Chapter 22 - Keaton #2
I’ll give her anything she asks. If she wants to hear the song from the beginning, then I’ll give it to her. Hell, I’ll even finish writing the ending, something I’ve been trying to figure out all week.
I push the rhythm forward, my sticks dancing across the snare, the kick drum pounding out a steady heartbeat as Raina straddles my lap. The intimacy of her presence makes the world fade away, and I’m left focusing solely on the sound we’re creating together.
With her leaning closer, every inch of her body pressed against mine, I can feel the heat radiating off her.
It’s intoxicating—her warmth wrapping around me like a breath of fresh air.
Our noses brush as I meet her gaze, and the way those bright eyes shine makes it impossible not to grin.
She pulls the song from me, gently coaxing it ahead while the patterns swirl in my brain.
I almost drop my sticks when she runs her hands down my chest and reaches into my sweats, palming my cock. “Don’t stop,” she encourages, knowing I’m seconds away from tossing my sticks and pinning her against the wall behind us.
Her hand wraps around me and pumps a few times before she surprises me again. She dips her fingers to her pussy, pushes her panties to the side, and plunges two digits into her wet heat.
With utter confidence, she pulls them free and traces my lips, leaving behind that flavor I love so much. Before I have a chance to lick it clean, she’s kissing me. Her tongue seeks mine, and I won’t deny her.
She lifts herself and lines me up with her entrance, sinking onto me as she returns to my lap.
My cock throbs as I’m strangled by her tightness, almost making me want to bust. It takes everything in me to focus on my drumming instead of how good it is to have her warmth wrapped around me, squeezing so damn tightly.
I keep drumming, but softer now, the sticks barely grazing the snare. She picks up on the pattern immediately, sways her torso to match the rhythm, her sweatshirt bunching around her waist.
Her hands find their way back to my chest, fingers splayed wide, then slide one up until she’s tracing the line of my jaw with her thumb. She’s trembling, but she’s pretending not to be.
“Play our song,” she pleads, and I instantly know the one she means. The one I played against her skin. The song of our relationship.
My tempo changes. It’s different from when I used her body to play it for her the first time.
Everything is sharper. Louder. But equally as sensual.
Her body moves to it like she’s dancing to one of her songs on stage.
It’s a performance, but one that’s only for me.
She’s trying to show me with her movements what this song means to her, like I did when I first played it for her.
I know with every fiber of my being that she’s trying to find the lyrics to finish it. To complete the music of our souls.
“I’ll play our song everyday if you want, Peaches,” I rasp.
That’s all it takes. She surges forward, her mouth crashing into mine with all the force of a dropped amp. I nearly lose a stick with the fierceness, but catch it with my left hand, fisting it as I wrap my arm around her waist.
The kiss is messy, a little desperate, and tastes like adrenaline. I match her passion, careful not to let my teeth clash against hers, but she doesn’t care about being gentle. She pushes in deeper, tongue hot and insistent.
We stay like that for a beat until she grabs my arm and tugs it off her. “You’re not playing it right.” Her tone is playful, and I narrow my gaze on her for a second before returning to using both sticks.
I transition into a slow drum roll and lean into her ear until my lips brush against her skin. “Remember when I did this on your clit?”
Her reaction is instant; a shiver travels through her body, and she melts.
She tips her head up, finds my eyes, and grins. “I see the game you’re playing.” Her walls squeeze around my cock so tightly it’s like she’s trying to strangle it. “Bet I can throw you off your rhythm.”
“Not a chance,” I say, but it’s already happening.
Her hands dig into my hair, yanking my mouth back to hers. The drums keep time, soft at first, then louder, the rhythm picking up as our heartbeats go haywire. Every time I think she’ll pull away, she kisses me harder, like she’s trying to consume me.
We stay locked together, mouths fused, her breath fanning hot over my jaw.
Her hips roll against me, the friction more than enough to light up every nerve I’ve got.
For a few seconds, we move like that—bodies pressed tight, her hands everywhere, lips bruising.
She’s the one who breaks first, head tipping back, throat bared, and I can’t help but chase the line of her neck with my teeth.
She moans, quiet but raw, and the sound makes me want to wreck her. But I force myself to continue drumming, wanting her to break first. All she has to utter is a single plea and I’ll have her pinned to the wall.
A whimper falls from her as I jostle her on my lap, her hands gripping my shoulders tighter as she lifts her body higher to get a longer stroke.
