Eternal Heat Page 18

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I give him one last, slow suck back to the tip, then break loose and his cock springs up.

  I scoot up until I’m directly over his cock. I lower myself onto his hard shaft, exhaling at the pleasure of him filling me at last. Bracing my hands on his chest, feeling his muscles through the soft fabric of his shirt, I lift up slightly and back down again. My bare legs rub against the material of his pants.

  He grips my hips, helping with the movements and breathing heavily. He starts to finger my nipples. Sighing, I sit up and arch my chest into his eager hands.

  Riding him, my channel is stretched and humming with pleasure, but my clit is throbbing and untouched. I arch back more, my hair brushing his thighs. He removes his fingers from my nipples. When they return, they’re slick with his saliva. I groan with approval.

  Our eyes meet and my heart clenches, burning for him as much as my body is. He gets his fingers wet again. I wedge my knees slightly wider, hoping. His fingers dip down and I bite my lip in anticipation. When he slides over my hard bud at last, I shudder, my mouth working into an O. His cock is at its deepest inside me at the same moment.

  He moves his fingers in circles, his other hand gripping my hips firmly. I brace my hands on his chest again. I scramble the material of his shirt up until I meet bare skin. I spread my fingers wide. His thrusts grow harder and more intense. I fall on him, our bare stomachs touching. He embraces me firmly as we give each other a hungry kiss.

  I prop myself on straightened arms, changing the angle of his cock as he comes hard into me. He sucks my breast, squeezing my ass as I ride him. “Yes,” I gasp. He sucks me harder, flicking his tongue against my nipple.

  “God, Erik.”

  “You’re so tight, baby.”

  “I’m so close,” I manage to say, pinching my eyes shut and feeling my cheeks get hot. “Don’t stop.”

  His fingers get some of my moisture, then rub against my opening stretched around him.

  I build toward my peak, letting out one short gasp after another. He fingers my rear opening. The tip of his finger penetrates me slightly and I climax hard over his engorged cock. Almost losing control of my ability to move, he maintains our rhythm as I contract on top of his fully-dressed body.

  When I’m spent and lying weakly on top of him, he runs his fingers lightly up my exposed back, eliciting a shiver. I’m still wrapped around his hard shaft, only the occasional aftershock making me contract around him. He caresses his fingers down my back, around the fullness of my ass, and along the back of my thighs. Light tingles awaken under his touch.

  He slowly pulls his erect cock almost completely out of me, then slowly slides back up my sensitive channel. I throb slightly, responding to the promise of more.

  He pulls out, rolls me onto my back, and gets off the bed. Our eyes stay locked together as he slowly removes his jacket. They stay locked as he discards his shirt. He drops his pants to the floor and my eyes fall to his cock, still exposed and ready. By the sight of it, more than ready.

  He crawls panther-like onto the bed. Gently taking me by the hips, he rolls me onto my stomach. I’m stretched out like a cat, legs together. He straddles me, his knees on the outside of mine. His erection finds the tight gap between my upper thighs. I arch my ass back to meet him, spreading only slightly, and his firmness finds its way. His dick rubs back and forth along my folds. He kisses my neck, my shoulder blades, my upper arm.

  Sliding one arm under my collar bone, so he’s embracing me from behind, he rolls me onto my side. From behind, his cock is still rubbing along my folds, but now I can open to him. I lift my top leg and bring my knee back so I’m hooked around his hips. He reaches down and guides his cock inside me. I moan.

  Once he’s in and the angle’s secure, he starts rocking me from behind. He rubs up my stomach and chest to my neck. He cups my jaw and turns me to face him enough so that he can kiss me. We kiss soft at first, then our tongues dive deep as he picks up his rhythm.

  We release our kiss and I face forward again. His arms are around me and his cheek on mine. I bring my upper knee back just a little, opening more to him and bringing him in deeper. I hold onto the arm embracing me, then bring one hand behind to rub his lower back and ass.

