Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

THIRTY-EIGHT “Torch Song”

THIRTY-EIGHT

“Torch Song”

Shady Bard

Natalie

O ur chests rise and fall as he shakes his head in irritation. “Jesus, you really are intent on seeing this through.”

“Easton—”

“Fine,” he interrupts, pointing to his chest, “I’ll go first, again . I’ve thought about you every damn day since you left, but I’ve made that pretty fucking obvious. Your turn.”

“What is this? A tantrum for not getting the reaction you hoped for?”

“Oh, I got it,” he scoffs, “I saw it, I can still see it, feel it, all of it from you. You just fucking refuse to admit it to me .” He blows out a harsh exhale and rolls his head up on the door, his tone biting. “I want to hear you say it.”

I stalk toward him, more so, toward the door. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me, but you win, Easton, okay? You win.” I stop a foot away and can physically feel the contempt rolling off his frame.

“You think I can’t see what hurts you? Fucking admit it, Natalie.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Admit you were just fucking jealous! Admit that it hurt you when I didn’t look at you on stage tonight. Admit that you want this to happen just as badly as I do.”

“It can’t happen.”

“It already has, and you know it.”

I drop my gaze as the sting again starts behind my eyes. “Easton, I’ve explained this over and over again, okay? I should go. I need to go.”

Several heartbeats later, he speaks up.

“Then go . . . Run.” My eyes flick to his as he averts his and takes several steps away from the door, giving me a wide berth. “Run. I promise you won’t ever hear from me again.”

I grip the knob as he keeps his back to me.

“That’s not what I want.”

“It’s what it is, Natalie.”

“I’m not running.”

“Sure, you aren’t. But just know, the second you step out of that door, we’ll both be settling for whatever’s out there after. At least I know I fucking will.”

The burn in my throat worsens as I remain where I stand. “Easton, I’ll admit I have feelings for—”

“Right,” he cuts me off, shoving his hands in his jeans.

“I don’t want to leave like this.”

“You don’t want to leave at all,” he utters.

“You’re so sure.”

“Yeah, I fucking am because you’re still here.”

“Because I hate this animosity between us. Can’t we just try to—”

“No.” He shakes his head adamantly. “No. Fuck no. You know why. We started out heart to heart, and we can’t go backward from that.”

“I don’t fit in your world.”

He darts cutting eyes back to me. “What’s wrong? Didn’t like the party?”

“Sure,” I retort dryly. “It was grand.”

“That’s what you expected, right?” His chest bounces. “This is how you see me living?”

“Whatever, Crowne. It’s your life.”

He reels on me. “That’s the opposite of how I live my fucking life, Natalie. I’ve been there, done it all. That’s so far from how I’m living—it’s comical.”

“Seemed pretty comfortable to me,” I snap.

“Easier for you to believe because it makes leaving easier on you. But it’s just another lie you’ll tell yourself.”

I cross my arms. “So, what, are you telling me that party was just for show?”

Within a heartbeat, he’s lifting his phone to his ear and barking a command. “Get them downstairs and cut it in half.”

“What are you doing?” I ask. “What is this?”

The music stops abruptly, the pulse of bass now absent from the walls as mixed protests sound from the partygoers down the hall. Easton takes a step toward me.

“You’ve been making backward comments for the last two days, Natalie. Apparently, this is how you see me living, even though you spent four days witnessing the opposite back in Seattle. I could tell you all day, every fucking day, that this is not what my life is on the road, but . . . actions speak louder, and though words are supposed to be your kryptonite, mine don’t seem to do shit .”

I gape at him as he draws closer.

“I’ve been bashing myself against you painfully for the last forty-eight hours, fighting like hell to get past your barricade—back to you .” He slaps his chest. “I’ve given you more than I have most after a lifetime of fucking knowing them. What the hell do I have to fucking do?”

“I don’t understand what you want!”

