34. Garrett
34
Garrett
T he last note plays and Evelyn reaches over to her phone to stop the recording. “I’ll never get over this.”
I don’t think I will either. In some ways, thinking about the person I was performing and writing with Fool’s Gambit, I don’t think I've gotten over it. There's this part of me that’s been in a deep hibernation, finally yawning open. Like I was waiting for her to come along and wake me up.
I shift in my seat on the piano bench so I can properly look at her. “Me either.”
A blush blooms on the apples of her cheeks and she bites at her lower lip. “Anything else you need before tomorrow?”
I know the answer, but words fail to capture the depth of my need. I cup her cheek and kiss her. Her mouth parts for me. My hand slips to her lower back and she arches under my touch, drawing closer. I pull away for a moment and am met with wide green eyes.
“This.” My chest heaves. “This is what I need. Tell me to stop if you don’t need it too.” I need to know. I’m about to topple right into her if she doesn’t stop me now.
“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t stop.”
And that’s all I need to hear. Her fingers work at the buttons of my shirt and I pull at hers. Our clothes land in a heap.
I move so sitting with my back to the keys and she’s lowering to kneel between my thighs. Her fingers go to my hair, my neck, my arms. Her touch is fucking everywhere. Physical touch has never been something I crave, not like this. Not before her. It’s like she’s knitting me back together.
“Stand up,” she says, breaking away from me.
I rise from my place on the bench and she pulls at the button and zipper on my pants. She drags down the waistband a few inches before stopping.
“What is this?” she asks as her fingers ghost against the jut of my hip. She shifts back from the red heart inked into my skin.
“It’s part of a set, matching the rest of the band. We each have a card suit.”
“Why the heart?”
“Because I’m heartless,” I say. They thought it would be ironic. It was funny in the moment, but the truth was I had reached a point where I clung to that part of myself. If you're heartless, there’s less of you to break.
“You’re not heartless, you just hide it better than the rest of us. I wish I was like that,” she says with a soft, sad smile.
I pull her back, pressing her to me and planting a kiss under her ear. “Never hide part of what makes you special. You helped me be brave with that big heart of yours.”
“Garrett, tell me you need me,” she begs.
“I need you.” My lips feather against her skin. “I want to see you.”
“What do you want to see?”
“Show me how you make yourself feel good, show me exactly how you do it,” I say. “I want to be able to picture you, every face you make when you’re alone.”
She pulls back so I can see the flush dominating her cheeks. The pink of her tongue slips out to wet her parted lips. “I’ve never had someone watch me like that before.”
“Don't if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“I want to,” she says without hesitation. “But I might have to get used to it. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You couldn’t if you tried,” I promise.
She steps back from me and slips off her pants at a painfully slow pace that makes me groan. She could ask me to do anything right now and I would. Her chest flutters with a breath before she lowers to her knees in front of me. Lazily, she drags a hand along her body and aching progression from her breast to the valley between her thighs.
Her lips form a silent “O” as she presses against her clit. It’s impossible to take my eyes off her. I like knowing she feels good, seeing the pleasure painted on her face. As she continues, I watch her muscles tense and shift. I memorize the erratic rhythm of her breath. She sinks a finger into her entrance then another.
She bites into her bottom lip, stifling a cry. I catalog every movement, everything that she likes to do to herself so I can replicate it later. I’ve never thought of sex as beautiful. But that was before her.
In truth, when I was younger, I struggled to view sex as a positive experience. There was more anxiety when I had sex with women than with men. The potential for an accidental pregnancy haunted me until I got a vasectomy. The thought that I could bring life to this world unintentionally without being able to say for sure that I could love them? It sickened me.
It took years for me to shed the fear. From that point on I viewed sex as a destructive, yet pleasurable act. The moment I slept with someone it was one step closer to a guaranteed ending. Pleasure that would be used up.
But this view. This perfect view, I could never get tired of it. I want to undo her and make her whole at once. Over and over again.
