Eternal Heat (Firework Girls #3) (19 page)

Riding his cock, my channel is stretched and humming with pleasure, but my engorged clit is throbbing and untouched. The yearning to have my clit pleasured only seems to increase the sensations in my entire body. I arch my back even more, my hair brushing his thighs. I feel him take his fingers off my nipple briefly. When they return, they’re wet and slick with his saliva. I groan with approval. Several more thrusts of his cock and I don’t know if I can take it anymore. My clit is so eager for release, I would squirm if the position I was in allowed it.

I bring my head back down and look at him to find him looking at me. My heart clenches, burning for him as much as my body is. Keeping one hand on my breast, he brings his other hand to his mouth and gets his fingers wet. I wedge my knees slightly wider, hoping. His fingers go toward my crotch. I bite my lip in anticipation before he even touches me. When his slick fingers slide over my clit at last, I shudder, my mouth working into an O. His cock is at its deepest inside me at the same moment. I grow so tight around him, he’d have a hard time sliding in and out if I weren’t so dripping wet.

He starts moving his fingers in circles over my clit, and his other hand grips my hips firmly. My hands brace on his chest again. I scramble the material of his shirt up until I meet bare skin. I spread my fingers wide. His thrusts grow harder and more intense. I lean down against him, our bare stomachs touching and my breasts against his shirt. His arms embrace me firmly as we give each other a hungry kiss.

I prop myself on straightened arms, changing the angle of his cock as I pump hard over him. He curls up and sucks my tit, squeezing my ass as I ride him. “Yes,” I gasp. He sucks me harder, flicking his tongue against my nipple.

“God, Erik.”

I’m so wet I feel my juices running down his cock. He spreads my ass, squeezing my cheeks. His fingers work around the back, until he’s gently rubbing my anus. My mouth holds itself open in pleasure. My chest and breasts grow hot, the flush climbing up to my neck.

“Yes,” I say. “More.”

He lowers his fingers to get some of my moisture, rubbing against the opening of my channel as it’s stretched around him. I moan softly, then louder as his moist fingers return to my rear opening.

His cock rams into me. I tuck my head down tighter, pressing my forehead against his chest. The wet sound of his shaft working me faster starts to swell.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he says.

“I’m so close,” I manage to say, pinching my eyes shut and feeling my cheeks get hot. “Don’t stop.”

“Fuck that cock, baby.”

As I build toward my peak I let out one short gasp after another. He fingers my opening faster and his cock draws pleasure out of every inch of my channel. My whole body starts to curl and tighten. The tip of his finger penetrates me slightly, making me climax hard over his engorged cock. Almost losing control of my ability to move, he maintains the rhythm as I orgasm on top of his almost fully-dressed body.

His cock stays rock hard and shows no sign of relenting. He continues to pump me and work his fingers, my climax stretching out. I come down in slow waves. Finally I’m spent and laying weakly on top of him. He brings his hands up, running his fingers lightly up my exposed back, eliciting a shiver. I’m still wrapped around his hard dick, only the occasional aftershock making me contract around him. He caresses his fingers down my back, around the fullness of my ass, and along the back of my thighs. Light tingles awaken under his touch.

He slowly pulls his erect cock almost completely out of me, then slowly slides back up my sensitive channel. My clit throbs slightly, responding to the promise of more.

He pulls out, rolls me onto my back, and lifts himself off the bed. He gives me a look that says he’s not done with me. Our eyes stay locked together as he slowly removes his jacket. They stay locked as he lifts up his shirt. He drops his pants to the floor and my eyes fall to his cock, still exposed and ready. By the sight of it, more than ready.

I feel myself getting wet again.

He slowly crawls—panther-like—onto the bed. Gently taking me by the hips, he rolls me over on to my stomach. I’m stretched out like a cat, legs together. He lays his naked body on top of me, his knees on the outside of mine. His erection finds the tight gap between my upper thighs. I arch my ass back to meet him, spreading only slightly, and his firmness finds its way. His dick rubs back and forth along my folds. He kisses the back of my neck, my shoulder blades, my upper arm. He caresses the side of one breast and I turn enough to give him full access.

Sliding his other arm under my collar bone, so he’s embracing me from behind, he rolls me off my stomach and onto my side. From behind, his cock is still rubbing along my folds, but now I can open my legs to him. I lift my top leg and bring my knee back so I’m hooked around his hips. His hand leaves my breast long enough to reach down and, from the front, guide his cock inside me. I moan, craving him again.

Once he’s in and the angle’s secure, he starts rocking me from behind. His hand lingers, gently rubbing my lips. Though my clit is already eager for his touch, I’m to wait. Cock moving in and out of me, his hand firmly rubs up my stomach and chest to my neck. He cups my jaw and turns my head to face him enough so that he can kiss me. We kiss soft at first, then our tongues dive deep as his cock picks up its rhythm.

