Page 104 of Love You Like That (Excess All Areas 4)

By the time she made it home, she pulled one of the meals Alex had had delivered from the fridge for dinner. Dragging a kitchen chair into the concrete yard, she sat down, enjoying the feel of the rare yet weak October sunshine on her face, and devoured it.

After a full day in the studio and at the centre, she wanted fresh air, and surprisingly, silence. She left her hearing aids off and noticed that despite feeling exhausted, spending a day without them had left her without the headache she often felt after a day of wearing them.

Without them, she could still pick up some noise such as a car backfiring. But the bird chirping on the wall was soundless.

With her stomach full, she attempted to objectively think about the afternoon. Boncaldo had challenged her to play New Rosauro’s Marimba Concerto. She realised she’d been able to tap into something she already had. The feeling of vibration.

It was, she realised, a bit like a new skier getting that feeling of turns. At first, the turns are exaggerated, long draws across the slope with a very visible pivot to turn back across the slope. The more comfortable the skier gets, the more intuitive the journey down the slope becomes. Confidence in the ability to stop takes over. Turns become less and less angular. Eventually, turns become a simple lean, a bend of the knees, the trajectory straight forward.

It was the same playing music. She’d gotten so good she hadn’t realised how much information she took in around her already. All of it muscle memory. All of it useful.

The piece Boncaldo had challenged her with had four movements. They would take time to learn and perfect.

But she still wondered how she would know she was getting it right short of someone else hearing it.

She’d slept poorly the previous night due to dreams of consistently missing the key she was supposed to play. And while she played on, the conductor and orchestra had turned to glance in her direction.

Oblivious, she’d carried on playing.

Her gut clenched at just the mere thought.

“What’s in your control, Zo?” she muttered.

She could go to her audiologist, get her hearing aids reassessed. Get the frequencies right so it amplified the marimba. She could practise like the devil. She could slow it down to speed it all up.

What was that sports psychology saying? Practise harder than you play.

She could trust herself.

The word made her think of Alex. It was after eight. He’d be getting ready to go on stage and the backstage area was a disaster of loud noises. Once she was settled to do the work for her author, she’d send him a quick message he could reply to once the concert was over.

Grabbing the rubbish from her dinner, she moved everything back inside and tidied up. When she was done, she grabbed a bottle of water and her laptop, and sat down on the sofa.

Her bones ached. Perhaps a bath would be good. But not until she’d finished the teasers she was making. She needed images that would match the quotes she’d picked.

Say thank you, Sir…or you’ll get ten more.

Trust me, baby girl. You need this.

I needed a tow truck, and you gave me a sore ass and an orgasm.

Zoe grinned at the last one. She admired a heroine with a bit more sass.

When she was finished with the teasers, she opened her spreadsheet and opened book five in the series. She was looking forward to reading this one. This was a sadist and masochist one and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to get into that kind of dynamic. But at this point, she trusted the author enough to deliver a story where she rooted for a happily ever after, even if the lifestyle the characters led was something she could never imagine taking place in real life.

When she opened the first page, the dedication made her heart skip a beat.

To the man who showed me what I needed, without making me feel less for needing it.

She considered the way Alex had tied her hands behind her back, and wondered how much else could Alex show her, and would she need it?

Wasn’t it even anti-feminist to want it?

Her fantasies were her own, and at this point, she didn’t really give a shit what anyone else thought.

Once she’d managed to get ten more chapters added to the series bible, she glanced at the clock. A little after ten. There were messages from friends. Chaya wanting to get together for a drink. Cerys checking on how she was doing. But they could wait.

She dragged her weary arse upstairs. A bath sounded good.

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