Chapter 24
DANNY
When the door to Anya’s Parisian apartment slams behind me, my fingers itch for a cigarette and I pull my purple vape out of my pocket.
I had anticipated spending the whole day with Anya, or at least more than an hour or two. I wanted to fall asleep in a bed that smells like her, and drink coffee from a cup she uses everyday. I wanted to lounge on the couch and channel surf and wash my dishes in the sink in the kitchen. But instead, I ate her out on her couch and left.
It’s so easy to be around her. I feel more myself with her than I’ve felt in a long time. Standing beside her and talking about what her life looks like back home —discussing future baby names, for gods sake — it’s brought me back to earth with a thump. I could tell she was about to ask me why I was practically groping her Aunt’s guitar and quickly changed the subject. But it’s done nothing to alleviate the spark of energy that coursed through me when I plucked a string.
I wished I could swing it into my arms and play the songs that have filled the small blue notebook I bought that day we spent together. I haven’t picked up a guitar since my father took mine away from me when I was seventeen. The Better You Know press tour was about to start and I asked my father if I could take it with me. He yanked it from my hand and said “You’re an actor, not a singer, don’t be so ridiculous.” I never saw it again and still haven’t bought a replacement. It’s been ten years and I haven’t picked up a guitar since.
The irony of me telling Anya to stop freaking out when I’m basically spiraling in a blueberry scented cloud of smoke on the street is not lost to me. A kernel of doubt has wedged itself behind my rib cage and I don’t think I can ease it out.
I pause at the corner of her road. My feet feel heavy as I contemplate walking further away from her. My body is on the street but I left something behind in that cozy apartment. I rub my hand across my face, as if it will slap some sense into me. I should keep walking, leave before whatever faint line we have erected blurs even more than it already has.
I turn back the way I came.
A neighbor holds the building’s door open so I easily slip through the foyer. I take long strides up the stairs until I’m suddenly standing at her door. I knock once, the door swings open, and Anya’s surprised face peers up at me. Before she has a chance to speak, I take her freckled cheeks in my hands and press my lips to hers. Her shock gives way to desire as she sinks into me. My tongue explores her lips and her hands slide up my arms.
I pull away, her face cradled in my hands. I don’t dwell on how right this feels. “I never got to see your bedroom.” I press hungry kisses to her lips as I maneuver us backwards through the door.
“Hmm,” she says, returning my kisses, “Silly me.”
We walk in the direction of her room, our lips never more than a whisper apart. She fiddles with the handle to her bedroom door and it swings open behind her. Her feet trip on the floor, but my arms cradle her closer to me. She’s so slight against me I feel like we’re floating towards the fluffy bed I spot over her shoulder.
I gently guide her towards it but she offers resistance, pushing me until I reach the wall. I thought I had taken the reins, but it appears I just handed her my leash.
My back presses to the wall, the cool brick offering no relief from the fire racing through my body. Anya explores me, pressing open mouthed kisses to my neck, her hands roaming my body until she fiddles with the button of my jeans.
She tugs at the material, dropping to her knees as my dick falls free.
She licks her lips and my head falls against the wall with a thud.
“It’s only fair,” she whispers against my skin, making my erection twitch. Whatever my mind could have conjured up to say is lost in a groan as her soft lips tease the head of my aching cock. She parts her lips before enveloping me in her warm mouth. Her nails scratch against my thighs as she works me, teasing and licking with every bob of her head. Her fingers creep closer, cupping my balls before joining her sinful mouth and working my shaft.
My hands fist themselves in her hair, the silky strands between my fingers. I take a shuddery breath as she speeds up her movements with a moan I can feel in the back of her throat.
“Good girl,” I whisper as a shiver works its way up my spine.
Her legs spread with a whimper. The knowledge that this is affecting her as much as it is me sends me into a frenzy.
“Touch yourself.”
Her hand falls from my thigh and slides into her underwear, the sight almost causing me to black out. My hands leave her hair and curve under her jaw. I tease my thumb along her bottom lip, pulling her away from my aching cock with an audible pop.
I plunge my thumb into her wet mouth and her eyelashes flutter. “Greedy girl.” Her mouth tightens around my finger before I tug it free, sweep her into my arms and carry her to the bed. I kick off my jeans and she shimmies out of her clothes. Her naked body falls back on the bed, her hair fanning across the white sheets.
“Beautiful,” I say reverently as my hands cup her breasts, my fingers flicking her pebbled nipple.
I fish a condom out of my wallet. Anya sits up and takes it from my hand, ripping the package with her teeth and rolling it onto me. I chase her back to the bed and notch myself at her entrance. As her heat envelops me, I bury my face in her neck, kissing her soft skin.