She moves with purpose, every roll of her hips timed to the beat I lay down.
The sounds are soft—just the whisper of the stick, the creak of the throne, the wet slide of her against me.
She closes her eyes, head tipped back, lips parted.
It’s almost clinical, the way she chases pleasure, but I know her well enough to see how badly she needs it.
“Keaton,” she calls. Right on cue with her rising desire.
“Yes, Peaches?”
“Please,” she begs, but it’s not enough, not yet.
“Please what?” I trail my lips along her neck, spiking her desire.
“Demanding fucking men,” she complains, still not giving me what I want, making me nip at her skin. “Fuck me, Keaton. You can play our song later.”
She tells me exactly what I need to hear, and I instantly drop my sticks, letting them fall to the floor. She’s the only one who would make me do such a sacrilegious thing. If it wasn’t for all her teasing, I’d take the time to remove her sweatshirt, but I’ve exhausted all my restraint.
Gripping her thighs, I lift her into the air, making sure to hold her tight enough that my throbbing cock remains inside her. She squeals, the sound is the highest pitch I’ve heard out of her in forever, making pride rush through me.
Her hold around my neck tightens along with her pussy, and a second later her back is pinned to the wall, following through on what I threatened her with.
Her back presses into the cool surface, but Raina is aflame, every inch of her radiating heat as she surrounds me like a living flame.
I can’t help the guttural growl that escapes from my throat at the sensation of her slick heat clamping down around me.
My mouth finds her collarbone, and I bite down, not hard, but enough to leave goosebumps tracing up and down her arms. She shivers, her hands gripping my shoulders like she’s drowning and I’m the only thing that floats.
Raina’s body tenses under my hold, her heart racing in sync with my own. Every fiber of me ignites with urgency as I crush my mouth to hers, feeling her desire flood my cock, threatening to drown out my rational thoughts.
“Damn, I’ve needed this,” I mutter against her skin, breathing in her scent—sweet and intoxicating. I know her better than anyone, and yet, the way she moves beneath my hands still stuns me. Every kiss makes me hungry for more.
I thrust into her, keeping my movements deliberate, savoring the sensation of her tightening around me.
She whimpers, the sounds spilling like a soft melody that echoes against the walls of the room, mixing with the remnants of my earlier drumming.
I want nothing more than to drown out the memories of what led us here—every painful reminder of that night—and simply enjoy the bliss we’re forging anew.
Her nails scrape across my shoulders, and I groan, thrusting deeper, settling her into the wall as if I were anchoring her to a spot only I can claim. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.”
Every thrust feels like proof she’s here—breathing, warm, alive. Every sound she makes drowns out the nightmare version that plays in my head.
“Keaton,” she breathes, but it sounds like a prayer wrapped in a plea. That sound, that slight quiver in her voice wrenches my gut with desire. God knows I’d do anything to keep hearing it, to give her everything she wants.
I drag my lips along her collarbone, kissing up to the soft curve of her jaw, then nibbling on her ear, my fingers digging into her thighs. My cock swells inside her, every inch of her squeezing around me as she struggles to meet the rhythm I’m trying to set.
“This is your song, remember?” I murmur, my mouth hot against her skin.
I might not be tapping out the song against her skin, or on my kit, but I’m still playing the melody of our love.
This time it’s the slap of our skin, the sharpness of our breathing, the pounding of our hearts, and the sweetest sounds she makes.
She starts to shake, hips stuttering, pussy pulsing, and it has me right on the edge. I press my mouth to her ear and murmur, “You got it. Just let go.”
She does, body going rigid, a choked cry slipping from her lips. She digs her nails into my shoulders, riding out the aftershocks as she collapses against me.
I want to last longer, but with her coming apart in my arms, I’m finished in seconds. I bury my face in her neck and shudder, the world going bright and then silent.
She laughs, exhausted and breathless. “How have we never done this at your kit before?”
I chuckle, running my fingers through her hair. “I’m not sure, but I think we should do this again.”
She’s quiet for a while, tracing circles on my chest with her fingertip as we simply enjoy this post coital bliss. “You’re always going to be my anchor, aren’t you?”
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything better.
She wraps her arms around me tighter. “Don’t let go.”
“Never,” I say, and mean it.
Her breath evens out against my skin, and for the first time in months, the silence doesn’t scare me.
Maybe this is what healing sounds like… it’s not music, not words. Just us, still holding on.