Still Life with Strings (25 page)

BOOK: Still Life with Strings
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Right now the tide is
fully in, making the sea seem that much bigger and closer. Shane leads me down
to the sand, where he finds a decent spot and sits. He pulls me between his
legs, my back flush with his chest, and puts both his hands over mine to keep
them warm. He’s wearing an expensive black wool coat, and the collar brushes
off my cheek when I turn to briefly press my lips against his.

“I didn’t even remember
to ask if you’re working today,” he says, breaking the kiss as the wind sings
through the air. We’re nothing but spots of rust inside a giant’s thin whistle.

“Not until six. Lots of
time to do lots of things,” I say, and give him a wink.

By the hot look that
comes over him, I’m betting he knows exactly what I’m talking about. Turning
his body slightly, he looks behind us at the street beyond the beach that’s
lined with hotels and bed & breakfasts.

His breath makes me
tremble when he brings his mouth close to my ear. “We could get a room. I don’t
think I have the patience for the forty-minute drive it will take to get back
to my place.”

My eyes flicker between
his when I turn to face him, a feeling of reckless abandon coming upon me. For
a girl from the Liberties, renting out a hotel room just to have sex in would
be considered quite lavish, extravagant, even. I mean, we’re going to pay for
it and not even stay the night.

“Let’s do it,” I
whisper before kissing his perfect lips again.

Pulling me up to stand,
we walk arm in arm across the road and down the street. After a few minutes we
finally settle on a hotel and go inside. It doesn’t take long to get a room. I
try to protest when Shane hands over his credit card, but he won’t hear a word
about me paying. It’s a good thing too, because I’m quite low on cash. I’ve
never been with a guy who could be considered a gentleman, so it’s a whole new
feeling to be paid for like this.

We touch each other in
subtle ways until we reach the elevator. Shane punches in the number for our
floor, and then we’re ascending. Hardly a second passes before he’s pushing me
against the wall and devouring me with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.
Everything he does makes me melt, makes my body pliant, a willing supplicant to
whatever he sees fit to do with me.

Ping
,
the elevator doors open.

The hushed sound of our
feet stepping swiftly across thick carpet.

He slides the key into
the door and then pushes it open, dragging me along, hardly taking his mouth
off my neck the entire time. I’m vaguely aware of the room being nice, but not
overly fancy, and then my bottom’s hitting the mattress. Shane pushes up the
hem of my dress until it reaches my belly and then drags the entire thing over
my head. Now I’m only wearing my bra and knickers, pretty matching cream ones,
I note happily.

I’d been in such a rush
to get ready this morning that I couldn’t remember what I put on.

Shane starts to undo
the buttons on his shirt and I watch, my chest heaving as he reveals inch after
inch of his perfect lightly tanned skin. The hint of Asian blood in him means
he doesn’t have pasty pale skin like most of the men I’ve been with. He’s so
beautiful, from a whole other world, really.

I shiver as a cold
breeze sweeps in through the window that’s slightly ajar. The maid must have
left it open to air the place. Shane sees me tremble and walks, now topless,
over to the window to close it. I’m still in the exact same spot he left me in when
he comes back and climbs on top of me, whispering, “Come on, Bluebird, I’ll
warm you up.”

Oh, my
God
. I’m
certainly in for something right now. His string-roughened fingers push my legs
apart as he settles between them. His mouth moves to the curve of my cleavage
as he buries his face there, and let’s just say there’s a lot to get buried in.
I smile, thinking of how preoccupied he can be with that part of my body, yet
he rarely refers to them directly. Almost like he’s too shy to say he likes
them.

I find that shyness
incredibly appealing. It’s so rare to find a man like that these days.

There’s no shyness in
him now, though. There rarely is when we’re being sexual. When we’re alone.
It’s other times that he gets bashful, like how he’d blushed when I’d talked
about him fucking me outside the concert hall the second night we met. Anybody
could have heard. Such scandal.

“What are you smiling
about?” he asks, all raspy as he looks up from my breasts. At the same time he
pulls my body up slightly so he can unclip my bra and do away with it.