“Oh, the fuck you don’t, Jesus,” he cups the back of his head in exasperation before pointing toward the door. “ That is not my fucking life. That’s not my future, either. The truth is really fucking boring. I’m up by 7 a.m. running, and I eat my fucking vegetables. I listen to podcasts or music if I’m not driving. I write, rehearse, play, work out again to exacerbate the energy I never seem to run out of after a show, and it’s lights out after a shower.” He takes another step toward me. “I’ve already lived my rock fantasy bullshit out and had my fill—in my early teens . I want no part of it. That’s not my life, Natalie, and it won’t ever fucking be.”

He takes another step forward, forcing me to look up at him.

“You can say it’s our parents’ history keeping this from happening—”

“It is,” I interrupt.

“That’s not all it is,” he fires back vehemently. “I heard you in Seattle. Every word you said, and I took them to heart. So, what is this ? This is my way of getting rid of what doubts I can control because this thing, this thing between us, to me, is worth the fucking effort.” Another step. “Intelligent men don’t let life-changing women pass them by without trying to grasp onto them with both hands. I don’t need endless months to figure out you’re that woman for me. I’m not most men, Natalie. I know exactly what I don’t want, and it’s everything outside of that door. What I do want is standing in front of me, and the idea of letting her walk away from me a second time is fucking eating me alive.”

Unable to swallow, I try and fail to control my breathing as he palms the door on either side of my head. “I haven’t touched another woman or even had the desire to since I was inside you.”

My lips part in shock, while somewhere deep inside, I get confirmation I already knew that to be the truth.

“Try as I may—because you’re fucking infuriating—I can’t get you out of my goddamned head.” His eyes dip to my lips and then back up. “I can’t even get off anymore without thinking about you. I don’t bother trying.”

“It’s the c-chase,” I stutter out.

“Oh, yeah, the chase,” he chides. “You mean the one and only thing about this situation that makes me want to run in the opposite fucking direction?”

His eyes roam down my body in a lustful sweep, and it’s all I can do to hide my involuntary shiver.

“Okay,” he grits out, jaw ticking. “I’ll go again. I didn’t realize I was a jealous man . . . until tonight. I have you to thank for that.”

He crowds me against the door as I battle the instinct to pull him closer, his scent invading as my arousal spikes immeasurably while his words crash through me.

“Have you let anyone touch you, Beauty?” He lowers a hand before tracing his fingertips along the fabric at my stomach. Panting, I sink against the feel of his touch as his eyes light in satisfaction. “Thought so.”

Keeping my eyes, he releases the sterling silver buckle I picked out for him hours earlier, the clank ringing in my ears as my panties flood. “Did you like watching LL get his cock sucked?”

His question has my eyes bulging as his own gaze begins to rapidly heat.

Briefly, I lower mine to see the buckle release is as far as he went. Disappointment seeps into me, my need for him gripping me by the throat.

“You think I didn’t see you scanning that party for me every time you got turned on?”

The path of his finger trails down my neck before he sweeps it lightly along the cut of my dress, tracing the swell of my breasts. My chest heaves as he lowers it to circle my hardened nipple through the thin material before his molten gaze flicks back to mine. I manage a swallow as he presses in, dipping his finger to trace the thin, delicate chain running along my waist. “Easton—”

“Did you like watching, Beauty?” He abruptly pulls his finger away, and I flinch at his sudden withdrawal. “Answer me, Natalie.”

“Yes and no,” I say, my eyes again dropping to his dangling buckle.

“Look at me,” he snaps. “Why?”

“Because . . . I don’t want him.”

“Who do you want?”

“Easton, if we do this—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he says, pressing his forehead against mine as if he’s trying to both mentally and physically rid me of my position against us. “Jesus Christ, I heard you, I hear you, but I won’t let this go. I fucking won’t as long as you’re with me, and I know you don’t want me to, either.” Unbuttoning his jeans, he takes one of my hands and guides it into his boxers. Instinctively, I grip his impressive length. A moan escapes me as his thick cock twitches in my palm.

