37. Silent All These Years, Tori Amos
"Silent All These Years," Tori Amos
Victoria
We enter the music conservatory, breathing in the aged sheet music and polished wood. Afternoon sunlight filtered through velvet curtains, casting a warm glow on the object of my affection: a grand piano.
Eric slid into a wingback chair and templed his fingertips against his top lip, uncharacteristically quiet. Could he tell how sacred this room felt to me? Was music such an essential piece of him that he found peace here too?
I found a familiar anthology and placed it lovingly on the stand. When my fingers touched down, muscle memory kicked in with scale crossovers and chord arpeggios. I worked through the familiar compositions: Beethoven, Clementi, Mozart, Chopin. I was queuing up Mendelssohn when Eric’s weight creaked on the piano bench.
“You said you used to be incredible at piano,” he said, “but you still are.”
“I used to perform in competitions and recitals …” I flubbed a chord and dropped my hands in my lap, inspecting my fingers.
“And I get why you stopped,” he said gently. “But it couldn’t have been all classical. You never rebelled? Played Billy Joel or Elton John? Man, you’d kick ass at ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.’”
As he sang about not being planted in a penthouse, I searched the bookshelf of sheet music, digging deep within a baroque anthology. My heart skipped a beat when I found the songbook I’d hidden decades ago. “You’re probably too young for this.”
“Tori Amos, Little Earthquakes,” he read. “Don’t recognize it, but it’s a hot redhead named Tori, so you know my type.” I cracked open the sheet music and played the delicate accompaniment for ‘Silent All These Years.’
Without realizing I’d opened my mouth, I heard my voice politely asking to become somebody else. The chilling lyrics pressed old bruises: failing to hold my parents’ attention, failing to meet Richard’s rigorous expectations, failing to reach Beverly’s beauty standards, failing to make and keep friends.
I tried to reinvent myself in college, only to disappear into Spencer’s shadow. I’d ached to lead Sinclair Larsson, only for Richard to chain my aspirations to a miserable marriage I still hadn’t fully escaped. I’d expected to prove myself in San Francisco, only to be passed over for a promotion I’d earned. Instead of demanding what I’d earned, fighting for what I deserved—
I’d run.
Eric flipped the page, his respectful attention bolstering my courage even when my fingers stumbled. No judgment, just listening. Accepting.
I’ll listen all night, if you need it , he’d told me last night. But I can’t take your silence .
I sang Tori’s lyrics asking if she would always be waiting for somebody to understand, a question I felt down to my bone marrow.
Would I stay like my father, unable to move on after heartbreak?
Would my 80th birthday be like Richard’s, a celebration of a life I didn’t remember living?
Maybe docile Vickie Sinclair would have accepted that fate. But I wasn’t her anymore.
And I wasn’t alone anymore. Because somebody did look deeper. He helped me run faster … and he also coached me to fight for what I want.
The final chorus built steadily, insistent about finally hearing my internal voice that had been silenced. What if I listened to that voice instead of trying to meet my family’s impossible expectations?
I played the final chord, and Eric grinned. “I have the world’s most talented fake girlfriend.”
“I’m sick of faking it,” I blurted out, my hands abandoning the keys. “I want to be real.”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean, Cobrecita ?”
Exactly , I’m a goddamn cobra. Cobras strike without mercy.
“I want you. For real. No contract,” I declared, twisting to face him.
“Me?” His eyebrows shot up. “You want … What?”
“You. Nobody else, only you.”
“Like … friends with benefits?” When I shook my head, his voice rose in pitch. “Or like, your boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend,” I said definitively. Hearing him say it strengthened my resolve. He scanned my eyes for sincerity, and my heart leaped into my throat. I’d spent so much time pushing him away … even though time with him was the brightest part of my life.
“I’m not boyfriend material, Victoria.”
My heart sank. Of course he didn’t want a relationship, he told me that the night we met. I’d written him a goddamn one night stand contract, for Christ’s sake. He could choose anyone, with that irresistible smile and incredible voice and infinite charm. Why would he bother with a lonely divorcee who—-
“I’ve never had a girlfriend before,” he said, looking down at his shaking hands. “So you’ll have to boss me around. Tell me exactly what you need.”
My breath hitched. “Do you mean…?”
“I’m in.” And that irresistible dimple popped, stealing my breath.
I surged forward and kissed him hard, like I’d wanted to all day, all week. Since the first time we danced, if I was being honest.
