Dude, I get the hold she has over you but fuck man, you gotta live your life and quit beating yourself up over what’s happened.” I can sense Vince’s aggravation, can hear it in his tone, and my mind wanders to what they can possibly be talking about. I try to fill in the missing pieces that the kitchen clatter drowns out. “If Quin sticks around like she looks like she will, she’s gonna find out sooner or later; it’s going to be best if you tell her about everything.”
“Ben’s been able to keep my past zipped up so that no one knows about her, about any of it unless I want them to.”
My mind connects the dots, and understanding dawns about why even though I researched him, his father’s death was never mentioned. Somehow, some way, his boyhood friend used legal means to secure his past. Privacy about his father’s suicide I can understand, but what the hell are they talking about now?
Once again I find myself in the dark surrounded by the secrets Hawkin keeps. And I’m not a fan of secrets or the dark.
“But there’s always Hunter now, isn’t there?” Vince says, the room falling silent.
My mind reels and imagination runs wild. Does Hawke have a child? Has he been married? Was he in an accident and his girlfriend was injured and now he feels he owes her? What could possibly be so stressful that he can’t tell me?
My stomach churns with the possibilities and I’m not fond of any of them. Do I stay or do I leave undetected? I’d rather find out what is so horrible now before I fall even harder for Hawke than I already have. The best way to face it is head-on so I enter the kitchen just as Hawkin says, “The constant wild card in my life.”
“Good morning.” Vince and Hawkin’s bodies jolt at the sound of my voice.
“Morning,” Vince nods cautiously before shooting Hawkin a knowing glance and walking out of the kitchen.
“Sorry, was I interrupting?” I ask as I meet his eyes, hoping my eavesdropping isn’t given away in them.
His answer is to tug on the hem of his shirt I’m wearing and pull me into the V between his thighs. He wraps his arms around my waist and with the height difference of him sitting and me standing, he buries his face into my chest and holds me tight.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, the warmth of his breath seeping through my shirt and into the sensitized skin of my breasts. And there’s something so sexy about a man when he’s willing to cuddle in broad daylight. It’s that combination of rough and soft at the same time. The notion that he’s willing to be caught by the other band members.
I wrap my arms around him in kind and try not to let the confusion over the conversation I just walked in on ruin the moment. I press a kiss into the top of his head. “Morning. Everything okay?”
I almost don’t want him to answer, to ruin this, because this feels so normal, so right that I don’t want to worry about tomorrows or what most likely won’t be for us. If he says yes, everything is okay, I know despite last night, he’s still keeping secrets, and if he says no, then I fear he’ll tell me something I don’t want to deal with right now that might push me away.
The conundrum is we haven’t known each other long enough for me to feel like I deserve to know the answer to the question, and yet my feelings have grown strong enough for him that I want to know.
He sighs and I can feel the tension in his shoulders. “Yes. No. Just shit I don’t want to deal with right now,” he says, giving me an all of the above answer that allows our ambiguous state to remain. “I know what would make me feel better, though.” He looks up at me, eyes warm and inviting as his grin spreads slowly, the I’m-a-rock-god-bow-before-me one that I can’t resist.
“I’m sure you do.” Damn, just a few words and he already has that slow burn of desire simmering in my core.
“What instrument should we play today?” The amusement in his tone mixes with the lift of an eyebrow that has me laughing out loud.
“Oh, I’m sensing a new theme here. Working our way through the instruments now, are we?”
He slides his hands down to cup my ass, fingers sweeping ever so softly over the thin fabric of my panties between my thighs. “By the time I’m done with you, we’ll have played a rock band’s worth of instruments.”
He keeps his hands on my backside and pulls me into him, his forehead to my midchest. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, confusion lingering within me over things I know I can’t control: his secrets or my feelings. I tell myself that I need to take a step back from this paradox of a man.
I’m getting wrapped up too fast with him. And yes I think he feels similarly, but I also know there are way too many truths left untold. While I don’t feel that he owes it to me to throw his soul and secrets on the table at this juncture, I know I’ve been completely open, and that scares me. Unfortunately I’ve been on the receiving end before of situations when you fall and there’s no one there to catch you.
I tell myself that I need to tell him I’m super behind on the first draft of my thesis and I need to go home to work on it. Separating myself from his sexy morning voice and addictive smile is necessary for the space I need to get a new per
Because falling in love is like the rain. You can’t always predict it and when you do it might never appear, but you can always see the signs of it before it falls.
I know that if I take that step back, I’ll see storm clouds bearing down on the horizon. I’m just not sure how I feel about that. Living in Southern California, rain isn’t something I see a lot, and when I do, I love it for the first few hours … until I realize it’s ruined that perfectly composed appearance of mine. Once it makes my hair frizzy and my makeup run, I start to drown under its dark cloud.
And then there’s the thought that if it is raining, Hawke and I haven’t even given an ounce of thought to what comes next. We’re too busy enjoying the now, the intensity of getting to know each other in all senses of the word, and haven’t even thought about the umbrella to prevent us from getting soaked. He has a tour coming up; I have my thesis…. Ugh. I’m beginning to overthink crap I shouldn’t even be thinking about because shit, it might not even rain. Damn forecasters are always wrong.
“What are you thinking about?” Hawke murmurs, his breath heated against my skin, pulling me from my sudden and unexpected analysis.
“The rain.”
Hawke leans back and looks at me with an amused expression and a lazy smirk on his lips. “I hate the rain,” he says, making it hard to form a coherent response. I know he doesn’t know my metaphor, but I can’t stop my breath from hitching nonetheless because now that I know he hates the rain, I kind of want it to pour. “But I can think of a helluva lot better ways to get you wet.”
My laugh comes freely as his fingers press with intent between the apex of my thighs, that tingling ache simmering in my lower belly at the feeling. A soft sigh falls from my lips as Hawke stands, sliding his chest all the way up my body in his ascent, making me forget all about the rain I want to fall until it falls. We stand face-to-face, lips inches apart, and senses on high alert in preparation for the wild frenzy we bring out in each other.