Blinding need surges through me, attempting a takeover as I note the set in his jaw and the desire pooling in his eyes. Before I realize it, I’m lowering to my knees and gripping his boxers to feast. Because he’s worthy. Because he’s my fantasy turned beautiful reality. Because I want him so fucking much, the ache is unbearable.

Gathering my hair in his fist, he tightens his grip and tugs so I’m forced to look up at him. “Is this what you wanted when you were looking for me?”

Leaning forward, I lick along the fat head jutting out of the top of his boxers, my fingers hooking on the hem to lower them. His grip on me tightens as he pulls me away, refusing access.

“We can have tonight,” I offer softly, gazing up at him.

“Admit it,” he grits out, jerking himself further out of reach as I attempt to take him into my mouth again. “Admit it. Goddamnit,” he grits out in heady demand. When I refuse, he yanks me up by my arms. “Admit it, Beauty,” he cups my cheek, his eyes searching, imploring. “Please just fucking admit it.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, the apology in it unmistakable.

Eyes flaring with renewed anger, he lowers to his own knees while slowly pushing my dress up to my hips to reveal my silky white thong. Palming my thighs apart, he presses his forehead to my navel in obvious frustration as his fingers ghost up between my thighs. He skims the fabric at the apex before moving the material to the side and running his index finger through my center.

“Jesus.” He grazes my clit with the pad of his finger, and my legs start to give as he anchors me between himself and the door.

Nostrils flaring, he gazes up, adding another finger and crooking them in beckoning. A cry escapes me as muted satisfaction flares in his eyes. He’s declaring war, and I’ve allowed him to corner me, knowing this can’t go in any other direction than the way we both want it to—but on his terms. I’ve already waved my white flag for tonight, but he won’t be satisfied until I’ve voiced it aloud, and in a more permanent way that may damn well ruin me.

“God, I want to fucking punish you,” he rasps out, hastening his fingers as another moan escapes me. His eyes snap up. “Don’t moan like that, baby. That’s my one and only fucking warning,” his threat carries a dark edge, which only fuels me. In the next second, he fists the crotch of my panties and yanks, ripping them down mid-thigh until they give and fall. The ruined remains slide easily down my legs before they pool at my stilettos. Another moan escapes me as a wicked smile curves his lush lips.

“Too bad,” he sits back on his heels and spreads my slick flesh with his fingers before leaning in and flattening his tongue in a thorough swipe up my drenched center. My responding cry comes out more of a scream just as he takes it away before darting the tip of his tongue out in targeted strokes against my clit. Grappling and already on the brink, I brace against the door, my orgasm starting to unfurl when he pulls away.

“Easton,” I croak out, chest furiously pumping as I claw his head in an attempt to grind against him, chasing my denied orgasm. Smirking, Easton teases with one finger, slowly pumping it in and out of me. Dragging it lightly along my walls, keeping me there, but only enough to have me chasing the friction with the desperate grind of my hips.

“Want to come, Beauty?”

“Please,” I beg hoarsely. “D-don’t—”

“Don’t what? Dangle what you want in front of you, only to tell you that you can’t have it? That would be cruel.”

My thighs shake uncontrollably as he hooks a leg over his shoulder, lifting my lower half and further wedging me between himself and the door. Finger plunging noisily due to my arousal, he looks up at me, and pulls my clit into his mouth, sucking lightly to keep my cries coming. Furious, I fist the material of his T-shirt as he stares up at me.

“Tell me.”

“Please make me come.”

“I can’t,” he mimics as he spreads me wider so I have a clear view of the illicit act. “I can’t,” he taunts before darting his tongue along my clit again. I feast on the look of it, his hot breath and raspy voice lighting me on fire. “This taste,” his lashes flutter as he closes his lips around my clit and gently sucks, edging me to insanity. The vibration of his moan has my back bowing as his light stubble rubs against my thighs. In seconds, I’m whimpering his name.

“Please, please, Easton,” I beg.

Ignoring my plea, he drops my leg and shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he inches a tongue-filled kiss up my stomach while gathering the material of my dress beneath my breasts. Massaging one with his thumb, he stands to his full height, eyes full of condemnation as I fall completely and helplessly under his spell.