“I was thinking about
how you’re a study in contrasts,” I murmur, and squeeze my eyes shut with
pleasure when his tongue flicks across my nipple.

“Oh, yeah?” he says
while his mouth busies itself on the tightening peak of my nipple, one hand
pinching, one mouth sucking. A strangled cry comes out of me before I speak.

“Around other people,
you’re all polite and reserved. But then when we’re alone, you’re all take
charge and throw me down on the bed.”

His answering chuckle
radiates from my nipple in his mouth right into my breast and throughout my
entire body. I’m immediately wet. Wow. My skin goes all goose pimply again, but
not from the cold air this time. His hand moves between my legs, rubbing at my
underwear, which is a little worse for wear after our encounter in the studio.

He grips the side and
pulls them down my thighs. I whimper in frustration when his mouth leaves my
nipple so he can remove my knickers completely. Then he’s spreading my legs
apart so wide I feel a strain, and his mouth is right over my sex, breath heavy
and humid on my flesh. His hands grip either of my thighs as he brings his
mouth directly to my clit and sucks.

Oh, shit. I cry out,
fisting the sheets so hard they might rip. My neck arches back, my head thrashing
against the pillow. He continues to suck as his fingers thrust inside me and
pump, hitting my G-spot perfectly. Just as I feel I’m about to come, he
withdraws. I moan unhappily this time as he brings himself to kneel between my
legs. His hand slips inside his pants pocket, pulling out a condom.

Then he’s shoving off
his pants and freeing his gorgeously hard cock. He rolls the condom on, his
eyes not leaving me the entire time. I’m almost grateful that he left me
hanging when he shoves his thick length into me in one swift movement. I’m so
primed that I feel it more intensely than ever. My body is on the cusp of
orgasm, and as he starts to push his hips back and forth, driving his cock into
me again and again, I feel the most intense release building. A release the
likes of which I’ve never felt before.

Our gazes lock as he
takes both my hands in his and lifts them above my head. He holds me captive as
he continues to thrust into me exquisitely hard. It’s not fast; his speed is
measured and controlled. Every time he fucks me, it’s so hard and deep I feel
like my body is melting. Burning.

Sunlight streams into
the room, and I’m suddenly aware that we’re fucking in daylight. We did the
other morning, too, and it’s shocking because it’s something I never do. Every
inch of me is on display for him. Sex for me has always been at night, always
in the dark. Most often with alcohol as a primer. You can hide yourself in the
dark. In the light it’s like an entire tapestry of your emotions is on show.
Everything that’s inside you is on display for your lover to see.

Before now I’d always
considered daytime sex to be something that people in love do. They wake up in
the morning and fall into it, still half asleep. Or maybe they feel an urge in
the middle of the day. So completely inappropriate but so right at the same
time.

A sheen of sweat has
accumulated on Shane’s forehead, on his chest, too, as he thrusts into me with
a kind of determination you’d only get from a man like him. A man who practices
a skill to perfection. Tremors pulse through me, the muscles of my sex
tightening every time his cock drives into me.

Unable to hold back, I
shift my hands out of his hold above our heads. I wrap my arms around his neck,
pulling him down for a deep kiss. It’s as we’re kissing, our tongues sliding
against each other, his chest pressed to my chest, that I completely fall
apart. My muscles clench as I come on his cock, pulsing so many times I lose
count.

I’m moaning and
whimpering as we kiss, and he pulls back to watch me, his cock still moving
inside me. I can see his movements grow more desperate as his own release
builds. And then the most erotic, masculine groan I’ve ever heard comes out of
him when he comes. He unravels and I watch him, unable to take my eyes off him.

When he’s completely
spent, he puts his arms around me tight and rolls us so I’m lying on top of
him. Reaching down, he pulls a sheet over our bodies, pressing soft kisses to
my mouth and face.

“That felt incredible,”
he says, voice low, as my eyes drift closed and I relish the feel of his warm,
damp skin on mine.

