Chapter 18 Skye
SKYE
It’s been an age since I sang. The room is chanting my name, but all I hear is Miles.
“Skye! Skye!”
I know what song they all want to hear. I used to sing it all the time, every month for almost a year, and before that, I used to sing it with my mom. Shaking my head, I head back to the stage to call someone else up to sing, when Dad stops me. His smile is so wide, it fills the room.
“Don’t listen to them.” He laughs. “I know you won’t. You never were one to go with the crowd.”
I return his smile and try to hand him the microphone. “I’m sure they’d love something from you.”
He shakes his head. “Oh, I’m not saying you shouldn’t sing your song. I’m just saying, don’t do it for them.”
I open my mouth to let out a million reasons why I can’t, but my dad puts a gentle hand on my arm. “It used to bring you so much joy. Do you remember when you were wee and I asked you what your favorite thing to do was?”
The memory is there in an instant, like it happened yesterday instead of so many years ago. I was sitting on my dad’s knee. He smelled of grass and mint. He asked if I could do anything, anything at all, what would I do. I whispered in his ear like it was a precious secret. “Sing.”
“You don’t have to sing it for any other reason than it’s a song you love, surrounded by friends.”
I do love the song. I haven’t even let myself sing it in the shower.
Looking around at the warm, familiar faces filling the room, I see Kate standing with Miles.
She gives a little wave and a gesture to the stage.
Someone in the crowd hands me a whiskey, which I sip before making my way up to the front once more.
The guitar strums, and the crowd settles immediately, their dancing turning into more of a sway. I sing from my soul. “Earthfall.” One of the most beautiful, heartfelt songs ever written and it was written by my mother.
I used to sing it with my mom because I loved this song, and because she loved me, she would indulge me.
Our voices would mingle together, making one.
Then I sang from the depths of my broken heart, for my mother, for my lost love, for my mess of a life.
Tonight, I sing it from a new place. I sing for the new story I’m writing and the excitement I feel with each new word on the page.
I sing it for the way Miles looks when the firelight caresses his strong jaw.
I sing for the friends I have in this room, filling my heart.
I sing it for the shivers Miles sends down my spine when he puts his lips on mine.
I sing it for the way he is looking at me right now.
I sing for being able to remember my mother on this night with a smile, instead of a gut-wrenching sob.
Lost in my memories, in the song, in Miles’s gaze—no one else exists. The end of “Earthfall” almost surprises me. My friends and neighbors cheer so loud you would think I was singing to a packed auditorium instead of a tiny pub in a wee town.
I need air. I weave and bob my way through the sea of people.
I catch Miles’s eye and tilt my head ever so slightly to the door.
He nods, his stare burning a path through the crowd.
I keep making my way outside when a man at the corner table catches my eye.
Margie passes in front of me. She patters on about how lovely the song was.
I thank her and look again at the table in the corner, but it’s empty now.
Shaking my head, I go outside, past the people out for a fag, and around the corner.
For a second, I thought I saw Finn—my Finn.
Well, he’s not mine. Anyway, it’s impossible.
Must’ve been seeing things. Too warm. All the adrenaline.
The chilly night air fills my lungs and cools my cheeks as I lean against the cold stone wall—a welcome sensation after the oven-like pub. Miles comes around the corner, his smile wide.
“That was amazing.”
My cheeks grow hot at the compliment, or possibly from the heat of his gaze.
It’s like standing too close to a fire. He reaches out and tucks a lock of my unruly hair behind my ears, then runs his hand behind my neck.
I lick my lips in anticipation. He leans in, and our lips meet, soft at first and then more urgent.
He presses me into the stone wall. Our bodies connect.
I can feel his excitement as our kiss deepens.
His hands move from my neck down the sides of my body, just skimming the places I want him to stop.
Teasing. A moan of excitement and frustration escapes me.
A twig snaps, and Miles flies away from me like I’m an over-boiling pan on the stovetop. We both look left and right, but no one is there—just a couple of fellas heading down the road, cigars in hand.
“I thought it might be one of the crew.”
I nod. We shouldn’t be making out in the open like this. He’s explained his precarious situation with the film. Then it occurs to me… “The room.”
Miles’s eyes light up. “The room? Really?”