Gripping the back of his head, I run my fingers through his thick hair as he brushes his erection against my stomach, smearing the precum onto my skin. He again guides my hand into his jeans, his velvet cock rock hard as we get lost in each other’s gaze. The desire between us rages, our stare-off lasting a painful eternity due to our stalemate. His own stance doesn’t waver a bit despite the desperate need bouncing between us. Even with the permission I’m so clearly giving him, he’s dead set on winning this war.

“Easton, please, you don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“You want to talk about I can’t ? How about I can’t fuck you again and watch you walk away from me, again . Once was plenty.”

He stops the hand I’m using to stroke him and flattens my palm against his stomach before sliding it up to rest over where his pounding heart lays. “I want more for myself, and I want to give you so much fucking more. So, think of what you’re asking me because I know exactly what I’m asking of you,” his voice cracks with emotion. “This is me fighting dirty for us both , so please just admit it so I can give you the best parts of me, because I want every fucking part of you.”

A fast tear falls as the first confession tumbles from my lips. “I cried the whole way back to the airport because I knew it would never feel the same with anyone else, so I haven’t bothered to look. I couldn’t.” Another tear falls. “I wrote that article because I wanted you to know I saw you, and I love what I saw inside you. Because I was frantic on that plane to keep a piece of you—of us—as close to me as possible. And because I felt the dire need to try to protect you, and that was the only way I could think of doing it.” I swallow. “I’ve thought about nothing but you since I left Seattle.” My voice shakes with my next admission. “I didn’t want to leave you that day, and I sure as hell don’t want to leave you tomorrow. I didn’t want to leave us there. All I truly want—and have wanted since the day we met—is

you .”

A cry escapes me before he swallows it with his kiss. Mouths fusing, we collide past the barricade he just blew to ashes. Plastered to him, I pour every feeling I have for him into our kiss as I’m flooded with the warmth I’ve been continually denying myself. My eyes burn with a prick of fresh tears as he consumes me with his kiss. Tongues dueling, our fire burns brighter and hotter than any other I’ve felt with him, confirming my worst fear while at the same time filling me with the most profound sense of freedom.

Ravenous, Easton breaks the kiss to take the whole of my breast into his mouth. His head bobs as he suckles, lashes fluttering along his sculpted cheeks as he eagerly feeds while gathering my dress in his hand. He only pauses to lift it from me and toss it away like a nuisance. Hands pinning my wrists to the door, he kisses and kisses me as I feed him more truth with my own—allowing my emotions to take over, allowing him to see.

Frenzied, we take and take until he breaks away. With one inhale, his dark expression seizes me as I stand in nothing but desire-filled anticipation and heels. Lust and intent in his hazel eyes, he abruptly turns us, his hand on my throat, calloused fingers pressing gently into the sides of it as he walks me backward to the edge of the bed. Lifting my leg over his hip, he hastily lowers his jeans and boxers. The instant my back hits the mattress, Easton buries himself inside me in one unforgiving thrust. The second he rears back and presses in again, I start to come apart. My entire body ripples in ecstasy as he stares down at me, mouth parted while hastening his thrusts.

“Jesus . . . fuck,” he curses as I tighten around him, my body quaking as pleasure unfurls through every fiber of my being. Grappling as I come down, I barely manage to grip the sheets in my fists before he drags me to the very edge of the bed. Unleashed, he frantically begins fucking me as I cry out to him, for him, over and over—the full feel of him is ecstasy in its purest form.

Within seconds, I begin to meet him thrust for thrust, following his gaze to where we’re connected to see my stretch around him—the sight of it driving me straight back to the brink.

“Look at us, baby,” he growls, the edge in his voice the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. Eyes closing, Easton dips, swallowing my cries with the thorough sweep of his tongue before he methodically begins rolling his hips. His stuttered exhale hits my neck as I begin to spasm around him, “There it is, baby. Let go.”

