I feel his mouth turn up against my neck. “To feel.”
With his words, Asher raises his right hand, which mine is laying on top of, and grabs hold of the bow. My hand gently forms around his in response. His elbow up in the air, his palm poised for performance, Asher dips the bow across the strings eliciting a glorious sound. He guides our hands back and dips back across the strings again, creating more familiar sounds.
His hand is gripped around the bow, taking the control I cannot obtain without screaming in pain. With my hand wrapped around his massive one I am able to imitate the feeling of playing.
Tension in my spine stiffens. It feels unnatural to be playing in this position. My elbow props up on his with each glide and I pretend not to notice when his forearm casually brushes against my breast with each stroke.
Instead of focusing on the unnatural, I keep my eyes closed and try to feel the movements. My fingers shift chords and his hand dips to let the bow strike the strings in a new direction. I allow my head to fall back against his shoulder and breathe in the sounds we are creating and suddenly my arm doesn’t feel like following anymore.
With a tightened grip on his, my hand glides free and takes control of the movements, this time telling his where to go. I weave and thread the bow across the strings, my movements faster and with more purpose.
My back leans forwards and I grab the neck of the instrument and play chords up and down, pulling the massive wood with me to create a musical force I haven’t felt in months.
The sounds keep playing and the song is magnificent. It’s not one I know, but something that is pouring through me. With every pump of his muscles against my body I play harder and with every feel of his breath against my very tender skin, I play louder. Faster and with more control than I’ve felt in a long time, I play that instrument until the sound is so vibrating throughout the space I’m afraid I’ll shatter the windows.
I open my eyes and take in the site of the ocean in front of us. I play to the crash. I play to the white tops. I play to the rumbling of the waters beneath us.
Even before the accident, my heart and soul have never felt so liberated. You can’t truly learn of the bliss and joy of something until its been taken away from you.
In this moment I am feeling exhilaration.
In this moment I am feeling rapture.
In this moment I am . . . Feeling.
Asher chances releasing me and grabs hold of the cello and plays a few chords with me. Together we play the instrument. Our bodies mold together as one. If anyone were to walk in on us, they would think we are performing some sort of impressionist dance. A modern movement of lust and love and passion. That is what this song is instilling in us.
Passion.
Our breathing is tense and erratic. His heart is beating against my back, striking it like a ten-pound percussion. Our bodies are entwined so deeply with each other I feel like we are one.
When Asher puts his hand back around my waist he slows his hand control under mine and brings us to a slower tempo. We play this way until our bodies are calmed and we’re aware of how sweaty our palms are.
Our movements sashay and sway together in a dance of lovers and together we bring the song to a close.
When the humming has stopped, Asher leans over, placing the cello back in its stand and rests the bow next to it. I release my hand from his and rest the other on his knee.
I close my eyes and lean my head on his shoulder and breathe out the greatest breath of a lifetime.
“Thank you.”
His broad chest against my back is rising and falling in tantric rhythm to my own heavily beating heart. My own movements are steady, yet as intense as his. That’s why my skin hums with electricity as his hand comes circling around my waist and his palm lands on the inside of my thigh.