  He squeezes me and pinches my nipple. I tilt my head back and hold his cheek as he kisses me again. His hand trails along my stomach, dipping lower. I throb, wanting him.

  When he hits my slick bud, I bring my knee higher. Pumping me, lower arm cupping my breast, free hand circling my clit, Erik plays me like the master he is. We moan together, building. Our movements grow faster and his cock stretches taut. This time, he’s mine, and the anticipation of feeling him come inside me increases my pleasure.

  He hooks his arm under my leg, then strums my clit firmly. My body starts to convulse. His face is next to mine. He’s breathing hard with me, holding me tight, his slick fingers increasing their rhythm to a frenzied pace. He’s ramming me furiously. He kisses my cheek. And again.

  Then I come undone. He continues to work me as I orgasm hard, gripping his arm and digging my nails in. I’m out of my mind with pleasure, consumed by it. Consumed by him. It goes on and on, and it’s not until I’m riding powerful waves downward that he finally comes. He clutches me to him and groans in my ear. His thrashing climax brings more pleasure in my body, and I contract with it again and again.

  At last we slow and start to relax, bodies humming with the afterglow. He removes his hand from my satisfied bud and hugs my thigh to him before releasing my leg back down. I sink deeper into his embrace, pressing my whole body against him. He embraces me firmly, and we kiss slowly, deeply, him still resting snug inside me.

  When I face forward again, we roll slightly so I’m even more wrapped up in him. His leg drapes softly over my hips. I sigh contentedly and close my eyes, feeling this moment of unity and safety is its own little eternity, and that our world now and forever will be only he and I, together.

  Chapter 20

  His mother has known about us for some time, like my parents, but today is the first day I’ve joined them for their Sunday dinners. I was waiting for an invitation, not from him, but from her. After two months of dating her son, I finally got one.

  Erik tried to warn me about Lydia’s physical appearance. As I only remember the polished, coifed woman from my childhood, I’m unprepared for the change anyway.

  The most glaring remnant of the accident that killed her husband is a series of broad scars on the right side of her face. Her right cheekbone is slightly lower than the other one, cracked during impact. Less visible, but no less lingering, are her internal injuries. Her back was so damaged she walks slightly hunched, suffers from chronic pain, and still can’t lift her hands above her shoulders. Her right lung was so damaged she’s had periods where she’s needed oxygen. This is not one of those times, but her breathing is a bit shallow and labored.

  Just as striking is the overall change to her presence. There’s barely a hint of the powerful woman who’d so intimidated me as a girl.

  Lydia shakes my hand upon arrival and gives me a smile. We arrived early in the day so we could help her with some things she can’t take care of herself. Though she does have some help that comes in weekly, there are things she and Erik both seem to prefer he do for her himself.

  We spend a few hours on various chores, I help Erik prepare dinner, and the conversation stays on safe topics: school, current events, movies.

  At the conclusion of dinner, after so many hours in her home and in her presence, I’m glad I came. It wasn’t as bad as I feared it might be. I think I’ll start coming more often, if they want, so I can help too.

  When we’re about ready to go and Erik’s dismissed himself to the restroom, things take a subtle turn.

  “I understand you’re competing against Erik in the Myra Hess Competition.”

  There’s a slightly hard tone to her voice—this, I remember—but it’s so slight I’m not sure it’s really the
re.

  “Well, we’re both in the same competition,” I say calmly, “yes.”

  “You beat him in the second round.” Now I’m more certain about the accusatory tone I hear.

  “He beat me in the first,” I say, holding my ground.

  She takes a sip of her gingerroot tea. She moves slowly, the cup trembling slightly. I feel guilty for a moment. I’m ready to go into battle with this frail, broken creature. What am I thinking?

  “Did Erik tell you he almost quit music?” She puts her cup on the wooden table with a soft thud.

  I nod. “I’m glad he didn’t. It would’ve been such a waste.”