I obey, and he lifts my hips, grinding himself into me—running the ridge of his cock along my clit and prolonging it, satisfaction gleaming in his hooded gaze.

Panting, chests collectively heaving, he dips and kisses me thoroughly before pulling out of me to fully undress. His shirt is the first to go, and the sight of it bare is nothing short of glorious. I devour him, my eyes trailing his defined chest, sculpted torso, and further down, drinking in his deeply defined V.

“Let me see you,” he commands, ripping off his boots.

Heels still on, I spread my legs as he sheds his jeans and boxers together, his gorgeous cock bobbing as he grips it and strokes it from root to tip while biting his lip.

“So. Much. Fucking. Beauty,” he whispers roughly before releasing himself and kneeling on the mattress. Gliding his palms simultaneously up my thighs and further up my sides, he grips my hands and threads our fingers before pinning them next to my head. Eyes roaming, he aligns his body with mine, the cross dangling from his neck gliding through the valley between my breasts before he lines the head of himself up with my entrance. Arching my back, I lift my hips in invitation, greedy for more as he hovers above me.

Unwilling to damn myself with more words, I lock my legs around him as he watches me intently, waiting. I soak in the details of his face as my heart goes completely raw for him, and his eyes search mine.

“Say it,” he whispers.

“I’m scared.”

“Good.”

“God, you’re a real bastard,” I murmur, writhing beneath him, squeezing our clasped hands as he keeps them pinned.

“On this, we agree,” he murmurs in reply.

“Good,” I fire back, “because we don’t seem to agree on much lately.”

“And we won’t when you fight me on what feels like mine.”

“I want that part to be true. It feels true.”

“It is, Beauty,” his possessive lilt hits before he slowly, so slowly, pushes back into me. “I’m making fucking sure of it.” He presses into me the rest of the way, staking his claim.

Fully connected, we call out to the other skin to skin, heart to heart, as he pulls back and buries himself again and again, watching me intently. Body flooding with sensation, heart soaring, I free myself to believe his words. To believe in what I feel. That this is real. That we will work.

Heart rocketing to a marathon pace, I stare up at him, mouth parting as he palms my thighs further apart and watches himself disappear inside me. Keeping his thrusts slow and deliberate, forcing me to acknowledge this is so much more than attraction and sex. A truth I’ve known all along but have been too terrified to admit to both of us. The more I allow myself to feel, the more frantically we begin to move as if we’ve been apart for far longer than eight weeks.

My entire body trembles as he takes us both to the brink repeatedly and past, while staring back at me with soul-stealing intensity.

Lost in his rapture, I find myself feeling whole, and then I lose the pieces I’ve been grasping onto so tightly right back to him.

We exhaust ourselves to the point my throat dries, my voice going hoarse with my whispers and cries as he ravages me, body, heart, and mind.

At the sight of something he sees in my eyes, he dips and gives me the longest, most intoxicating kiss of my life. Inside of that kiss, I collide with my supernova going a million miles an hour, all space between us diminishing in its entirety.

Easton’s groan rumbles against my lips as he stills on a deep thrust, spilling into me again. Exhausted and spent, he rolls us and situates me on his lap, still inside me, refusing withdrawal. Feeling like I’m floating, I rest on his chest as he cradles me in his warmth. It’s only when I notice sunlight flooding the hotel room that I realize we’ve been so immersed in each other that I’d lost all sense of time.

“Easton,” I whisper, my cheek to his chest while mentally recalling I got to the party shortly past one. “We’ve been—”

“Yeah,” he runs a gentle palm down my spine, “we have.”

“I didn’t even realize.”

“I know.”

Still straddling him, I lift, glancing around in a daze before staring back down at him and palming his chest. Sweat glides down his temple, and my skin erupts in chills as I realize the sheets are soaked through. Bewildered, I shake my head. “What in the hell just happened?”

He grips my hip with one hand and strokes my face with the other, his eyes injecting me with the truth. “What’s been happening since the day we met,” he lifts to sit before pressing a long, slow kiss to my lips. “Welcome to this side of the glass, Beauty.”