Nocturnes (21 page)

I put myself together, hiding the shameful marks under the convenience of happy, stylish fabric that makes my imperfections perfect again. “I may be living a lie, but so are you.”

He pauses his paces and laughs bitterly. “Damn straight.”

“So, what are you gonna do about it?” I want so badly to tell him to stop drinking. I want to lay an ultimatum on him. But it would be hypocritical. I’m not giving up my lifestyle any more than he is. At least not yet.

And saying no to an addiction has to come from within. If you do it for someone else, a relapse is guaranteed.

“I’m trying. I’m trying to find a reason to get sober. To stop being an asshole to everyone I meet. To quit being a selfish prick. But I can’t. The only person I care about besides myself is you.” A pair of blue orbs target and disarm me as if I’m no more a threat than a cuddly teddy bear. “But even you aren’t enough.”

Rax just summed up the feelings bouncing around my chest with a set of words I wouldn’t have chosen, but which ring truer than any others I could ever string together. I wish I could be offended.

“I guess birds of a feather flock together.”

He nods and glances at the door. “I should go.”

“You should.”

He walks over and lowers a hand to the knob.

“But I want you stay a little longer anyway.” I’m wounded and desperate for healing. Right now, Rax is the only one who can give me what I need. “You don’t have to say goodbye in the morning. Might be better if you don’t. But give me one more night.
Eve
needs one more night with you, Rax. Drunk or sober. Sex or not. Just hold me until the sun comes up. Then we’ll both be free.”

He flashes a rare glimmer of genuine warmth. The hard lines in his face melt, and he tackles me to the couch cushions. Not with his lips, but with his heart.

Those shaky arms enfold me, his clammy hands squeeze me, and his damp black waves tickle me. This is raw, unfiltered, pure Rax. And as much as I wish he were clean and sober, he’s the perfect complement to raw, unfiltered, pure Eve. I wind my arms around his neck, let go of the tears building at the corners of my lids, and whisper “thank you” into his hair.

I’ve found my soul mate in a self-centered, alcoholic rock star. The irony is too much to bear.

Side A: “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’”

Eve and I fall asleep in the shape of a human pretzel on her couch. At some point in the wee hours, I wake up, trembling all over, sweating, and nauseated.

Fuck. Time to take my medicine.

I disentangle myself from her limbs and swing my unsteady feet to the floor. She lifts her head. Groggy. Beautiful. Concerned. “You leaving?”

Her hair’s a mess. No makeup. Her face is puffy from sleep. I’ve never seen such a stunning sight. She makes me want to be better. She makes me…happy.

“Not unless you want me to. I told you I’d stay till morning, and I will.” I pick up my coat from the carpet where I tossed it last night and fumble through the inside pocket, past the little notebook, until I hit my flask. No point hiding it from her. She knows this is who I am. I uncap and drink a few swallows. Thank God for Jillian.

Eve settles onto an elbow and watches me. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You can ask.”
I might not answer…

“Your friend who keeps beating you up. How long have you known him?”

“Forever.”

She smiles. “That’s a long time.”

I start to talk myself out of telling her about Toombs and me, but I change my mind. It’s not like she’ll ever meet him. And I’m out of her life permanently after today, so even if she’s offended by our previous unconventional relationship, it doesn’t fucking matter.

I resume my spot beside her. She lays her head in my lap and stares up at me. Imagine coming home from work every day to this. The hottest woman in the world fixated on
me
.

The sex. The afterward. The whole package…

Except for that whole prostitute thing she has going on, which puts a serious crimp in monogamy. Not that I’m a big fan of it anyway.

Though, with her…

I shake my head. “His name’s Toombs. He’s in my band. We used to tag team groupies. I fucked him pretty regularly.”

She twists her neck to eyeball me sideways. Opens her mouth. Closes it. “Uh…wow.”

I arch a brow. Not sure why I’m surprised she seems offended, but I am. “Bisexuality bugs you.”

Eve rights herself to a vertical position and flips a fistful of hair out of her eyes. She doesn’t look at me. Yep, she’s thoroughly grossed out.

“Best friends with privileges. How’d that…work out?”