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble,
sleep pulling me under. Since I got up so early this morning and only got to
bed late last night, I’m exhausted.

“I love the feel of
you,” he continues, his voice a lazy caress. I can hear his tiredness, too. A
little thrilling jolt rushes through my sleepy brain at his words. “You’re so
tight and wet. I want to feel you skin on skin again.” His tender hand drifts
over my lower back in a circling motion as he refers to the other morning.
Things had gotten out of hand, and we’d neglected to use protection. It’s a
dangerous thought, but I want to feel that again as well.

I nuzzle my face into
his neck and make a little purring sound of agreement. Seconds later, we’re
both fast asleep.

When I wake up, it’s
because I’m incredibly turned on, which, might I add, is not how I usually wake
up. Shane’s hand is between my legs, gently stroking. I moan and glance over at
the clock on the bedside dresser. It’s just after two, which isn’t so bad. I still
have more than enough time to get back to the city for my shift.

“Fucking hell, I want
you again,” he grits out as he takes my earlobe into his mouth and gives it a
playful bite. Somewhere in between our nap we’d rolled over into a spooning
position. With one hand on my belly, the other still between my legs, he moves
me so I’m flat on my stomach. He kneels behind me and nudges my legs apart with
his knee. A few seconds pass, and I get the feeling he’s admiring me from this
new angle. I shiver. Then he pulls me up to take me from behind. I cry out at
the pleasurable invasion, feeling him from a whole new position this time. The
depth is delicious as he starts to hammer into me fast.

Not knowing where to
put my hands, I grip the headboard for support. I’m vaguely aware that there’s
no condom in the mix this time, the sneaky bastard. As I said before, I don’t
have concerns about him giving me something, and I know that I’m clean and on
the pill, but it just feels too close like this. I practically see my heart
pumping out of my chest, my vulnerable veins reaching out and attaching
themselves to his.

It’s hard for me to
place my emotions in the hands of another person. Even if it’s a sweet and
caring person like Shane, there’s this sense of panic. A fear of not knowing
what they might do with your delicate organ. They could push you back into a
destructive addiction which may cause your family to fall apart. When I was a
drunk, I didn’t care. I’d give my heart to the most untrustworthy, low-down men
I could find. I guess that’s why I’m so cautious now. I know what it’s like to
be burned.

Both of Shane’s hands
fist my hips as he swears some really lovely, sexy curse words, telling me how
great I feel, how beautiful we look joined together. When we come this time, we
do it in unison, my walls pulsating around him, milking his cock. I feel him
fill me up, and a wave of emotion washes over me. It feels foreign and way too
intense, so I push it away. I try to focus only on the sensation of him inside
me. When he withdraws, he picks me up in his arms and carries me into the
bathroom.

Before I know it, the
shower has been turned on, and he’s settling me under the spray. He comes in to
join me, sliding the door closed behind him. He’s brought in some tiny bottles
of hotel shampoo and soap, and I laugh with pure joy as I watch him struggle to
get them open. Finally he manages it and pours some shampoo into his hand
before lathering it into my hair. I do the same for him, luxuriating in the
simple activity, loving the feel of his wet hair beneath my fingers.

For the next half hour
we wash every inch of each other, staying in the shower until the water has
almost run cold. I think we both like it here. We’re away from reality in a
world that’s only touch and water and soap. Finally we get out, rubbing each
other dry with the big fluffy white towels that were resting on a shelf by the
door.

Reality intervenes with
the buzzing of his phone on the dresser. I pick it up and look at the screen,
but there’s no name, just a landline number. I recognise the area code as South
Dublin. Shane follows behind and swipes the phone out of my hand, cancelling
the call.

“Who’s been calling
you?” I ask curiously, tugging the towel tighter around my chest as I sit down
on the bed. I know it’s not exactly my business, but his avoidance puts me on
edge. Either it’s someone he just plain doesn’t want to talk to, or it’s
someone he doesn’t want to talk to in front of
me
.

BOOK: Still Life with Strings
7.73Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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