  “He had to come to grips with the kind of competition he faces at his level.” She looks at me meaningfully. My cheeks grow warm. If I’m about to be pulled into battle with her, it’s not entirely my fault.

  But in the next moment, her expression softens.

  “It’s clear you care for my son. But I’m not sure it’s wise for him to have this sort of competition in his personal life too.”

  I take a soft, steadying breath. It wasn’t just the competition, it was the controlling way they raised him and him needing time to figure out his own mind. I keep those thoughts to myself and address her comment instead. “We’re very supportive of one another.”

  She nods, as if she agrees, but she shrugs one shoulder. “I hope it works out, Ashley. For both of your sakes. I just worry it might be too much for him.”

  I look at her, not sure what to think. I can’t tell if she’s being the meddling woman she’s always been, or if she’s just expressing fears that, after all, I also have myself. Getting comfortable with a high-level of competition is not the same as wanting it in the middle of your intimate relationships, and most professional musicians don’t. But whether her concerns (and mine) are valid or not, I can’t help but feel resentful—for my sake, but even more for Erik’s. All he’s ever wanted is for his parents to have his back, the way my parents have mine.

  “Well,” I say, gently but firmly, “I’m sure with the support of the people we love most, those challenges will be a lot easier to manage.”

  She glances at me in surprise, then gives me a thoughtful look.

  Erik returns to the kitchen and we take our leave without saying another word about it.

  A mere week later we’re back stage at Lincoln Center. I’m torn between being in awe of where I am, and too focused and full of nerves to really appreciate it. Erik is by my side, holding my hand. We arrived in New York yesterday, and spent the evening at a romantic restaurant and going for a stroll.

  It was a nice evening, but the closer we’ve come to the finals—this moment—the more I’ve felt we’re on the edge of something.

  For the first time, there’s no certainty about which one of us will place higher. Not that either one of us are in a position to assume victory. As big as this competition is, we could both go home with our tails between our legs.

  The musicians who have played before us are phenomenal. I don’t envy the judges their jobs.

  But this isn’t just about the competition. Though I’ve tried to quiet my fears about it, there’s no denying it now. This is also about us, and our future. Are we crazy for even trying this?

  I take a deep breath and Erik squeezes my hand. I look at him to find his expression far away. His brows are furrowed in what I hope is just pre-performance concentration. He’s looking toward the stage but doesn’t seem to be seeing it.

  I look away and take another breath. I need to stay focused too, and not feed my worries about how this may or may not affect our relationship. One step at a time. We can only do this one step at a time.

  I start to mentally run through my piece—another one of my compositions, which I titled Top of the Bridge when I submitted it to the judges—and feel myself getting into a better frame of mind.

  I want to win this competition. I want it so badly, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep it together if Erik wins.

  Though... if I’m going to lose to anyone...

  But that’s not where my mind needs to be.

  I need to think like a winner. So I do.

  Erik goes first and captivates me with the magic of his music, like he always does. The audience responds well too, giving him a standing ovation. From the wings, I clap enthusiastically, equally proud of him and terrified he just secured himself the victory.

  When he comes back stage, he’s both beaming and holding back, like he doesn’t want to boast. I hug him tightly. “You’re so fucking good,” I say in his ear.

  “We’ll see if it’s good enough.” He pulls back and gives me a kiss. “My biggest competition is about to go out. Are you ready?”

  I nod and take a shaky breath. I don’t allow myself to analyze him, or us. Not now. I have to stay focused. Whatever happens, we’ll have to deal with it then. I try to ignore the part of me inside that’s shaking.

  He releases me just as my name is announced. “Good luck.”

  I don’t answer. It takes all my concentration to walk onto the stage of Lincoln Center like I belong there.

  I must say, now that I’m out on this magnificent stage, the experience is divine. Exhausted as I am from worrying about me and Erik, I allow myself to get swept away by the wonder of what I’m doing. Lincoln Center. God.

