“You’re thinking too much. Don’t think.”
A blush creeps across her cheeks and she drops her eyes again. I brush her hair away from her face and let my hand rest on her neck as I slowly move in closer. Her trembling lips steady themselves on mine, softly settling against my mouth. Our breaths mingle, tongues gently tickling at the insides of each other’s lips. I press further, wanting to kiss away all the shakes in her body, to let her thoughts disappear in the heat of our mouths. Her hand presses against my shirt, splayed fingers tentatively tracing the hardness of my chest, before pushing me away from her.
“Brando…” she whispers, her eyes still closed, her mouth still wet. “I think I just need…”
“Tell me what you need,” I coax her.
“I need…” She opens her eyes, and I already know what she’s about to say. “You.”
This is the most restrained I’ve ever been. Every muscle memory in my body wants to tear her clothes off, the look in her lidded eyes all I need to know she wants this – even more than I do. Hours spent around her blossomed lips, her hidden breasts, her slender thighs, hours of caging up my lust for her in pursuit of another goal has made it grow, big and fearsome. Now that the cage is open, it’s taking all of my reserve to stop it from taking me over. I need this to be slow – this is for her.
“I know how to make you sing, Haley,” I growl in short breaths. My hand goes to the inside of her thigh, pressing itself against the front of her jeans. “I can make you sing better than you’ve ever sung before.”
I have the buttons undone in seconds. Warm, strong, fingers teasingly reaching into the lip of her panties. Her head goes back, eyes closed as she starts panting at the ceiling.
“Wait!” she says, snapping back, her hand on my wrist. “I don’t understand what’s happening between us, Brando. Is this about me? Or is this about music?”
I kneel in front of her, slowly pulling down her jeans.
“It’s about music,” I say, kissing her moistening * through the soft cotton of her panties. “It’s always about music.”
She replies by moaning softly and grabbing the back of my head as I run my tongue down the inside of her thigh, letting my stubble softly tickle her pale, sensitive skin.
I get her panties off quickly, and run my hands around the back of her waist, holding her still while I explore her * with my tongue. The smell drives me wild, stirring the animal in me like a dormant beast. It’s all I can do to stop myself from sprouting fangs and roaring – I wanna take it slow, learn everything I can about what makes her tick.
I trace the tip of my tongue up each of her lips to her clit, rolling it between my lips and sucking on it, listening to her moans and sighs like cues from a band, playing her * like a classic melody on a new instrument. I reach a hand out and press it against her shirt, kneading her tit, her nipple hard against my palm. She grabs my hand and holds it against her, scratching at my fingers with her guitar-player’s nails.
Her moans get higher and her scent hotter when I start to tongue-fuck her, her thigh muscles tightening around my stubble in rhythm with the licks. I hold off, always a little less than she feels she needs, keeping her on the edge, stoking up the heat before the release.
“Fuck,” she gasps. That’s the only word she’s able to get out, and when she clenches my hair in her fist I know it’s time. I work two fingers between her wet lips, two fingers longer and harder than most men’s cocks, two fingers that always find the right button.
Hitting the perfect spot is easy, and Haley’s body throbs and hums under my hands like an orchestra, a musician in everything she does. Moans and purrs from the depth of her soul guide me there, the song reaching its high-pitched crescendo when she starts moaning ‘Yes’ at the ceiling. Again and again, drawing out the word until it becomes a sigh, a fade-out. My work here is done.
I stand up in front of her as she struggles to get her breath back. She watches with a knowing smile as I lick the taste of her off my lower lip, and then smooth out my shirt.
The post-glow lightness is broken by the sound of a door shutting in the house. Haley roughly pulls her panties and jeans up before smoothing out her hair in the vague reflection of the partition glass.
“I was thinking,” Josh starts saying, before he’s even entered the studio, “maybe we should try another song?”
Haley and I turn and look at Josh, wondering if we left any evidence. I notice Josh’s eyes dart quickly to my hair, and I run my hand through it casually.
“No,” I say, glancing at Haley and realizing just how big and round and beautiful her eyes are when she’s scared, “I’ve got a feeling things will go a little better this time.”