“Great for me. Tragic for him when he found out I was cheating on him with my other bandmates.”
Nothing like putting it all out there, Rax. Give her more reasons to hate you before you go. That’ll ensure she never calls you.

Her lashes flip up slowly. “You were in a committed relationship with him?”

I spread my arm over the back of the couch and imbibe in another swallow of vodka. “Yeah. He was my sub. Sort of.”

“I see.”

“I told you I was an asshole. You didn’t believe me.”

She starts to speak, but then pauses. “I’m the last person who should judge anyone.”

“You’ve got your skeletons, and I’ve got mine.” One more sip of vodka, and I recap the flask.
Burn, baby, burn.

“So, you’re still friends?”

“We’re working on it. I did some pretty…unpleasant things to him and our drummer. They say they’re okay, but I’m not sure either has truly forgiven me yet. I don’t blame them.”

Her eyes round like a doe’s. “Unpleasant as in…?”

“I bribed her to have sex with me, knowing she wanted Toombs and hated me. It was totally shitty. I’m not proud of it.” I don’t like talking about Jinx and Toombs. The truth is a little too personal and revealing. And goddamn painful.

I really was a fucking shit to them.

I rub my eyes.

“Are you sorry?” Her voice is small.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. If I could undo it, I would. They deserve to be happy. I don’t.” For once, I’m honest with myself. Too bad neither of them is here to witness it.

A smile curls the corners of her lips. “Everyone deserves happiness, Rax. Even the lowest of the low. Even us.” She stands and stretches. When her hands fall gracefully to her sides, she offers me one of them and helps me up.

“Where are we going?” The alcohol works its magic, loosening my limbs, easing my tremors. My lungs open up, and I feel like I can breathe again.

“Bed.”

My cock stirs as she drags me toward her room. The digital clock on the bedside table reads 3:52. Only a few more hours, and I’ll have to head back to the house and get cleaned up for the studio. An arrow of doom pierces my sternum. Why does it feel like every time we get together, we’re heading for heartbreak?

She plops on the bed and runs a hand over the black comforter. “What’s the name of your band?”

“Killer Buzz Float.”

“You got any music I can listen to?”

She’s interested in the band? Pride overflows the banks of my chest. “Not yet. We’re recording now.”

“Not even a demo or a clip from a show on your phone?” She sweeps her gaze down shyly.

I sit next to her and smile as I take out my cell and scroll through my audio recordings. “I’ve been tinkering with an instrumental thing for a while, but it’s not fully developed.”

“Play it.”

“It’s not very good—”

“Now.”

I can’t deny her command, even though it’s too personal to share. The damn song is for her.
About
her. I don’t have to confess that part, but to me, it’s painfully obvious. “You won’t like it.”

“Shut up and play the damn song.” She nudges me with her shoulder.

Against my better judgment, I turn up the volume and hit the play button. Eve rises and ghosts away from me to the open stretch of carpet near the foot of the bed. Acoustic guitar chords resonate, forming the nocturne that sings to me in my dreams. Eve’s nocturne.

My face heats.
She’ll know it’s for her. She totally will.

Finger-plucked strings spread heady notes into the air. I tried to create a Chopin-like feel when I recorded, which was a real challenge since piano and classical guitar don’t make remotely the same sounds, but the effect isn’t half bad. I’m actually surprised at how good it sounds. I never bothered listening to the recording before now. I only wanted to get the notes down at the time so I wouldn’t forget them.

Staring at me, Eve slowly swings her shoulders. My attention piques. What the hell—?

Her fingers poise tentatively at her neck. As the music swells, she manages to transform the simple act of taking off her T-shirt into visual art. Her arms stretch and sway like waves on the ocean, slowly dragging the cotton upward, over her face and head, down to the floor into a loose puddle of fabric. God, so fucking graceful. Hands caress dark bruises marring her otherwise perfect breasts, a painful reminder that sometimes art isn’t pretty. Sometimes it reflects the harshness of reality and gets downright fucking ugly.

God, I know that all too well.

