Chapter 28 #2
He laughs. “Kind of? Yes, I do. Lo, please. I want to see if I can pleasure you from here.”
“You know, they make remote vibrators for a reason.”
“Where I’m from, we make do with what we have. Good old County Cork ingenuity.”
“Oh my god.”
“Jaysus, that makes me sound like a right bogger.”
“A little bit,” I tease.
“Come on, now, I want to make you come with my music.”
I gasp at his words. He wants to watch me masturbate to his voice. I have to say, I’m not opposed to an acapella orgasm.
“Isn’t the sound going to be muffled by my…well, by my muff?” I manage to ask through a snicker. There’s no possible way to say that sentence seriously. I squint at the fabric covering the speaker. “I’m putting down a towel.”
“Stop making jokes and let me make you come, dammit.”
Aidan fusses with a mini amp and small microphone for the output. After a couple strums of his guitar, he nods. I watch him through both my computer and FaceTime, from different angles.
It feels ridiculous, climbing onto a towel-covered speaker on my bed, but Aidan is already enjoying himself.
Bossing me around, even from three thousand miles away.
I don’t mind. The last time Aidan was in charge, I enjoyed turning my brain off and submitting to his desires.
It was actually pretty hot to place my trust in him.
Aidan hums a simple melody into his mic then presses a key to loop it on his laptop. I’m rewarded with a gentle buzz between my thighs. It’s his vibrating hum, repeated until it becomes a background noise like cicadas on a summer night.
Aidan adjusts a dial, and the vibration shifts into something deeper. My shoulders soften and I lean back.
“How’s that?” Reverb multiplies the lustful rumble. Needing more, I arch my back to grind against the speaker.
“Use your words.” His smile kicks up. “And your hands. Take off your shirt and touch yourself for me.”
“Your voice…” I moan, rolling my nipples in between my fingers. “It could get me there by itself.”
“Good,” he growls in response.
“You’d better add that,” I tell him. Right away. He knows what I mean. He drags the microphone closer to his mouth and breathes a guttural sound I feel deep in my core.
I first fell in love with Aidan while he was singing lyrics filled with tragic beauty and dark, ruthless humor.
Nimble fingers swept up and down the fretboard of his mandolin as I swayed from the front row at the Hare’s Breath.
The rest of the pub melted away and it felt like he was singing just to me.
Aidan’s always had a way of making the rest of the world seem far away.
Aidan’s tongue glides across his bottom lip as he fidgets in his seat. His restlessness sends a different flavor of excitement through my bloodstream, desperate moans and whispered requests that fuel my own rising pleasure. I want to make him feel powerful, perfect. The way I see him.
“Don’t make me do this alone,” I plead. “You love to perform.”
“I’ll try to get over the stage fright.”
Without hesitation, his pulls his shirt off and opens the zipper of his pants. It feels illicit to watch through my phone. He groans as he slowly begins to pump. With the other hand, he makes an adjustment to change the song playing. I recognize it. “All for You.”
Pleasure hits me like a shock wave as his voice flows through the speaker. It’s so intense, I lift myself off the vibrating surface.
“Get back there,” Aidan says, eyes dark.
“It’s too much…”
“You’re just getting started.”
“All for You” is propelled by a heavy, sensual bassline. The seductive energy he harnesses inspires unhinged comments on social media when anyone posts videos of him performing it.
His free hand adjusts something on his computer, and I melt into the sensation.
“Stay with me,” he says. “Match my pace.”
Vibrations follow the beat of the song, my pleasure climbing higher with it. But I can’t make out the racy lyrics with the speaker between my thighs.
“Sing for me, Aidan…If it’s all for me, that includes your voice.”
His lips gently part, and what begins as almost a moan becomes a sustained note. He knows his instrument well and lowers the pitch. I watch as he continues to stroke himself. Not too fast. He’s trying to keep control of his breathing, but I want to see him lose it.
Driven by the thought of Aidan’s own voice making me feel this way, I grind harder. His lovely mouth, the very breath in his chest and the raw emotion in his heart. His lyrics about us. The shamelessness of singing about doing filthy things to me in a venue full of fans.
The next verse is interrupted by a gasp. Aidan’s hand is a blur of movement on my screen. Such focus. Such desperation. All for me.
“Cielo…” The o at the end is pliable and resonant in his skilled mouth.
Whimpering and frantically seeking friction, I start to unravel. My vision goes soft as the climax crashes over me. “Let me hear you,” I demand. That’s all it takes for Aidan to catch up.
Labored breaths fill my ears. It’s almost as beautiful as his singing. Determination and desperation play across his face as he furiously brings himself there. The corners of his mouth turn up as a deep groan escapes it. He finishes onto a T-shirt that was lying on his hotel bed.
Aidan wipes his brow with the back of his hand with a dazed look at me. “Holy shit.”
“That was…” Different. Exciting.
“Okay.” His breath is still ragged. “Good talk. Now how do I exit out of this thing?”
He reaches for the mouse like he’s about to close out our video chat and leave me alone with a towel-covered speaker and an empty computer screen.
“Aidan!” If he was here, I’d toss the soiled towel at him and that wicked grin.
“How was that for a private performance?”
“Not bad, rock star.” As if it wasn’t abundantly obvious. I collapse onto the bed, taking my phone with me. It’s probably at a horribly unflattering angle, but right now it doesn’t seem to matter. This is the part where we’d jump into the shower to gently lather each other in between drowsy kisses.
Thanks to the distance between us, all we can do is watch each other. My hands scream to comb through his beard and trace that smile on his lips. His last tour was three months long, sending him across Europe. It’s only been a handful of days since he left and already my heart aches.
What have I opened myself to? What kind of pain am I potentially bringing into Aidan’s life by letting him get close when I might be getting sick again?
“I miss you,” I admit. We’ve been making good on our plans to communicate via text and phone each day, but I want to lay my head on his chest in moments like this, not watch him through a screen. “Put on a kick-ass show, then come right back.”
“I belong to you. Of course I’m coming back.”
He’s said that I belong to him and that he belongs to me—but what have I done to show him that’s true?
“Aidan…I’m gonna tell my mom about us. Is that okay?”
A tenderness enters his face. “Yeah, of course. Are you sure?”
“I want her to know that I found someone special.”
He’s told the whole world about us in song, but I never got around to telling my own mother about him.
I’d been thinking of waiting until we’d been together longer, but this feels right.
I’m already hiding a piece of potentially life-changing news from my mom.
I want to at least be honest about my heart. Aidan is too important to keep hiding.
I just want to curl into his protective arms and tell him about the bloodwork.
But this isn’t the right time; I want him to land his dream producer, not distract him.
When there’s something concrete to share, I can tell him in person.
Right now, the elevated levels of my labs are concerning, but they’re too vague.
It’ll only endanger one of the biggest shows of his career.
Just a few more days and I’ll have answers.