Sex with Evelyn makes me realize why people make art dedicated to the act. If I were to ever carve a statue it would be to immortalize the bliss that consumes her face as she climbs to the point of orgasm.
“Am I doing a good job?” she pleads.
“You’re fucking yourself with your fingers so well. Add another and tell me how it feels.” My voice is low and hungry. I want to consume her as much as I want her to consume me.
She does and gasps. “It feels full. Good. But full.”
“Fuck, you don’t know how much your pleasure turns me on,” I tell her, fucking transfixed by the woman I have the privilege of being with.
“Let me touch you, please. Let me help you feel good too.” She gazes at me through dark lashes and I nod.
She crawls across the plush carpet, hands and knees sinking into the fibers. Her full hips sway as she takes her time closing the distance. Those green eyes of hers never leave me.
By the time she reaches me, I’ve tossed away my pants. Evelyn stops to kneel at my feet as I stand in front of the piano. Her hand skates up my thigh, slow. So fucking slow. The groan rips out of me just as her fingers are inches from my cock.
But I stop her, my hand landing over hers, so I can make one thing perfectly clear.
I tuck my forefinger under her chin and guide her to meet my eyes. “You are not allowed to stop touching yourself. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she says on an exhale.
She presses her pillowy lips against the tip, sending a jolt of pleasure through me as she takes me into the wet heat of her mouth. Her head bobs an easy rhythm as her tongue expertly swirls.
I lightly thrust, slowly picking up speed. Looking down I see that two of her fingers are dipping in and out of her pussy at a similar pace. Her mouth vibrates around my cock as she moans. It’s fucking glorious and I nearly come. My arm reaches back to crash into the keys of the piano, sending a discordant scattering sound through the room.
“Stop,” I demand.
“Why?”
“You’re going to play me a song.”
Her lips pop open and her eyes are glazed with lust. I watch as she muddles through the moment of confusion. “What?”
Reaching down, I weave my fingers in her hair. “I’m going to fuck you while you play our song. And you’re going to keep playing until you come.”
And if I have it my way, even after I leave on Monday. Anytime she plays this song. Anytime she even hears it all I want her to think about is me buried in her. Us.
She shifts away and then on to her feet. I turn to face the piano and pull the bench back, taking a seat on the cool wood.
“Come here,” I beckon.
I spread my thighs so she can fit between them and stroke my cock. Carefully, she steps into place. I line myself up with her entrance and she cautiously shifts down.
“Sit, Evelyn. I know you can take me after getting your pussy all nice and ready, so sit.”
She does, slamming down the rest of the way until I’m completely inside her. A breathy gasp breezes past her lips then she readjusts, lifting and lowering.
Have you ever been to heaven? Because this is it. She is it.
I gather her hair and move it to one shoulder then press a kiss to her neck. “I’m not starting until I hear the first note. Or we can stay like this as long as you like, I don’t mind.”
“Fine,” she snaps. She tips slightly forward to reach the keys, fingers delicately taking position.
She presses down on an E and I thrust, snapping my hips.
“Shit,” she groans. “You’re going to mess me up.”
“Count on it,” I promise as I rock into her again.
Evelyn squares her shoulders then starts again with a new determination. This time she gets past the first three measures before making a mistake. She plays through it.
I follow her tempo and her intensity, matching my own rhythm to what she’s playing on the keys. I can tell the moment she catches on because she speeds up and my movements quicken, the percussive sound of our bodies a back beat to our composition.
She punches out a rapid staccato and I reach up to roll her nipple between my fingers.
Her body grows tighter as we reach the final chorus as if she’s holding back her orgasm. She clenches around me, testing my limits along with hers.
But this is music. Raw. Perfect. Music. A performance no one else will ever get.
The last strains of music ring through the room, growing louder through a roaring crescendo as I surge into her.
Giving her all I am, all I have, until she comes. And then so do I.