Page 20 of Whispers in the Quarter

The truth of his words undoes me. Here, in the soft darkness of his apartment, with Duke Ellington spinning tales of love andlonging, I let my walls crumble. When our lips finally meet, it’s like coming home to a song I’ve always known but never played.

The kiss deepens, and it’s nothing like Lucas’s chaotic possession. Jazz kisses like he plays – smooth and skilled, building intensity with deliberate patience. His hands tangle in my hair as mine find the buttons of his shirt.

“Sarah,” he breathes against my lips, and for once, hearing my real name doesn’t feel like a betrayal. Not here, not with him.

“Jazz,” I whisper back, meaning so much more than just his name. Meaning trust, and need, and years of unspoken desire.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his hands framing my face. “You sure about this, Melody? Once we change this tune, there’s no going back to the old arrangement.”

I think of Lucas, of his brilliant madness and possessive devotion. Of how instead of feeling torn between them, I feel... complete. Like they’re different instruments in the same orchestra, each playing the exact notes my soul needs.

“I’m sure,” I say, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “I trust you, Jazz. Always have.”

His smile is soft, knowing. “Then let me show you what real harmony feels like.”

He stands, pulling me up with him. The record has shifted toMood Indigo, its sultry notes wrapping around us like silk. Jazz leads me in a slow dance, his hands warm on my waist, his lips finding my neck.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs against my skin. “Let go, Melody. Let me take care of you.”

I do. For once, I let all my masks fall away. No games, no schemes, no carefully constructed personas. Just me, just this, just us.

When he lifts me into his arms, I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the firmness of his body pressed against mine, the muscles in his back tensing and releasing with each step. Hisbreath is warm on my neck, sending shivers down my spine as he carries me to his bedroom. The streetlights filter through the window, casting a soft, golden glow across his sheets, painting the room in a dance of shadows and light.

Jazz lays me down on the bed with a gentleness that makes my heart ache. His eyes roam over me, dark and hungry, but there’s a tenderness there too. A reverence.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curve of my cheek. “Every version of you.”

I reach up, pulling him down to me. Our lips meet again, and this time there’s an urgency behind it. Years of unspoken desire and simmering tension finally boiling over. His hands are everywhere, leaving trails of fire in their wake as they explore my body.

I arch into his touch, desperate for more. My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine. Jazz chuckles softly, capturing my hands in his.

“Easy, Melody,” he says, pressing a kiss to each of my palms. “We’ve got all night. Let me savor you.”

He takes his time undressing me, each newly exposed inch of skin worshipped with lips and tongue. By the time I’m bare beneath him, I’m trembling with need.

“Jazz, please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for.

He stands, shrugging off his shirt and stepping out of his pants. The sight of him, all lean muscle and dark skin, takes my breath away. When he rejoins me on the bed, the feel of his body against mine is electric.

Jazz’s hands glide over my skin, tracing patterns that feel like musical notes. His touch is a melody, building slowly, rhythmically, towards a crescendo. I arch into him, craving more, but he maintains his steady tempo.

“Patience, Melody,” he murmurs against my collarbone. “Let the music build.”

His lips trail down my body, leaving a path of tingling sensation in their wake. When he reaches the apex of my thighs, I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair. Jazz looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, before dipping his head to taste me.

The world narrows to the exquisite sensations he’s creating. His tongue moves in intricate patterns, like he’s playing a solo just for me. I’m lost in the rhythm he’s setting, my hips moving in time with his ministrations.

Just when I think I can’t take anymore, Jazz slides two fingers inside me, curling them in acome hithermotion that has me seeing stars. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, and I feel myself teetering on the edge of release.

“That’s it, Sarah,” Jazz encourages, using my real name like a caress. “Let go for me. Let me hear your song.”

His words push me over the precipice. I cry out, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me. Jazz doesn’t let up, drawing out my orgasm until I’m trembling and over-sensitive.

Jazz moves back up my body, his lips trailing kisses along my flushed skin. When he reaches my mouth, I taste myself on his tongue, mingled with bourbon and desire. His hardness presses against my thigh, a reminder of his own need.

“You’re so beautiful when you let go,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I want to see you like that again and again.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Then show me,” I challenge, my voice husky with want. “Make me sing for you, Jazz.”

---