Her hips sway subtly, gaining momentum as the song deepens and fleshes out. Lifted by the points of her toes, she spins through three full rotations on one foot, and stops on a dime, facing me. The jeans zipper slides down like a waterfall to tinkling notes. Denim twists under her expert hands. Lower, lower, then up a notch in time with a teasing little guitar riff. I catch flashes of her pussy hiding in the shadows of her pants. She turns, and her heart-shaped ass kneads invisible circles into the air until the jeans lose purchase and drop to her feet. With each building guitar strain, she frees a tiny bit of herself and paints a picture with her body’s brushstrokes.

Eve is stripping to my music. But not like she does onstage. No, this is the delicate dance of an experienced ballerina who happens to be losing clothing as an afterthought. She uses her body to express herself, and the effect is a poignant display that grabs me by the throat and puts a fucking Vulcan nerve pinch on me.

This dance is
us
. Our combined passions rolled into one breathtaking piece of art.

I look away. I can’t stand watching her—us—like this anymore. She’s breaking me down, disassembling my insides, one cell at a time. Each graceful movement is a brick from my foundation lost. When goddamn tears threaten to fill my eyes, I toss the phone aside and barrel into her, mouth first.

Under the haunting spell of the song I wrote for her, my fully clothed frame subsumes her naked one, touching her at every point it can find. I clutch her to me through the kiss. If I have to let her go, by God, I’ll own every bit of her until the expiration date on this fucked-up relationship hits.

Metal rings dig into her lips, marking her as mine.
Mine, mine, all fucking mine.
Top to bottom, her muscles release in a cascade effect. I hold her up and pour all of myself into this kiss—this new piece of art.

“Rax…” she whispers between the soft snaps of our lips. Last time we had sex, it was violent, angry, passionate. This time, I want to make it memorable in a way that consumes us both. I want to remember how
full
I feel right now. How rich she makes me.

My cock torments me, begging to get inside her any way it can. Fuck the bastard. I
need
this moment of
being
—free of lust, full of devotion.

I need Eve.

After what feels like an endless kiss, we separate enough for me to drink her in again. I commit her curves to memory, taking mental snapshots and cataloguing them for future use.

Black tangles web her shoulders and arms. Her white breasts hang full and round, begging for a nipple sucking. I ignore the ugly marks some fucking asshole left on her at Nocturnes. Those bruises aren’t hers. They belong to Lola. I choose only to see Eve.

Her contours make a smooth dent at her tiny waist, then bow out again at her hips. Spit gluts my mouth at the sight of her pussy. I drop to my knees and caress it with my tongue, rub my nose in it, inhale that delectable, maddening scent. Her hand slips behind my head, she lifts her leg just enough for me to really get in there, and I paint some pictures of my own using my tongue as a paintbrush. Her nectar sets my taste buds alight.

She grinds that wetness into my face, tightening her grip on my hair to the point of pain. Working my jaw, I flicker mouth, teeth, and tongue over her clit, alternating between gentle passes and hungry tugs. When her soft moans rise, I draw away and gaze up at her. “I want you to come with my cock buried inside you.”

Her fingers comb my hair as she smiles down at me and nods. “But we have to use condoms this time. I shouldn’t have pushed you into bareback before.”

I’d love to protest, but she’s right. As long as she’s working in the basement at Nocturnes, we have to play it safe. I press my ear to her smooth belly and band my arms tightly around her thighs. “You didn’t push me. I could’ve said no.”

She strokes the underside of my chin. “I’m glad you didn’t, but we can’t let it slide again. Too much to lose.”

Reluctantly, I nod and stand. She takes her time removing my clothes. I concentrate on the slips of fabric over my skin, the warmth radiating where flesh intersects flesh, and the in-and-out movements of air between two sets of lungs. All the sensory information gets dumped into my core processor for later use. By God, I will turn tonight into a song—maybe add it to the one still playing on my phone. The art we make will be our legacy.

Eve’s Nocturne.

When all barriers are removed and our ties to respective hang-ups severed, I swing Eve into my arms and stare down at her used, perfect body.

“Did you get off when he hit you?” I don’t really want to know, but I need to.

“Hardly.”

I remember how I used to whip Toombs with my belt and tongue the welts afterward. That part was more intimate than the sex. The part that still lingers in my mind. The part I miss the most. “Nobody took care of you afterward?”

“No. I take care of myself. I’m fine, Rax, really. Way tougher than I look. I’m Russian.”