Tracks (Rock Bottom) (13 page)

“Why? I know it’s not very grandiose, but
I’m a very quiet, low key person. I just wanted a place to sleep. Most people around here are rich and older, so they tend to leave me alone.” He shrugs.

“No! I love it,” I say.
I actually think it looks very much his style, now that I think about it. I can see the classical composer side of him choosing this place.

The car parks out front and we open the door and step onto the sidewalk.
Jeremy walks around to the front passenger’s seat, opening the door and getting his silver guitar out, throwing it onto his back. We both say goodbye to Rich and he drives off as we start walking towards the door. It’s still warm out, and it feels nice. The doorman opens the glass door and says, “Hello, Mr. Mason.” Jeremy nods at him and leads me inside.

The lobby is beautiful. It has black marble floor and a black marble desk on the right. It’s a small lobby that was obviously redone, but it’s very simple and elegant. Behind the black marble desk is a gold elevator. We walk over to it and push the button to go up. It opens instantly and we walk inside. There are buttons for four floors, and a place to insert a key. Jeremy pulls keys out of his pants pocket and turns it to the right.
The elevator begins to move.

“This is how you get t
o the penthouse,” he explains.

“Very classy,” I say. He laughs.

When the elevator stops, the door opens and we step out directly into a living room. The living room is large, but barely has any furniture in it. The walls are black, and there is a white couch in the middle of the room facing the right wall, which has a huge TV hanging from it. The wall straight in front of the elevator has a fireplace with white marble outlining it. The left side of the room has a black bar with many bottles of liquor on the glass shelves behind it. Directly on my left, there is a hallway leading to more rooms.

He looks at me.
Ridiculously, I think he almost seems nervous. “Do you like it? I don’t have much. But I’m not really here all that often I guess,” he explains.

“I love how simple it is.
It’s very elegant,” I complement quietly. I turn my attention down the hallway again and my stomach flip-flops.

I turn to look at Jeremy
, and am surprised to see the look in his eyes. They are bright blue and smoldering, and his face is serious. My breathing picks up and becomes uneven.

“Do you want to see the rest of the place?” he says, his voice low.

“Sure,” I whisper.

We stand staring at each other for another moment. With our hands clasped, he turn
s and leads me down the hallway. The walls are still black and there are four rooms: two on the left side of the hallway, one straight ahead, and one on the right. He stops at the first room on the left and turns the knob to open the door. Inside, there’s just a plain white bed, crisply made, and a black dresser against the wall. The walls are red and there’s a black closet on the right.

He clears his throat. “This is the guest bedroom,” he says quietly. There’s no reason to whisper, except that the silence in the house is almost deafening, especia
lly after leaving the theater. The quiet is welcome, and neither of us wants to disturb it.

I look around the room and then back at him. He’s staring at me. “It’s nice,” I say, blushing. He smiles wryly and leads me to the next room on the left side of the hall. He turns the knob and opens the door again
, flicking on a light.             

“This is my music room,” he says, stepping into the room. There are instruments
absolutely everywhere, and it’s a decent sized room. In the center of the room sits a beautiful black baby grand piano. The sides of the piano and part of the legs are silver, along with the bench. It shimmers in the faint light. It’s breathtaking. “Oh,” I sigh.

He smiles. “You like it? I had it
made when my guitar was made.”

“Yes,” I say, continuing to look at the room. There is a gold drum set in one of the corners, along with about 17 g
uitars. Some of the guitars are electric, some are acoustic, and some bass. They are all in various colors, some more worn than others. One acoustic guitar hangs like a trophy on the wall, the only thing I’ve seen hanging on any walls so far besides his TV. He must like this guitar. On the other side of the room are flutes and saxophones and trumpets and all kinds of other random instruments. There’s even a French horn.

As I walk around in amazement, I hear my heels clicking on the hardwood floors. I stop walking and turn around, smiling at him. He’s standing tense and awkward. “Do you play all these?”

He shrugs. “Yeah,” he says.

I reach out and touch the saxophone.
Its shiny gold and cold to the touch. I look up at him again. “You took lessons for all these?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “No,
I’ve never taken a music lesson.”

My mouth drops.
“Ever?”

“Nope,” he says and gives me a smile.
I turn away from him for a minute and do a mental inventory of all the different instruments in the room. I stop at 25. I am overwhelmed with the pure talent one man could possibly possess. He’s a savant; a pure virtuoso.

S
till shocked with amazement, I forget to be bashful. I want this man. Now. Bravely, I try to slink up to him like he walks up to me, in an attempt to make him feel the way he makes me feel. There’s a hint of his sly smile on his face. I stop, standing a few inches from him, and grab his hands. I can see my dress sparkle against his black shirt. “What’s wrong?”

He looks down at the floor. “I just never brought anyone here, as
ide from employees and family.”

I blush. I had no
idea, and I’m flattered. “Really?”

He looks up at me.
“Really. I just wanted you to be comfortable. You don’t seem like the, um, normal girls who I…pursue…”

I giggle. Seeing this man, a God, lost for words over me is just ridiculous. He laughs at him
self.

“You’ve been with all of those women and never had an
y here?” I say, still laughing.

“No.
I didn’t want those women in my life. They were just to pass the time. To keep me from feeling…as lonely as I do…” He trails off.

We look at each other and the mood grows serious. Our eyes are connected. I begin to breathe heavily again, and to my amazement, so does he. “You look so amazing in that dress,” h
e says, looking me up and down.

This poor lonely, genius man.
I want to make him feel good. I put my hand on his face and bring him back to my eyes. “Where’s
your
room?”