He kissed me back, gripping my waist to pull me closer. I unbuttoned his pants, exploring beneath the fabric to take control of his rapidly hardening cock. When his lips parted on a gasp, my tongue slid between his lips and that glorious laugh vibrated on my greedy tongue. “This bench can’t handle this.”
I tugged him up by his shirt, shucked his pants, guided him to the wingback chair and playfully shoved him into it. I straddled him, letting my dress ride up my thighs as I lowered onto his lap so the fabric of his boxers rubbed my panties.
He slid my panties aside to run a finger along my folds, leaving me shaking. “You’re already so wet for me.” He watched me unravel, circling my clit. “Are you gonna come for me now, baby?”
“Yes,” I moaned, “but I want you inside me when I do.”
His hand stilled with a sharp groan. “I don’t have a condom. Come on my hand, then we’ll go back to your room and I’ll fuck you.”
“Or,” I said with a nervous swallow. “I have an IUD, and my tests are negative.”
His eyes were saucers, pupils completely blown out. “Do you mean…?”
“We could go without. I mean, unless you don’t want—” I stopped my self-doubt. It turned him on when I asked for what I wanted, and I knew he wanted this. “I want you, and I trust you. The choice is yours.”
“I just—I never thought …” He smoothed his hair, looking so overwhelmed that I couldn’t hold in a laugh. This man was known for his smooth seduction, and I’d left him speechless.
“No pressure.” I kissed him softly. “Make me come then I’ll suck you off.”
“No, I—” he gasped as I ground against him. “I mean yes, I want your mouth, but I want to fuck you bare. Please.”
“Oh, thank God,” I said, standing to wiggle out of my lace panties as he slid down his boxers. I climbed back on his lap, reaching for his cock and positioning it at my entrance.
His hand gripped my wrist, his expression a heady mix of desire and caution. “You’re sure about this?”
Emotion tightened in my throat. This probably seemed sudden to him. He didn’t know how much safer I’d felt facing Spencer with his strength at my back, realizing how disposable I’d felt compared to how cherished Eric made me feel. Even now, with the crown of his cock notched against my entrance, he was taking responsibility. Making sure I felt safe and protected.
I didn’t know how to tell him all that without killing the mood, or maybe bursting into tears.
But right now, I could share something equally true. I whispered against his lips, “You’re not the only one who's been fantasizing about this.”
He released my wrist, letting me rock my hips until his cock was fully seated inside me,
“Hold on a second, I need … god, your pussy is so tight,” he said with barely concealed restraint, resting his forehead on my sternum. “If this is how it feels, I’m going to like being your boyfriend.”
He lifted my hips to glide me up and down his shaft, setting the pace. I’d never been on top, never wanted to feel so exposed, but with him, I didn’t feel self-conscious. I threaded my hand through his hair, loving his hands guiding my hips … but I also needed his fingers on my clit.
No, not his fingers.
I brought my hand between my legs. Would he bat it away, offended that I was doing his job?
“Oh fuck yeah, that’s so hot.” His teeth scraped along my collarbone as my hips pistoned. “Good girl, I’ve been dying to see this. Show me how you make yourself come.”
It was exactly the prompt I needed to take control. My hips rocked, my pussy squeezing as I said, “Hands on the top of the chair.”
His hands flew up to grip the wings, his heavy-lidded eyes brimming with unbridled desire, panting as he watched my hand circle my clit, my hips buck, my breasts bounce. “That’s right, good girl. Use my cock, take what’s yours.”
The pressure in my core built, leaving me breathless, on the edge. But I didn’t want to stop, and I didn’t want to go alone. “Come with me, baby. Now.”
He released the chair to restrain my hips as he thrust up, bouncing me on his cock, triggering my release as he emptied inside me. I cried out, pulsing and writhing until I collapsed against his sweaty chest, panting into his neck. I kissed his jaw, tracing a lazy path along his neck.
“If this is what happens when you play piano, then I vote you get one for your place.”
I hadn’t thought about that. I wanted that. “If I buy a piano, can you get it into my apartment?”
“It would be my pleasure,” he shifted his hips. “Literally, if you do this after you play.”
I laughed into his neck as his fingertips ran gentle circles on my back. I’d never felt closer to anyone. “Can we stay here forever?”
“Me inside you? Whenever you want. This Scrooge McDuck mansion? Hard pass.”