Chapter 20
CASSIE
Iwake with a hand between my legs. Except it’s not my hand.
It’s Pia’s. She’s stroking my pussy so lazily and so sweetly, I think I’m still dreaming, but then I feel her teeth graze my shoulder as she presses the front of her body against the back of mine, and I’m wide awake. And this is better than any dream.
“Good morning,” I sigh, as Pia kisses her way up my neck. She smells like herself again – nutmeg and cloves and clean skin. “Did you shower?”
“Yes, I was fed up with how badly I smelt.”
I start to laugh but then she starts to circle my clit with the tip of her finger, and it melts into a sigh.
“Oh, God,” I groan.
“Fan, I love it when you say that. It’s like the biggest fuck you to that religious shit that hurt you.”
“How did you know, about that?” I ask, breathless. “I never talk about it interviews”
“It doesn’t take a genius to guess that a priest’s daughter is going to have religious shit to get over.”
“He’s a vicar, but, yeah, I guess. It’s not their fault, my parents. They…” I don’t finish that sentence because Pia’s fingers are too good and I’m melting into her touch so quickly it’s alarming.
“They didn’t know any better?” Pia offers and I hum both agreement and pleasure. “Well, it’s my experience that there’s a very fine line between not knowing better and refusing to know better.”
I’m momentarily bowled over by the significance of what Pia’s saying, but then she goes a little bit faster, and I swear every thought leaves my mind. I am nothing but my clit and the desire I have for Pia.
“What time is it?” I manage to ask before I lose myself completely. I have rehearsal at 2:00 pm. I can’t miss it.
“Around 10:30,” Pia says, and then slides her fingers lower, pushing the tips of two of them inside me. “But you’re not going anywhere until you’ve come for me. At least three times. I’ve unplugged your phone. Do Not Disturb is on the door. It’s just you and me.”
You and me. How I wish it was that simple.
A wave of sadness threatens to crush my building pleasure, but I refuse to let it. I roll over in Pia’s arms, dislodging her hand, and I climb on top of her. She has no bra on, but I’m surprised to see black cotton knickers on her bottoms.
She notices my questioning look.
“I’m on my fucking period, aren’t I?”
“So you wear underwear when you’re menstruating? Interesting.”
“Even I’m not going to make a bloody mess of your hotel bed,” she says with a scowl that I have come to find so very sexy.
“Can I still…” I don’t finish that sentence.
“Fuck me?” Pia offers. “Hell yes. I wear tampons and just put a fresh one in because your hotel is that fancy, they provide them–so fucking ride me.”
I blink at her directness. I have never talked so openly about periods with … anybody. It makes me wonder then just how much shame I’ve lived with over my life.
“So, how do we do this again…?” I ask, thinking back to that first perfect night together. The way our legs slotted into place. The way we leaned back and thrust into each other’s bodies. The noises we made. The pain and friction and pleasure we created.
I’m throwing the sheets off us and manoeuvring so our legs are interwoven when I hear a knock at the door.
I turn my head towards the noise.
“What’s wrong?” Pia asks, her hands on my hips, massaging my flesh through my nightgown.
“There’s someone at the door,” I explain.
“Oh,” she says.
“You didn’t hear that? Pia, did you get your ears checked?”
“Not yet,” she says, quickly and dismissively, but I’m not going to forget.
The knocking comes again, and this time she hears it.
“Ignore it,” I say, my eyes on Pia’s nipples, which are tight and dark. I want to kiss them, suck them, play with them with my tongue.
“Now who’s the rebel?” Pia teases me, and I understand the meaning of the word swoon as I react to her praise. And the way she continues to grip my waist, possessively, a little roughly. Like she can’t get enough of my body.
The knocking sounds out again, and this time, it’s louder.
“Whoever that is,” Pia says, “they’re not going away.”
“They will,” I sigh as I start to roll my body against hers. I want to fuck her so badly. But then I stop. “Wait, unless…”
“Unless what?” Pia stops moving. “Wait, do you think it’s Stephan fucking Greene out there?”
“No,” I say, perhaps too quickly. “I don’t think so … I mean, he’s never awake this early…”
Pia doesn’t wait for me to finish my sentence. She’s off me and off the bed in a flash. In just her underwear, she marches through the suite and to the door. I am a little slower following her, grabbing my robe and throwing it on as I do. The door is already open by the time I catch up.
It is not Stephan. It is Clarence. Poor Clarence, who looks like he’s seen a ghost as he looks at Pia, and then swiftly averts his eyes.
“Cassie, shit, I’m sorry, I…” he mumbles to the door frame. “I didn’t know you had company.”
“Hi, Clarence,” Pia says like they’re old friends while standing there, topless, with one hand on the door and the other on her cocked hip. I wish I didn’t notice how sexy she looked.
“Clarence, are you okay?” I say, stepping in front of Pia so his modesty is saved, even if hers doesn’t need it.
“Yes, fine, I just thought we agreed to rehearse this morning. At ten, but you didn’t show up. I couldn’t reach you on your room phone, and Kevin hadn’t heard from you, so I got a bit worried.”