  As I bow gracefully and settle at the bench, I look at Erik backstage. He’s focused on his phone’s screen, holding it up like he’s going to take a picture or video of me.

  Just when I thought the experience of being in Lincoln Center couldn’t get any better, I begin to play. And I’ve never played so well.

  It’s pure rapture.

  Gone are my doubts about playing my own music and really letting myself go. I’m all in now. This is what I was built for, right here. God willing, this is what I will spend my life living for.

  When it’s over, I have no idea if my score will end up on top or not, but I know I’ve done my absolute best.

  I look up to smile at Erik, but he’s not there.

  Chapter 21

  A chill drops through my heart. I face the audience, bow to their standing ovation, and resist the urge to check the wings. Surely he’ll be there. I’ll see him when I get back there.

  The audience is still clapping. I hold out one arm gracefully, bow again in gratitude, and make my way to the wings.

  Back stage, he’s nowhere to be seen. I glance across the stage to see if he’s on the other side, but he’s not there either.

  Ignoring my pounding heart, I start looking for him. By the time I confirm he’s nowhere in the backstage area, my panic increases and my mind begins to race. What happened? I consider, and reject, a series of possibilities. Maybe he had to go to the bathroom. But during my performance? Maybe he got a call? But why the hell would he answer a call then? Besides, I saw him silence his phone when we got here. Maybe he started to feel sick?

  I exit into the rear hallway and start checking rooms. Most are locked, but the ones that aren’t are either empty or holding performers who aren’t him. Gathering my wits about me, I find my coat and pull my phone out of the inner pocket.

  There are a few good-luck texts from the Firework Girls and my parents, but nothing from him. No missed calls. I don’t bother texting, but call instead. It goes straight to voicemail.

  I send a text instead: Hey babe. Where’d you go?

  I take a deep breath and try to calm down my heart. He’s here somewhere. He wouldn’t just disappear.

  I wrap my arms around myself, pushing away the memory of the last time he disappeared on me.

  He’s here.

  I find the men’s room and wait outside. After fifteen minutes go by, I stop the next man about to go in and rather pitifully ask him to see if Erik’s in there. When he confirms what I already knew, I go back to my coat. I force myself to put away my phone—even though I’ve been compulsively checking it—and return to the wings.

  Maybe he’s back now anyway. Maybe I missed h
im before somehow. But he’s still not there and the last performer has had her say. The stage hands direct us onto the stage so we can receive the results. As instructed earlier, we all line up.

  All but one.

  The emcee is in front, holding a thick, cream card that I assume tells him who won. I glance to both sides of the stage, hoping to see Erik in the wings.

  Nothing.

  God, what on earth?

  A cold chill drops through me. Something’s wrong. Erik wouldn’t miss this unless... unless...

  The words of our parents hit me full force. His mom was worried he couldn’t handle this kind of competition in his personal life. Hell, even my dad has been worried about the same thing. I knew before Erik even came back into my life that moments just like this can be death to relationships. I’ve known it all along. Was I kidding myself that we could be the exception?

  The audience bursts into applause and I look out in surprise. The emcee is smiling at me. The short woman next to me elbows me softly. “Go on.”

  My brain catches up to me. My name was called, but for what? Did I place? Did I win?

  As I move forward, a woman comes from the wings—still no Erik on that side—and presents me with a bouquet of roses and a medallion, which she puts around my neck.

  Good lord, I think I just won the whole thing. And Erik is still nowhere to be seen.

  I’m smiling, and there’s this little underneath part of me that’s thrilled, but the rest of me is reeling. Somehow I manage to get through it and we all exit the stage and that’s that. The auditorium is filled with the low rumbling of an audience that’s just been dismissed. It’s a strange, perfunctory conclusion to something I’ve been working toward for months.

  I receive congratulations from my fellow performers, still wearing the mask of a smile on my face.

  The full realization of his absence sinks into me. Indignation starts to bloom. Did Erik just leave me? Again? Fucking, just like that? What excuse could he possibly have for this?