I nod.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
“Shh. We still have to be quiet about it.”
I lead him around the side to the back of the pub.
There is a thick wooden door. Right next to it is a flowerpot with a bunch of unruly rosemary sprouting out of it.
I kneel, digging around until I find the key.
The back door stays unlocked for all the guests.
The key is to the actual room. We open the door and creep up the stairs.
At the top, I grab Miles’s hand. The hall is dark, lit only by three sconces along the wall.
The room Margie keeps open is at the end of the long hallway.
We move quickly so that we won’t be spotted by any other guests.
With shaking hands, I unlock the door. We’re finally going to be alone, in a proper room. I push open the door, my heart hammering in my chest. Once we’re both inside, I flick on the lamp with the switch and lock the door.
When I turn around, Miles is standing right there.
He puts his hands on my waist and leans down, kissing me softly.
His lips are addictive. I need more and more to feel satisfied, and tonight, only kisses won’t do.
I grab his waistband and pull him closer, the firm muscles of his chest pressing against my breasts.
It’s still not enough. I push him toward the bed and sit him gently on the edge.
I move away so he has a better view, as I take my sweater off.
Goosebumps rise on my flesh at the chill of the room and his intense gaze.
I shimmy out of my trousers next. Probably not as graceful as I hoped, but they’re very tight jeans.
He smiles as I throw them across the room.
I come closer. He runs his hands along my waist and over the swell of my hip, gripping it tightly and sending a pulse of want straight through me.
He moves his hands lightly up my ribs, along the silky fabric of my bra, tracing the lines covering my breast. Sticking a pinky finger under the satin, he just barely grazes my nipple, that tightens at his touch.
Every nerve ending in my body stands at attention waiting, wanting him to move the fabric, but his hand keeps traveling.
He traces the line between my panties and my lower stomach, his pinky just grazing underneath the silky fabric there. My heart is racing. My breath comes out fast as his pinky skims where I want him to linger.
“Skye,” he says, his voice thick, “you are so beautiful.”
My chest swells at his voice, his touch. This is so unlike me to be standing in the full light of the lamp in nothing but my underwear. But it feels right with him. I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor. His eyes turn nearly black. “Then kiss me.”
He pulls me on the bed. I straddle him, feeling his ample bulge underneath the thin fabric of my panties. I wiggle a little, getting settled, and the grunt that escapes him makes my core clench.
He brings his lips to mine. It’s soft and slow. My hips move in the same rhythm, lightly rubbing on Miles’s growing bulge. As the kiss deepens, so do my movements. My breasts press against the soft fabric of his shirt, but I want his skin on mine.
I pull back, grabbing the hem. Miles raises his arms, letting me pull the shirt over his head.
Holy Shite. I run my fingertips over his defined chest, the ridges of his abs, all the way down to the waistband of his jeans. “You still have too many clothes on.”
He tugs on the edge of my underwear. “So do you.”
I smile and stand pushing down the last bit of my clothes while Miles watches me with a heavy gaze. “Your turn.”
He stands and unzips his jeans, and I swear the sound does something to me. My mouth is watering, my cheeks flushed. He lets his pants drop and then his boxers. I drop to my knees, running my hands up his calves, the muscles firm under my palm, to his thighs, then finally to his hard cock.
He sucks in a breath as I stroke, lightly at first, then with a bit more force. I bring my lips to the tip.
“Skye you don’t have to.”
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”
He runs a hand through my hair, smirking. “What about feeding the chickens?”
“This is a far more handsome cock.”
I’m done talking. I put my mouth around him, and he moans. It’s a lovely sound. I move my mouth over him, feeling him swell on my tongue. I move my hand as well, until his thighs are shaking.
He pulls at my arms to stand. I do and he leads me back to the bed, laying me down. “My turn. Spread your legs.”
I obey.
He brings his fingers to my slit, his eyes widening. “You're so wet. Is this all for me?”
“Yes.”
He moves his fingers in a swirl, watching my face intently. “Can I put my mouth on you?”
“You can have me any way you want.”
He kisses my neck, moving his way down, stopping at my breast and taking my nipple in his mouth, all the while still swirling. He sucks lightly, then just as he bites, he slides a finger inside me and I cry out with how good it feels.