Page 18 of Heart Beats

He slides his free hand up my body, then he rolls both nipples between his fingers, pinching hard.

Flames lick across my breasts, and I cry out, arching toward his touch. Another forbidden growl vibrates against my flesh as he doubles down on my clit, sucking and flicking it with pressure that matches his hands.

The tightening spiral snaps. Eyes locked with his, I push my fingers through his hair and grind on his mouth, gasping and bucking as my orgasm crashes through me.

He takes me down with long, soft licks, but doesn’t back away. My body is still shuddering when he loops my legs over his shoulders, spreading my thighs wider and lifting my hips off the bench.

My breath hitches as his tongue slides lower, past my pussy, to my ass. “Yes,” I whisper when he presses the tip against my pucker. “Deeper.”

His eyes are so dark, there’s no blue remaining. He skates his hand over my abdomen, rocking his fingers against my sensitive clit as he spears his tongue past my tight rim.

“Marshall…”I breathe his name, moaning as his tongue and fingers send me into a winding spiral of ecstasy that leaves me wrung out.

My legs are still over his shoulders as he rises, and he presses them to my chest while easing me onto my back. He fills me with his cock, pushing the air from my lungs with the depth of his thrust. He’s so big inside me, and this angle has me edging closer with each thrust.

His eyes hold mine, unrelenting, swimming with unspoken words. Words that don’t need to be said, because I feel them in every cell of my being. Over and over, he rocks into me. Rhythmically. Intensely. Fucking me, yes, but so much more. It’s always so much more than sex with him.

He bears down on me, rocking and grinding on my clit each time he buries himself deep inside me, until I’m panting and desperate beneath him. Again.

Pleasure steals over me, robbing me of enough air to speak. All I can do is moan and clutch onto him, riding him from beneath as his cock pulses inside me. My music room will never be the same because of him. Neither will I.

* * *

jagger

Three weeks on the road always goes by in a blink. Constantly being in motion—traveling from one city to the next, the endless, repetitive performances—it all ends up as one blurry memory. Three weeks with Maria went by just as quickly. Too damn fast, but with one big difference—every single day of that time was filled with individual memories. So many perfect fucking moments.

After my management team issued a detailed statement about my health and recovery plan, the vultures stopped circling her house. Mostly. Publicly posting our relationship status cleared out the lingering hangers-on. Maria didn’t love the idea of her picture littering social media, but she consented, no pressure required.

On the subject of consenting—fuck me. And her. Literally. She doesn’t just consent, she initiates. I’ve fucked her from every angle possible. Come down her throat and held my cock deep in her mouth as she swallowed. I've eaten her pussy for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a late-night snack. Many days, all of the above.

Maria’s body is my personal altar, and I’m addicted to worshipping. That’s what I plan to do for the rest of my life—if she says yes.

I left before dawn to catch my flight to the States. It would’ve been easier to spend the night and fly back tomorrow, but I didn’t want to lose a single night with Maria. Being recognized everywhere I go has its downside, but the money that came with my fame makes it possible to get things done. Including a day trip to the specialist I saw in Boston. I didn’t get the news I expected. Definitely not the news my manager or band wanted.

Do I feel guilty that I’m going to let a lot of people down? Hell yes. Am I excited about what the prognosis means for my personal future? Fucking hell yes.

I’m quiet when I let myself into the house. At six-fifteen on a Friday, Maria should be alone. As structured as she is, she’s also a softie. If lessons need to run long, they run long. She always cares more about the music than the time.

“I’m home,” I say, after confirming the music room is student-free. The words come naturally, and I smile at how good they feel rolling off my tongue.

She appears in the kitchen archway, dark eyebrows high over her wide-eyed expression. “You’re talking. The doctor cleared you?”

“He said I can return to the tour.” Telling her a partial truth feels like a lead weight in my chest. But it’s temporary. Necessary for my plan. “We’ll pick up the tour in Kansas City next week. That’ll give me a few days to practice. Make sure my voice is good enough for the show.”

“It’ll be good enough.” From Maria’s mouth, it’s a statement of fact. There’s not a hint of doubt or concern. But the pretty mouth making the statement isn’t smiling. There’s not a hint of that, either.

I get rid of the physical distance separating us and pull her into my arms, where I hold her tight while kissing her temple. “I hope you’re right, it’s an important show.”

“Of course I’m right. The doctor wouldn’t have okayed you to sing if you’re not ready.”

“Yeah.” The roughness in my voice has nothing to do with the nodes still present in my throat. It’s the lie causing the rasp.

She pulls back, searching my face while gently tracing my brow line. “Not only because the doctor cleared you. Your voice will be more than good enough because it’s incredible. That should’ve been the first thing I said. Sometimes—most of the time—the information makes it out of my mouth before my emotions can catch up. But you’ve probably figured that out by now.”

“It’s on the list of things I love about you.” That was a warm-up shot. The real thing’s going to be better, but I’m not rushing it. I’ve waited this damn long, I’m going to make sure it’s perfect.

“When are you leaving?” she asks, disentangling from my embrace to return to the meal she’s preparing. Enchiladas. One of my favorites. Everything she makes, and does, is on that list.

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