She crawls over me, naked and gorgeous, and massages me through my jeans. My eyes close. I want to urge her to bypass all this and get to rockin' but god damn. I missed the attention.
She undoes the button and zipper, but like the tease she is, she goes straight to taking off my shirt instead of where I want her to focus. The warmth of her breasts brushing my side and chest sends me into overdrive.
I yank off the rest of my clothes. Then I pick her up as I stand and push her back against the wall. She gives a surprised gasp. Her legs wrap around my waist. Her fingers dig into my back as I slide inside. She tenses like she thinks I'm going to drop her. I've got her wedged between me and the wall, though. She isn't going anywhere.
After a minute, she relaxes into the thrusting. Her head lulls forward and rests on top of mine. She grows wetter and warmer.
I want to bang her until one of us is unconscious.
Her grip on me tightens, her body clenching in all sorts of places. I lean against her, struggling to hold her up as I finish deep inside her.
Then I turn and place her back on the bed, her legs draped over the edge. I kneel between her thighs and kiss down her stomach until the twinges dissipate. Her fingers slide through my hair then trail over the back of my neck. A pleasant chill winds down my spine.
With a solid kiss on her belly button, I raise to my feet then scoot her up the bed a little as I crawl over her. My mouth takes her neck, her jaw, her breasts. I want to taste every part of her.
I nestle between her legs. She wraps around my waist again and rocks, slow and steady.
My lips linger over hers, and I whisper, “I'm not done with you yet.”
She smirks and grinds deeper.
I take her again on the bed. Despite the exhaustion, my body is raging to be a part of hers. She cries into my neck, and I revel in the feel of her shuddering and gasping against me.
We kiss until calm takes over. Then I pull her close, and we nestle together in silence. I like that we don't have to talk about anything. We can just be.
I fade in and out of sleep, aware of her deep breathing and the way we fit together. And it's pretty damn awesome.
After a moment, Syd lifts her head. “Hey, where's my apple?”
I smile and use my hand to press her back to my shoulder. We are going to lie here forever.
She props onto her elbows. “Dimitri. Where's the apple?”
I glance at her, my eyes heavy. “It was a really . . . chaotic … trip. I forgot it.”
“You forgot it?” Her voice is sharp.
Sharp enough I open my eyes again. She is scowling, lines in her neck tense.
“Syd, it really was a crazy trip. I'm sorry.”
She scrambles off the bed.
I squint, mind groggy. “Are you … getting dressed?”
“No, Dimitri,” she says with a jab of anger. “I'm leaving.”
I sit, mind spinning. What the hell happened?
She turns to me, fully clothed. “Screw you.”
Then she's out the bedroom door, slamming it behind her.
I pull on pants and stumble after her. “Syd, wait! What's going on?”
We come to a halt in the living room. She stands by the front door, her eyes and nose red from fighting back tears.
I try to understand what I missed, but I feel like I didn't get the memo. “What I do?”
“Nothing.” She yanks open the front door.
There is no way this is happening. Just minutes ago, we were content. More than content—happy.
Now she's ready to walk out the door.
I go numb in a detached kind of way. I don't know what I did. I don't know why she's leaving. So I just stand there.
She glances over her shoulder at me. Tears stream down her face, and her expression is like she is being made to go. Like she wants to stay, but can't.
I find I'm speaking, though I'm not really thinking. “It wasn't going to happen, was it?”
She swallows hard, visibly. “What?”
“I can't keep up with everything.” The words just come, the ones I've been stomping down. “I can't be here when you need me. I can't runaway to Italy. I can't even go to New Mexico for a weekend.”
She stares at me, door still wide open revealing the night. If she steps out into it, she will never return.
“I can't change anything, no matter how angry it makes me.” I lower my head. “If you stayed, you would have to give up everything. Your life, your band, your freedom.”
“My what?” Her eyes narrow, but it's like she's trying to see inside my head because my words aren't making any sense.
I wish she could to read my mind. It's the only way she'll ever know the entire truth.
“I don't have a band.” She takes a step back indoors, but there's no reconciliation in it. “Why would you think I have a band?”
I hesitate. “You told me. At the bar, when we met. You told me you were in a small band or something.”
“No, I did not.” She halts. Then she laughs but it's bitter. “You think I'm … in a band? What on Earth gave you that idea? My clothes?”
I'm back to just staring at her. My mind reels, trying to recall the exact moment, the exact verbiage, when she told me about her music.