We release our kiss and I face forward again. His arms are around me and his cheek on mine. I bring my upper knee back just a little, opening more to him and bringing him in deeper. I embrace his arm embracing me, then bring one hand behind to rub his lower back and ass.

His free hand starts to roam again. My clit throbs, wanting him. He squeezes my breast and pinches the nipple. I tilt my head back and bring my hand to his cheek as he kisses me again. His hand trails along my stomach, dipping lower but stopping just short, teasing me. His cock is still working my wet pussy, but my clit is on fire. I grab his hand and guide him down, too impatient to wait. He hits my clit at last, already covered in wet juices.

I face forward again and bring my knee higher. Cock pumping me, lower arm cupping my breast, free hand circling my clit, Erik plays me like the master he is. We moan together, building. Our movements grow faster and his cock stretches taut. This time, he’s mine, and the anticipation of feeling him come inside me increases my pleasure.

His dick rubs faster inside me and I lift my knee more, spreading as I get closer to climax. My thigh is bumping against his arm. He quickly leaves my clit, hooks his arm under my leg, then returns to my clit, strumming it firmly. My body starts to convulse. I’m still climbing the mountain.

His face is next to mine. He’s breathing hard with me, holding me tight and groping my breasts. His slick fingers increase their rhythm to a frenzied pace. His cock is ramming me furiously. He kisses my cheek. And again. The pleasure in my body spikes to a hot peak and then I come undone with my climax. His fingers and cock continue to work me as I orgasm hard, gripping his arm and digging my nails in. He thrusts into my wet pussy harder, fiercer, drawing my ecstasy out in an intense high. Convulsing and moaning, I’m out of my mind with pleasure, consumed by it. Consumed by him. It goes on and on, and it’s not until I’m riding powerful waves downward that he finally comes in my pussy. He clutches me to him and groans in my ear. His thrashing orgasm brings on more pleasure in my body, and I contract with it again and again.

At last we slow and start to relax, bodies humming with the afterglow. He removes his hand from my satisfied clit and hugs my thigh to him before releasing my leg back down. I sink deeper into his embrace, pressing my whole body back against him. He embraces me firmly, and I face back so we can kiss. We kiss slowly, deeply, his full cock still resting snug inside me.

When I face forward again, we roll slightly so I’m even more wrapped up in him. His leg drapes softly over my hips. I sigh contentedly and close my eyes, feeling this moment of unity and safety is its own little eternity, and that our world now and forever will only be he and I, together.

His mother has known about us for some time, like my parents, but today is the first day I’ve joined Erik for his Sunday dinners with her. I was waiting for an invitation, not from him, but from her. After two months of dating her son, I finally got one.

Erik tried to warn me about his mother, Lydia’s, physical appearance. As I only remember the polished, coifed woman from my childhood, I’m unprepared for the change anyway.

The most glaring remnant of the accident that killed her husband is a series of broad scars on the right side of her face. Her right cheekbone is slightly lower than the other one, cracked during impact. Less visible, but no less lingering, are her internal injuries. Her back was so damaged she walks slightly hunched, deals with chronic pain, and still can’t lift her hands above her shoulders. Her right lung was so damaged she still has issues with it. She has had periods where she’s needed oxygen, but this is not one of those times. Still, her breathing is just a bit shallow and labored.

Just as striking is the overall change to her presence. She’s thinner and more frail in general. There’s barely a hint of the powerful woman who’d so intimidated me as a girl.

Lydia shakes my hand upon arrival and gives me a smile. We arrived early in the day so we could help her with some things she can’t take care of herself. Though she does have some help that comes in weekly, there are things she and Erik both seem to prefer he do for her himself.

We spend a few hours on various chores, I help Erik prepare dinner, and the conversation stays on safe topics: school, current events, movies.

At the conclusion of dinner, after so many hours in her home and in her presence, I’m glad I came. It wasn’t as bad as I feared it might be. I think I’ll start coming more often, if they want, so I can help out more.

When we’re about ready to go and Erik’s dismissed himself to the restroom, things take a subtle turn.

“I understand you’re competing against Erik in the Myra Hess Competition,” she says.

There’s a slightly hard tone to her voice—this, I remember—but it’s so slight I’m not sure it’s really there.

“Well, we’re both
in
the same competition,” I say calmly, “yes.”

“You beat him in the second round.” Now I’m more certain about the accusatory tone I hear.

“He beat me in the first,” I say, holding my ground.

She takes a sip of her gingerroot tea. She moves slowly, the cup trembling slightly. I feel guilty for a moment. It’s like I’m ready to go into battle with this frail, broken creature. What am I thinking?

