Page 71 of Your Rhythm
He goes back to licking me, pressing his thumb in as he does, and I want to last longer, want to let him take me even higher than the almost dizzying height I’ve already reached, but every muscle in my body tenses up, coiling in on itself. I let out a strangled cry as the release hits and rock back against him. The convulsions hit me over and over again until I collapse onto my pillow, still moaning into the fabric as Matt finally starts to slow down.
“Fuck,” he mutters. He sounds hoarse with desire. “You have no idea how sexy you are when you come.”
He straightens up and gives my ass a slap that makes me squeal in surprise.
“Let me know when you’re ready for round two,” he announces. “I could do this to you all fucking day.”
“Nuh-uh.” I flip over onto my back so I can face him. “Just give me a minute to recover here, and then I’m getting on my knees to return the favour.”
He grabs me by the ankles and drags me to the edge of the bed.
“This isn’t about favours.” He leans over and settles himself between my legs, caging my head between his forearms. “This isn’t give and take. This is me, wanting you, just because I want you.”
“Why?” The question slips out as he brushes a lock of hair from my forehead. “Why do you want me?”
“Because, Kay, when I’m with you I feel like...like everything’s going to be all right. You make me feel stronger, just by being around.”
My heart is trying to kill me right now, pounding so hard I know he must be able to hear it. His words are a rooftop and I’m dancing way too close to the edge. I make a strangled sound somewhere in the back of my throat, but no other answer comes out.
Matt doesn’t seem to need one, though. He leans down to whisper in my ear. “Also, you make me so fucking hard and your pussy tastes better than candy.”
* * *
I don’t even getout of bed to see him to the door when he leaves. I’m pretty sure my legs would be such a trembling mess they wouldn’t support me if I tried. After that first orgasm I thought I was done coming for the night, but Matt proved me wrong. He refused to stop until I literally had to push him off the mattress for fear of him doing nerve damage to my overworked clit.
“Yousureyou don’t want to go again?” he calls from the doorway, one foot already in the hall.
“Get out of here before you break me,” I order, “if you haven’t done that already.”
After he’s gone, I turn to look at the alarm clock on my bedside table. It’s after nine already. I should drag my ass out of bed to shower and actually stand a chance of getting a decent eight hours’ sleep before work tomorrow, but instead I just lie there, pulling the sheet up over me when the sweat on my naked body starts to leave me with a chill.
I wonder how much warmer I’d be if Matt was still here beside me, if I’d let him stay and hold me until morning, if I’d made us both breakfast tomorrow and headed for the metro with his hand in mine. Part of me shrinks back from the idea like it’s poison, a dangerous acid that will sear my skin with just one touch.
I do things alone. I live alone. I wake up alone. I get where I need to be and I do what I need to do alone. I certainly don’t have fantasies about eating toast in bed next to guys I wasn’t supposed to get in bed with in the first place.
Another part of me, though, a tiny part that lives deep in the cavity of my chest, clutches at the thought of Matt’s body curled in a curve around mine and locks the feeling away somewhere I can’t push it out. I know, however small that part might be, it will rise up in revolt against me if I ever do anything to hurt him.
He trusts me with the blind faith of a child. I don’t know if it’s innocence or ignorance or just plain stupidity, but it’s not something I can let myself betray. If there’s a way for me to write Sherbrooke Station out of whatever shit storm they’re currently caught in, I’ll try to find it for him.
After all the information he gave me today, I know I could write the kind of articleLa Garewants. Marie-France thinks unleashing the floodgate of bad press that’s already started to pile up on the band is the best way to make waves, but I don’t agree anymore. The only problem is I know she’s too stubborn to give her idea up. She’ll cling to it until I’ve at least tried writing the kind of article she wants, so that’s what I do.
I stay up until well past midnight, pounding out an article that’s exactly what Marie-France is expecting. I tear Sherbrooke Station to shreds and make them out to be the shallow amateurs I thought they were. I write it as well as I possibly can, but even to me it sounds like a cheap shot, straight out of a gossip magazine.
I send it off to her with an email explaining that I know I can write something much better, if she’ll trust me. These past few months, I’ve seen something in Sherbrooke Station that takes my breath away, something I never saw in all the dozens of bands I interviewed forLast Bastion.
These guys have more than the potential to be good. They have the power to be Great. When they’re on stage, I feel like I’m witnessing history. They even roped a sceptic like me into rooting for them, and I know that if they can get their act together they’ll be headed towards something big.
I get my answer from Marie-France the next morning. She wants to see what I’ve got, and I’m ready to show her. I’m ready to show everyone.
