Page 102 of Sing For Me

My eyes go to his jeans, which are nearly soaked through now.

He brings his broad hands to his waist. How have I never noticed how beautiful his hands are? Wide and strong with long, tapered fingers. Hands I want to hold on to me and never let me go.

Eli unbuttons his jeans. He’s wearing nothing under them, like he slipped them on in a rush this morning, unsure of what else to do. It’s then I realize this moment isn’t just mine. It’s his. It’s ours.

Together we slide his wet jeans down far enough to free his cock, which is already half hard. When I touch him, it thickens immediately. By the time I straddle him, sliding onto him like I belong there, he’s like a rock inside of me, filling me so completely I gasp.

He curls up, taking my nipple in his mouth, groaning as I ride his cock, relishing this moment between us as if it were our last, when I know it can’t be. That I never want to let him go. When his hand slips down between my legs, his thumb working my clit, it’s only a moment before we release together, pulsing around each other’s bodies as we cry out each other’s names.

It’s all I can do to keep from floating away with him into forever.

CHAPTER26

Eli

TRACK:Leonard Cohen, “Famous Blue Raincoat”

Overnight, Reese has become the center of everyone’s attention at the hotel. The constant questions and emails from people—only a fraction of what Reese is going through—are making it extremely difficult to concentrate on work. It also happens to be the penultimate week of filming forChef’s Apprentice. Only four of the twelve contestants remain, including Augusta and Crying Marcel. Thankfully, Neil seems to be on his best behavior, though that old exuberance has been replaced by shadows under his eyes and jokes that don’t quite land.

Still, once the cameras are on, he works them well. And Kelly has returned to set, though by Reese’s account, she’s keeping a low profile.

The season premier is already being advertised on TV, and the news networks are starting to tie Reese’s video with clips from the show. I have an email in my inbox I haven’t figured out how to respond to from Kelly’s bosses in New York, telling us they want to have Reese perform for the finale next week. When I told Reese yesterday, she went a shade of pale I’d never seen on her before, and I could tell this was all too much, too fast.

She showed me the thousands of messages she’s been getting in her inbox and asked if I’d help screen them with her. Most of them are people gushing about the video or asking for leads or money for their sick relatives and pet surgeries. A good portion of them are trolls. But there are some deeply legitimate inquiries coming in too.

Like from music agents and record executives, talking about invitations to New York and LA.

It occurs to me that maybe I should be worried. Or jealous. A normal person would be. But I can’t be—this is what I wanted to happen when I told Jude to go for it, posting that video. I can’t keep all of her for myself, as much as I want to. She has a gift, and I need as much as she does for the whole world to see her the way I do.

We stay at her place mostly, Reese stroking Rufus’s ears while we talk about some of the emails.

“So many strangers,” she says. “And so many jerks.”

“So many jerks,” I agree.

The things some people think they have a right to say to her make my skin crawl, if I’m being honest. And even though we spend several hours blocking and deleting, by the end of each night, I still want to squash something and she’s still wandering around dazed.

“What do I do now?” she asks, three nights after the video went live. I just came back from a run with Rufus, which has been helping to alleviate some of my squashing urges.

She’s sitting curled up on the couch in her living room.

I flop down beside her, still breathing hard. “What do you want to do? Quit your job? Go on tour?”

She laughs but shakes her head. “No.” Reese holds my hand, cups it against her cheek.

“Careful, I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t care. I just need to remind myself you’re here. That I’m not doing all this alone.”

I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Never, Reese.” She’ll never have to be alone again, if I can help it. “You don’t need to decide anything right this minute. You’ve got two weeks to get through—if you want to go back to work, that is.”

Reese tightens her grip on my hand, leaning into it. “I do. Work’s the only thing keeping my feet on the ground right now. And I want to help get my staff through the end of the show. I’ll decide after that.”

Our eyes meet, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing. That’s when we’re supposed to decide what we’re doing with us. I’ve wanted to tell her early a thousand times that this is real for me. That I don’t want it to end. But I know she needs her space too.

And I know I need to practice giving it to her if I want to do things better. Still, my stomach does a little dive. Reese could be a star. She’s already going to be a star if she follows through on any of the messages people are sending. I could give her everything I have, and she could easily walk away from me if she wanted to.

I wouldn’t even blame her.

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