Page 14 of Broken Chords

Damian’s arm slips around my waist again. “Ready?”

“Definitely.” Another flutter of anticipation goes through me. For the first time in a long time I’m excited about the third date expectations instead of strategizing how I can put them off or get away with the minimum amount of groping. The difference this time is that Damian cares about me. I’m looking forward to seeing him without some of his clothes—or all of his clothes. And I feel safe sharing my body with him, confident that he’ll care enough to ensure my pleasure as well as his own.

He lifts his chin in the direction of his roommates as we head toward the door, and Lauren gives me a little wave and a thumbs up. I can’t help laughing, which has Damian turning to me. “What?”

I shake my head. “Just Lauren.”

“She is pretty funny. Are you enjoying living with her?”

“Yeah. She’s not around much. But we have fun when we’re both there.” I open my mouth to spill the fact that we both know Gabby, but that would create more questions, so I bite it back and swallow it down. I’m not ready to risk our new connection with the crazy details of my life outside of Marycliff. Yet. I hope we’ll get to the point where I can bring him into the tiny circle of people here who know the truth about me. But right now that’s limited to Lauren, the dean of students, and the chief of campus police. The more people who know a secret, the less likely it is to stay a secret, after all.

After we climb into the car, Damian hesitates for a second before putting the key in the ignition. “It’s still early for a Friday night. Do you want to get some coffee? Or dessert?”

At first I’m not sure if that’s his way of working up to inviting me to his place—coffee or dessert and then invite me over. Or maybe he’s hoping I’ll invite him over? Well, I already know we’ll be alone at my place. “What about going back to my house? Lauren’s going to be practicing for a while, so we’d have the place to ourselves.”

His Adam’s apple bobs visibly as he swallows. And when he answers, his voice is lower, huskier than normal. “That sounds good.”

That voice and his direct gaze have all my nerves flying away. Anticipation skitters down my spine and warmth starts spreading low in my belly. Knowing how good he is with his hands on his cello, how he can alternate between firm and delicate touches to evoke just the right sound—what can those hands do to my body? Will he play me, changing the pressure, the stroke, the timing to find out what kinds of sounds I’ll make?

And what about him? I can’t wait to taste him. To see what he looks like when he finally loses control. Is he loud? Growly? Or as quiet and self-contained as he is right now?

I cross my legs and squeeze as I shiver in delightful expectation. No words pass between us on the short drive to my house. But Damian’s hand reaches for me across the console, glancing at me as he gives my leg a squeeze and turns his hand palm up, wiggling his fingers so I’ll cover his palm with mine.

When we get to my house, I lead the way inside, enjoying the way he never lets me more than an arm’s length away, his hands staying on me the whole time. But once we’re inside, he turns shy again, standing in the entryway, looking around the house with his hands in his pockets like he’s never seen the place before.

I’m not used to taking the lead like this, but if I don’t we’ll end up standing here all night. Dropping my keys and purse in their place beside the door, I move to the couch to sit down, patting the space next to me. “Come sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

While I wait for him to decide what to do, I cross one leg over the other and unzip the short zipper on the side of my bootie. By the time the first one is off, he’s crossed the room and sat down next to me. I give him a smile as I unzip the second one, enjoying the way his eyes follow the movement of my hands.

Once my shoes are off and sitting side by side on the floor next to the couch, I pull my legs under me, shifting to face him on my knees. His face is still, neutral, as his eyes roam over all of me. I take a moment to do the same thing, taking him in, the way he’s sitting on the couch, one leg pulled up next to him so he can face me, his arm along the back of the couch, his wiry body looking ready to launch into action. Is he readying himself to launch at me? Or holding himself back?

Maybe he’s worried that I don’t want to move things to a more physical relationship? Maybe he’s waiting for a signal from me?

Then I’ll give him the signal he needs.

Leaning toward him, I reach out with both hands, cupping his cheeks, and tipping his face up so I can kiss him. He’s initiated our previous kisses, but now it’s my turn.

His hands wrap around my wrists, holding me as my mouth moves over his, his lips soft and warm under mine. We kiss, kiss, gentle and sweet, just lips. The longer it lasts, the more relaxed he becomes, his body pliant and supple rather than tightly coiled. But when my tongue licks along his lower lip, he tightens up again, his fingers clenching around my wrists, his whole body jerking to attention. With a low groan, he opens for me, allowing me access to his mouth. His tongue meets mine, sliding, welcoming, dipping into my mouth in return.

Our kiss is a meeting of equals. A slow, sensual exploration. Not a duel. Neither of us trying to master the other. It’s like when we play together. Our mouths mingling the same way our sound does. It’s like no kiss I’ve ever experienced before. And I want more. More of this. More of him.

Leveraging our connection, I scoot closer until my knees bump his. He shifts, and my leg has room to fit between him and the back of the couch. Inch by inch, I make my way onto his lap, straddling him. When I lower myself, resting my weight on him, he lets out another low sound as I slide along the hard ridge in his pants.

I move my hands to the back of his head. His hands find their way to my waist. I take that as encouragement and move against him again, slow and deliberate. His fingers tighten reflexively on my hips. I do it again. And again. Until he’s bucking up against me, meeting me thrust for thrust. And I want this without clothes in the way. I want to feel him against me. His warm skin under my hands.

Breaking our kiss on a gasp, I attack the tie at his neck, yanking on the thin piece of silk, ripping it out of his collar. Then I go to work on the buttons of his shirt. He shifts underneath me, making me moan as he pushes his dick against my clit through the fabric of my leggings.

But his hands wrap around my wrists again, stilling me. “What are you doing, Charlie?” His voice is low and husky like it was in the car. When my eyes lift to his, they’re black and liquid with desire, but also guarded.

“Unbuttoning your shirt.”

“Why?”

I yank my hands back in surprise. “Um, well, that seemed like the next logical step. We’re both enjoying the kissing, and …” I trail off, unable to articulate my expectations in the face of his guarded and curious gaze. But I screw up my courage. “Sex. Isn’t that what this is leading toward?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Is that why you invited me over tonight? For sex?”

Backing off his lap, I climb onto my own cushion, wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly feeling naked even though we’re both still fully clothed. I only got three buttons of his shirt undone, and a triangle of bronze skin peeks over the top of it. “It’s the third date. Isn’t that …?”

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