Her hand finds its way into my hair and when she pulls, it’s enough to make me come right then, but I hold off, desperate to feel her shatter around me. I piston my hips into hers as my fingers reach for her bundle of nerves, moving in a way I know will drive her wild.
She whimpers into my mouth as I clasp her lips with mine, my fingers in time with my thrusts until her head falls back and her mouth drops open. Her walls flutter around me as I ride her through her orgasm, watching the flush behind her freckles deepen with pleasure.
Without waiting for her to return to earth, my hand finds her soft thigh and positions her leg against her chest. The new angle allows me deeper, sinking further into her delicious heat, and it’s not long before my orgasm wrecks my body.
I collapse on top of her, careful not to crush her with my weight as we catch our breath.
She pecks a kiss to my forehead and I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. I never want to move. I want to stay cradled in her arms forever.
Eventually, I roll off her. Pressing a soft kiss to her lips I quickly dispose of the condom before returning to her, spread across her bed just as I left her.
I open my arm and she burrows into my side.
“I’m glad you came back,” she says, breathlessly.
“I bet you are,” I quip.
She taps my chest lightly before peering up at me. I could spend the rest of my life kissing this girl and it would scarcely be a hardship. God, I’m so fucked.
“Are you hungry?” she asks.
“Sure.”
Her naked body clambers over me. She pulls her clothes back on and holds out a hand to me.
I let her tug me out of bed. I pull my boxers on but don’t allow myself to touch the other clothes strewn around the room. If I let myself get dressed, I’m one step closer to leaving again.
I follow her to the kitchen. She rises to her tiptoes to peer into the top cupboard, pulling out a baguette.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a chef.”
Her head tilts back with a groan. “Oh my god , get another joke.”
I laugh and press a kiss to her forehead, content to watch her make me a sandwich.
Later, as the sun starts to set from through the Juliet balcony, we lie tangled together watching TV. Claudette’s guitar rests on the stand to the left. I blame the French show that I can’t understand for the way my eyes can’t stray from it. I feel ridiculous, I’m like a kid in a candy store. I could walk out of this apartment and buy myself a hundred Gibson’s right now, but that beat up acoustic won’t leave me alone.
“Do you play?” I turn to Anya, surprised until I realize the voice was mine.
She blinks at me confused. “Huh?”
I clear my throat. “Never mind.” My spine locks up with embarrassment and I want to sink into the floor.
“Play what?” Anya glances around the room before her eyes land on the instrument that is actually just starting to piss me off. “Guitar? No, don’t have the patience. I don’t even think Claudette plays, I think it’s more for decoration.”
I nod and turn my attention back to the TV, hoping she’ll move on.
She doesn’t. “Do you?”
I shift uncomfortably. “Uh, no.”
“Liar.”
I pull at my top. “Not really.”
“Why are you being so weird?”
“I’m not being weird.”
“Yes, you are.” She swings her legs off my lap and pads across the room. Swinging the guitar into her hands like it’s no big deal, like it’s not a momentous obstacle to overcome. She hands it to me. “Play me something.”
“I can’t.”
“Fine, I’ll play it.”
She settles in next to me and my chest eases.
Anya fiddles with it in her lap, situating it across her thighs. She clears her throat dramatically before playing a very out of tune rendition of the opening chords of Deep Purple’s Smoke On The Water. Her triumphant grin when she finishes causes laughter to bubble in my chest.
“And that’s all I got,” she laughs, before handing it to me again. “Come on, your turn.”
Suddenly, the weight of the instrument is in my hands. It’s not as heavy as it should be. It settles in my arms like an old friend. I fiddle with the tuning pegs for too long. Anya settles into the arm of the couch, giving me her full attention.
I don’t speak, scared the words that fall out of my mouth will be another refusal.
Nerves flutter in my stomach but my fingers tease the strings, until I’m playing a timid rendition of Paolo Nutini’s Better Man . It was one of the first songs I taught myself, watching tutorials online and practicing until calluses appeared on my fingers. It feels right that that was the first song I played for myself and it’s the first one I’m playing for her. The lyrics tumble through my head, but I don’t dare voice them.
It’s only when I reach the final verse that I quietly start to sing the words. My voice is raspy, unused after so long, but as the lyrics fall out of my mouth, I feel something in my chest wake up.
The song ends and I finally dare a glance at Anya. She beams at me. “How long have you had that in your back pocket?”
I huff a laugh. “Uh.”
“Play me another one.”
“I haven’t played in a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“About ten years.”
She tilts her head. “Why?”
I shift awkwardly, but tighten my grip on the guitar. “My father didn’t like it.”
I almost expect to see sympathy dance across her face, instead it’s anger that scrunches her eyebrows together. “Y’know, the more I learn about your dad the more I think he’s a giant dick.”
I laugh. Anya rises to her knees and crawls towards me, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.
“Play me another.”
So I do.