“Shit,” I hiss, and that has Pia flashing me a wide-eyed look. “I totally forgot.”
“Well,” Clarence offers us both a shy smile. “I see you got distracted.”
“Yes, I did…but still, I’m sorry, if you just give me an hour—”
“It can wait,” Clarence says quickly as his eyes ping-pong between Pia and me. “I’m actually going to meet an old friend for lunch, so…”
“Right, okay, well, I am really sorry, Clarence. That wasn’t cool of me.”
His eyes are kind when they settle on me. “Don’t apologise. Sometimes, unexpected things happen.”
It’s very clear he’s not talking about me missing our rehearsal.
“Yes, well, about that,” I say, and I look up at Pia, who is still looking like her standing here in just her knickers is completely normal. “If you don’t mind keeping this to yourself, that would be appreciated.”
“Your secret is safe with me, but”–his expression turns serious, and I’m surprised when he then looks at Pia–“you deserve to be treated right, Cassie. I’ve said that to you before, and I’m saying it again now.”
Pia’s smirk wavers a little, and I’m surprised when she doesn’t have a quippy reply for him.
“Noted,” I say, quietly. “Thank you, Clarence.”
“Well, I’ll be going. See you this afternoon,” he says, and then he gives each of us a nod and walks away down the corridor.
“Shit,” I hiss as I close the door and lean back against it. I feel like my stomach has sunk to the very pits of hell.
Pia shrugs. “He won’t tell.”
“I don’t think he will either, but…”
“What?” She crosses her arms.
“Doesn’t it scare you? People finding out?”
Another shrug. “Why would it?”
I stare at her so intently it hurts my eyeballs. “Pia, we can’t … It would ruin everything.”
She rubs a hand over her face. “I need a cigarette,” she mutters before looking at me again.
“Don’t you agree?” I ask.
“Sure, sure. It would ruin everything,” she repeats almost robotically, and then she turns and walks away.
When I find her, she’s in the bedroom again, rummaging through the pockets of her jeans. “Fan, Geert must have stolen my smokes.”
“Pia,” I say with enough edge in my voice that she stops what she’s doing, drops the jeans and looks at me. “Why aren’t you scared?”
She looks at me blankly for a long time. It’s long enough that I think she’s not going to reply. But then she sinks down on the bed and sighs. I sit down next to her.
“You think I’m not scared?” she asks eventually.
“I … You don’t seem to be.”
“Well, that’s because I’m a performer,” she says. “A good one.”
“I’m not disagreeing.”
“But of course, I’m scared. I’ve lived every day of my life scared.
Scared of not having enough food in the fridge.
Scared of getting a hole in my second—or third—hand snow boots and having to have cold, wet feet for the rest of winter because there was no way Mom could afford to replace them.
Scared of being the only Asian kid in my class, in my group music lessons, in every single space I walk into.
Scared of never being truly known because I grew up speaking two languages, and with two ethnicities, and I wasn’t Swedish the way everyone else was, and I definitely didn’t feel Thai enough either.
Scared that I gave up everything I knew and owned to try and be a musician in not just one but three brand-new countries.
Scared that if I stop drinking and getting high completely then I’ll be boring and no longer the person everyone wants me to be.
Scared that I’ll like that person more, but what if she can’t write good music?
Scared that that will mean all the success I’ve had will then magically disappear one day and I’ll be left with nothing.
” She pauses, and somehow I know there’s more to come.
“But do you know what being scared every single day of my life has taught me?”
“What?” I whisper, my next breath dependent on her answer.
“That you have to live with the fear. You have to look it in the face and take it along for the ride, but not the other way around. You can never let fear be the driver.”
My hands itch to reach for her, but there’s something about the hard line of her jaw that stops me.
“You really are a good performer,” I say.
“But for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’d be boring if you were sober.
From what I’ve seen and learned about you, I actually think you’re more interesting when you’re sober. ”
“That’s because you’re also sober and boring.” She nudges me with an elbow.
“Oh, is that what you think? Because before we were rudely interrupted, it didn’t exactly seem that way.” I nudge her back.
“As you just said, I’m a good performer,” she says with a knowing smile, but then it slips away as she turns towards me. “But none of that scares me as much as what I feel when I think about you. And I don’t know if I’m a good enough performer to hide that.”
There’s no stopping me grabbing her hand now and holding it tightly with both of mine. “I don’t want you to.”
She gives me a cool, sardonic look. “I think that’s the worst part. It doesn’t seem to matter what we want.”
I don’t even open my mouth to argue with her. The way I felt at having even sweet, loyal Clarence know about us is still churning in my stomach.
“Well, being on tour in different countries will help, I guess,” I offer, but her expression matches my own sense of devastation at the idea.
“Let’s not talk about that,” Pia says in an unusually gentle voice. “We still have a few more hours together.”
“Yes, we do,” I say, and I climb into her lap. “What do you want to do?”
“You,” she says, grabbing me and rolling us over so she’s lying on top of me. “I want to do you.”