“Did Erik tell you he almost quit music?” she asks, putting her cup down with a soft thud on the wooden table.

I nod. “I’m glad he didn’t. It would’ve been such a waste.”

“He had to come to grips with the kind of competition he faces at his level,” she says, looking at me meaningfully. I feel my cheeks growing warm. If I feel about to be pulled into battle with her, it’s not entirely my fault.

But in the next moment, her expression softens.

“It’s clear you care for my son,” she says. “But I’m not sure it’s wise for him to have this sort of competition in his personal life too.”

I take a soft, steadying breath. It wasn’t just the competition, it was the controlling way they raised him and him needing time to figure out his own mind. But, of course, I keep those thoughts to myself and address her comment instead. “We’re very supportive of one another.”

She nods, as if she agrees, but she shrugs one shoulder. “I hope it works out, Ashley. For both of your sakes. I just worry it might be too much for him.”

I look at her, not sure what to think. I can’t tell if she’s being the meddling woman she’s always been, or if she’s just expressing fears that, after all, I also have myself. Getting comfortable with a high-level of competition is not the same as wanting it in the middle of your intimate relationships, and most professional musicians don’t. But whether her concerns (and mine) are valid or not, I can’t help but feel resentful—for my sake, but even more for Erik’s. All he’s ever wanted is for his parents to have his back, the way my parents have mine.

“Well,” I say, gently but firmly, “I’m sure with the support of the people we love most, those challenges will be a lot easier to manage.”

She glances at me in surprise, then gives me a thoughtful look.

Erik returns to the kitchen then, and we take our leave without saying another word about it.

A mere week later we’re back stage at Lincoln Center. I’m torn between being in awe of where I am, and too focused and full of nerves to really appreciate it. Erik is by my side, holding my hand. We arrived in New York yesterday, and spent the evening at a romantic restaurant and going for a stroll.

It was a nice evening, but the closer we’ve come to the finals—this moment—the more I’ve felt we’re on the edge of something.

For the first time, there’s no certainty about which one of us will place higher. Not that either one of us are in a position to assume victory. As big as this competition is, we could both go home with our tails between our legs.

The musicians who have played before us are phenomenal. I don’t envy the judges their jobs.

But this isn’t just about the competition. Though I’ve tried to quiet my fears about it, there’s no denying it now. This is also about us, and about our future. Are we crazy for even trying this?

I take a deep breath and Erik squeezes my hand. I look at him to find his expression far away. His brows are furrowed in what I hope is just pre-performance concentration. He’s looking toward the stage but doesn’t seem to be seeing it.

I look away and take another breath. I need to stay focused too, and not feed my worries about how this may or may not affect our relationship. One step at a time. We can only do this one step at a time.

I start to mentally run through my piece—another one of my compositions, which I titled
Top of the Bridge
when I submitted it to the judges—and feel myself getting into a better frame of mind.

I want to win this competition. I want it so badly, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep it together if Erik wins.

Though... if I’m going to lose to anyone...

But that’s not where my mind needs to be.

I need to think like a winner. So I do.

Erik goes first and captivates me with the magic of his music, like he always does. The audience responds well too, giving him a standing ovation. From the wings, I clap enthusiastically, equally proud of him, and terrified he just secured himself the victory.

When he comes back stage, he’s both beaming and holding back, like he doesn’t want to boast. I hug him tightly. “You’re so fucking good,” I say in his ear.

“We’ll see if it’s good enough,” he says, pulling back and giving me a kiss. “My biggest competition is about to go out. Are you ready?”

I nod and take a shaky breath. I don’t allow myself to analyze him, or us. Not now. I have to stay focused. Whatever happens, we’ll have to deal with it then. I try to ignore the part of me inside that’s shaking.

He releases me and says, “Good luck,” just as my name is announced.

I don’t answer. It takes all my concentration to walk out onto the stage of Lincoln Center like I belong there.

I must say, now that I’m out on this magnificent stage, the experience is divine. Exhausted as I am from worrying about Erik and me, I allow myself to get swept away by the wonder of what I’m doing. Lincoln Center. God.

As I bow gracefully and settle myself at the bench, I look at Erik backstage. He’s focused on his phone’s screen, holding it up like he’s going to take a picture or video of me. Just when I thought the experience of being in Lincoln Center couldn’t get any better, I begin to play.

And I’ve never played so well.

It’s pure rapture.

Gone are my doubts about playing my own music and really letting myself go. I’m all in now. This is what I was built for, right here. God willing, this is what I will spend my life living for.

When it’s over, I have no idea if my score will end up on top or not, but I know I’ve done my absolute best.

I look up to smile at Erik, but he’s not there.