His eyes burn.
“Over here,” he says. He drops one of my hands, still looking at me, as we exit the music room and arrive at the door at the very end of the hallway. He looks away from me and opens the black door to his bedroom. He holds out his hand and motions me inside first. I let go of his hand and walk in.

The room is huge, but again there isn’t much in it.
The walls are plain white and bare of artwork. There is a bed against the right wall that juts out horizontally into the middle of the room. The bed is a California King for sure, with a black leather padded headboard and black sides. The sheets are black silk and look very expensive. On the left side of the room are two big windows with black curtains. There is a black dresser against the wall by the door. On the wall across from the door is a big closet with black doors. Next to his bed is a bed stand with a mini fridge underneath.

I turn to him, and I see his lanky body leaning against the doorway. My stomach tightens.
“A mini-fridge?” I ask curiously.

He shrugs, “I get thirsty
at night. I’m lazy,” he says in his melody. He grabs the strap from across his chest and raises his silver guitar over his head. He sets it against the doorway. He walks gracefully past me and opens the fridge, removing an exotic beer. “You want one?”

I’m so nervous that
I’m scared I’m going to throw up as it is. “No thanks.”

He sits down on the bed. He motions for me to sit next to him. He opens the beer with a pop and drinks a few gulps from the can. I put my hands in my lap as he puts the beer on the
bedside table, and turns to look at me. We sit in silence for a moment. His eyes search mine, soft and light.

“
I don’t understand what you do to me,” he says quietly. “I’ve never been…nervous. I’ve never cared, honestly, about making someone uncomfortable. I’ve never been with someone this…inexperienced.”

My anger peeks a bit. “I’m not THAT inexperienced,” I say, curtly. He gives me a
doubtful look. He looks so amazing that I can’t be mad. I smile. His face turns serious again, and I blush.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But I can’t resist you anymore.
The way you walk, Dylan. The way you sparkle in that dress. The shape of your body. Your pretty face. The way you look at me, like you care for me. I need to have you.” He leans over to me on the bed. His eyes are inches from mine. My breathing is fast and short, pushing my breasts up and down in the dress. “Don’t say no. Please,” he says; a sexy, low whisper.

That did it.

I practically leap for his lips. Our mouths meet and he lets out a low moan in his throat. I climb on top of him as he sits back on the mattress, my legs straddling him with my knees on the bed. I feel his erection against my groin. I grind into him. “Oh, God,” he whispers, pulling away from my mouth. I smile devilishly. I like that I can do this to him, a man who can have- and has had- anyone he wants. I kiss him harder and slide his black T-shirt off, exposing his amazing chest. I rub my hands down his arms and then up his chest, grinding him still.

He pulls away from me. “
I want you to do something,” he says, short of breath. His eyes are overwhelmingly sexy.

“Yes?” I say. At this point I’d fly to the moon
if he asked.

“Dance for me?”
he kisses down my neck.

It takes me a minute to comprehend that.
Again, not what I was expecting. “Dance. For. You?” I say, slowly.

Jeremy grabs my hips and lifts me, sitting me beside him on the bed as I let out a surprise
d giggle. He stands and walks across the room to the doorway. He turns the lights down with the dimmer on the wall and leans down to pick up his silver guitar. He walks over to the bed and sits beside me again, putting his guitar on his lap. He nods his head towards the empty floor in front of him.

“Over there. Dance for me. Undr
ess yourself.” He’s breathless.

I stand up, unsure, and walk over to the middle of the space in front of his bed.
I have no idea how to be sexy. I’m a deer in headlights. He smiles devilishly and starts strumming his guitar, a slow sexy rhythm. The music helps me, and I start to sway. I move my hips back and forth and I whip my hair quickly once. I run my hands up and down the dress. “Mmmmm,” he moans.

I twist my hips so that I’m facing my back towards him.
I slither down towards the floor. “Oh yes,” he says, still strumming his guitar.

I stand up again and reach behind me to the silver zipper,
grabbing it and pulling it down to my lower back. I face him and run my hands down my body again, but I take both my strapless bra and the dress down with me, exposing my breasts and black thong. The dress falls to the ground.

The music makes an ugly noise, and I
look up to see Jeremy struggle to play the right cord again. I giggle, knowing he must really be distracted to screw up. I run my hands back up to my breasts and grab them, throwing my head back. He messes up again.

He suddenly gets up and passes me, putting the guitar again by the doorway. I stand still with my arms at my side,
uncomfortable, watching him. He walks quickly over to his dresser and turns on the silver IPod dock that sits on it. Soulful music begins to play. He turns and nearly runs back towards me, grabbing my hips and flinging me around backward, so that he’s pressed up against me from behind. He grabs my neck and pushes my head back against his cheek, and his lips are at my ear. I gasp. He’s rough, but instead of being afraid, I’m electrified.

“You better not like this underwear too much,” he growls, removing his hands from my neck and
hip and grabbing the side of my underwear with his hands. I’m confused at first, but then I feel his body tighten and hear the underwear rip, and they fall to the ground. I carefully lift my high heels to step around them.

I hear him unzip and his pants hit the floor. I walk over to the bed and be
nd over it, still standing with my arms holding me up.

He comes up behind me and rubs against me with his body. I feel how excited he is, and I moan. He inhales a shaky breath. “No,” he says, leaning over to grab my wrist and flinging me around to face him. His eyes are
a bright, excited blue; his face partially flushed. “I want to see you.”

He lays me down on the bed gently and wraps his arms around my back, lifting me
so that I’m lying on the bed and my feet no longer dangle off of the end. His body is amazing, long and lean and muscular. His face is even more magnificent when he’s excited. I realize my heels are still on, but when I go to kick them off, he stops my feet and shakes his head.