Page 76 of Symphony of Salvation

I didn’t want to talk about me or us or any of it. If we spent too much time inert, I would find a reason to leave. Descending on August’s mouth, I kissed him like I’d done in the kitchen, like I’d done in the dark auditorium, using the power of persuasion to get us past our crippling differences onto safer ground.

It worked like a charm.

August went with the flow, fisting my hair and securing me in place as his fervor matched my own. Tongues, teeth, and lips clashed. The temperature rose in an instant.

Coming up for air, I chuckled. “Repressed certainly doesn’t mean shy, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Backing me toward the bed, August shoved me down on the mattress. He removed his sweater vest before joining me, bracketing his hands on either side of my head, hovering a few inches above. “All I ask is that we’re quiet.”

“Obviously.”

“She’s a nosy girl.”

“She’s a teenager.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a free pass to act petulant.”

“Shut up, August. I don’t want to talk about your daughter right now.”

He laughed as I snagged his shirt in a fist and dragged him down on top of me. His weight and the warm, aggressive press of his mouth were my undoing. Blood surged through my veins. It had been a while since I’d found myself in bed with anyone. A plodding venture through the world of online dating had proven fruitless.

I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as he tangled his fingers ever deeper into my hair.

“You’re obsessed,” I said against his mouth.

He hummed. “Love your hair.”

Freeing a hand, he helped remove his shirt. Mine required August to haul me upright since I’d worn a sweater that needed to go over my head. An entwined mess of clothing found its way to the floor. Hot skin connected with hot skin. The hard press of August’s arousal rubbed against my inner thigh with the rock of his hips. I thrust against him, seeking similar friction, stoking the fire I’d built on the night of the concert when I’d decided to seek August in the darkness.

All the while, our mouths remained fused, tongues knotted as we explored.

I couldn’t stop touching him, blindly mapping every inch of his body. The higher the intensity of our make-out session, the more assertive August got. It was not the neat and tidy affair I’d expected from a professional classical musician. It was rough and demanding. Desperate in a way. Like a lifesaving breath of air after having been underwater too long. This was what happened when yourepressedsomething.

Taking hold of his ass, I used it for leverage as I pushed against him. The taut globes clenched and moved with me. Grinding. Taking us to new heights.

But it wasn’t enough.

A new lover meant a path of unknown pleasures to discover. August seemed bold, but was he daring? How much experience had his self-proclaimedrepressionallowed him? Did he suck cock? Was he vers? I needed to find out soon before he drove me out of my mind.

Afraid we’d get stuck in an unending teenage make-out session and rut our way to completion, I used my weight to rollus and take the advantage. Short of breath and with bruised lips, August looked drunk on lust.

“Do you have condoms? Lube?” I asked.

A flash of panic. He glanced at the dresser and cursed. “No. I didn’t think… Shit. No.”

“Didn’t expect to show up at your daughter’s boarding school and end up in bed with her music teacher, huh?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly.”

“We can make do.”

My hair hung on either side of August’s face as I kissed him gently and passionately before moving down his body. August was not overweight, nor was he especially trim and muscular like the profile pics I’d seen on those apps when I’d browsed men in their twenties who spent half their lives at the gym. He was lean but soft with the onset of middle age. Dark hair covered his chest and stomach, and I took my time, venturing lower, tracing a path with the tip of my nose and planting kisses on a journey leading south.

When I checked in, his parted lips and heavily lidded eyes spoke of enjoyment, of desire. When I took him into my mouth, he cursed and arched his back. My name had never sounded so pure rolling off a lover’s tongue. August turned it into an aria.

Every word that proceeded was not English, but it didn’t matter. Their sentiment fueled me onward. They gave me the confidence and power I lacked, having August’s bold presence in my classroom and life. He outshone me in every way. Maybe here, in the bedroom, we could find common ground.

I stroked his thighs, the coarse hair rasping against my palms. I fondled his balls, tugging once, eliciting a moan. Taking my time, I drew out August’s pleasure until it was so taut his entire body sang with the need for release.

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