Page 28 of The Duet

“Sorry it took so long,” she says. “But I’m here now.” She smiles at me. “Where were we when we got so rudely interrupted earlier?” She doesn’t waste time coming for me. She hooks a finger under the waistband of my jeans and pulls me close. “Oh, yeah. You couldn’t keep your hands or lips off me.” Her smile morphs into a grin. She’s got me right where she wants me and she knows it.

“Wow.” I look into her eyes. “No more deference for Lana Lynch?”

“Let me show you exactly how much I respect and admire you, Lana.” She wedges her bottom lip between her teeth. It makes her look so damn sexy. She releases her lip and leans in. “Hey, again.” This time, she doesn’t wait for me to close the gap between our lips. She kisses me and everything changes again.

When did this happen to me? Has this been going on inside me all along and have I been too stubborn to notice? Or too wise, even? But this is no longer something that I consider shouldn’t be happening. I know damn well when it all started. When we were on stage together. When she looked into my eyes and sang to me. When she rolled her head backward onto my shoulder. When she stood so close to me, I could feel her heart beat in sync with mine.

“I want you so much. You have no idea,” Cleo whispers when we break from our kiss.

“You’re giving me a pretty good idea,” is all I can reply. I just want to feel her lips on mine again. I want her tongue to slip inside my mouth again. I want her to make my breath hitch in my throat time and time again.

“I hope you know you’re making all my wildest dreams come true.” She flips open the button of my jeans, making her intentions well and truly known—not that they weren’t already.

This time, when she kisses me, her tongue divine against mine, her hands roam to my back and her fingertips slip beneath my jeans. Her lips travel downward, to the sensitive skin of my neck, and I throw my head back. All those duets we’ve done so far, they’ve been the most spectacular foreplay. My blood pulses in my veins. My skin is hot for her, and those kisses aren’t helping.

Legs and arms entwined, we stumble toward the bed. It’s only when I reach for her T-shirt to pull it over her head that I notice it’s a Kay Cooper one. Nice move. I like Cleo Palmer more with every single second that goes by. With every kiss she plants on my skin. With every breath I take.

She has no qualms about removing her bra and it’s easy enough to see why. Her breasts are perfect and mesmerizing and begging to be cupped by my palms. Oh, fuck. Cleo is so excruciatingly beautiful—even more so, here with me, than on stage. I reach out my hand and rub my thumb over her nipple. It hardens and even though its reaction is entirely expected, it still floors me.

The time for audaciously grinning at me has passed for Cleo as well. When I look up from her chest to her face, her expression is serious and her eyes are full of lust.

“I want to see you,” she says. “All of you.”

I take off my T-shirt, but I’m more hesitant to dispose of my bra. Perhaps Cleo senses my hesitation because she reaches behind my back, her hands soft and warm on my skin, and finds the clasp. She looks into my eyes as she unhooks it and then slowly lowers it.

“Fuck,” is all she says after she’s dropped my bra to the floor and I stand before her half-naked. “Oh, fuck, Lana.” She puts both her hands on my belly and, ever so slowly, slides them upward. Her fingers are featherlight when they stroke my breasts. Already, she’s making my breath hitch in my throat.

One hand cups my breast, while her other scoots more upward, until her fingertips reach my cheek. Cleo looks into my eyes. There’s something so unexpectedly gentle about her. And that glint in her eyes tells me everything I need to know about how much exactly she wants this. She looks like a woman whose wildest dreams are about to come true. It’s an honor to make that happen for someone like Cleo—and for myself, as well.

Her face disappears from my field of vision as she leans forward. Her tongue skates along my erect nipple before she takes it between her lips.

My knees are about to buckle already.

I drag Cleo onto the bed with me. She topples onto me, but it doesn’t take long for her lips to find my nipple again. Then the other. Cleo lavishes all her attention on my nipples and my breasts and, as she does, long dormant parts of me awaken.

I’ve slept with the occasional woman since Joan. No matter how cliché, it’s far too easy for the front woman of a legendary band to find someone to spend the night with—but I haven’t been to bed with Cleo Palmer. It’s different with her, although this might very well be a one-night stand. Ever since Joan died, I refuse to look too far into the future because of its utter inability to be predicted. I’m only looking as far as the next kiss.

Cleo’s lips travel upward, along my neck, to my lips.

I pull her to me, I pull her as close as she can possibly get, and I kiss and kiss her. She feels so good, so warm and comforting and exhilarating against me. Her hands wander down. She unzips my jeans and skates a fingertip along the waistband of my panties, setting my skin on fire.

When we break from our kiss, I take a moment to look into her blue eyes again. I swallow hard at the sight of her. She’s so gorgeous and so generous with her talent—and her compliments for me. I barely know her, yet she has changed something inside me already.

“Can I?” she asks, while hooking a fingertip inside my panties.

I have to chuckle at her politeness, but maybe this is how things unfold in the bedroom these days, between people her age. The other day, Tim was wearing a T-shirt with consent is sexy stenciled on the front. I could only agree, just as I can now.

“Yes,” I say. Because, oh yes, she can. I’m so ready for Cleo, so ready to feel all of her everywhere.

She sends me a smile, then kisses me again. God, these kisses. I can’t seem to get enough of them. I most certainly haven’t been kissed like this since Joan kissed me last.

This time, when we pause for air, Cleo scoots downward and pulls down my jeans. Greedily, I give her a hand, before helping her out of her jeans as well.

I reach for her panties next. I can’t wait to see all of her. My heart beats double time in my chest. I feel more alive than I feel on stage, if that’s even possible. I didn’t think it was. What is it with this woman that she turns me on so much, so beyond the boundaries of what I’ve come to know? I find her gaze before I remove her underwear. She gives me a small nod. I slide her panties off her and simply doing so is enough to ignite a wild pulsing between my legs. But Cleo doesn’t let me have my way with her just yet. She wants me fully naked—a desire I totally understand.

She pushes me onto my back and takes off my panties. She runs her fingertips all the way up from my ankle to my upper thigh, leaving me no room to maneuver—or let me come for her. I’m too enthralled to fight for top. My time will come. It always does.

Her fingertips trace all sorts of figures on my lower belly before returning to my thighs.

---