#Kissing (Rock and Romance #1) (23 page)

Chapter 64

JQ left this morning at eight for class and my phone has vibrated nearly every half hour with texts from Niko. Most of them are photos of us when we were happy. Others are sexy with us caught kissing, among other, more intimate, things.

By the afternoon, I'm ready to throw my phone into the street. Instead, I go to the music shop. As usual, the shopkeeper doesn't break from reading, repairing, or scouring the computer, no doubt for rare musical finds.

I sit on the bench, the carved wood of the upright less dusty than it was the when I first came into the shop. My fingers pulse with agitation. Before I touch the keys of the piano, I send Niko a reply of a photo of JQ and me. He took it the other night when we were in Rockefeller Center getting shots for his project. As we waited for a walk signal, unbeknownst to me, he snapped a picture on his phone of me resting my head against his arm. My expression is contentment, even against the chill of the night and his fervor to get another picture and another and another.

I don't wait to see if this sets off Niko's jealousy or shuts him up. I toss my phone in my bag and pound out a composition that would sit well with Chopin's
Etudes
.

At the end, I sigh and instead of a small clap when I leave, the shopkeeper gives me a long and meaningful nod.

Thankfully, my phone remains silent on Friday, but I still want to play. There are a few customers in the music shop, including a woman wearing a shawl that reminds me of Josephina, the palm reader. There's also a spindly kid with stringy hair and an elderly man.

I take my seat and provide a soundtrack to their shopping: George Gershwin's
Rhapsody in Blue
seems like the right piece. It was one of the first big selections my former teacher taught me.

At my back, the lady, the tall kid, the old man, and the shopkeeper all clap.

The old man says, "I remember getting that tune on vinyl. You played it slower—that was the original version, my favorite."

The woman agrees. "Are you a student?"

"Always," I say with smile.

"I mean in the city. Julliard, NYU, Columbia—all estimable programs."

"I, uh, I was supposed to be at NYU."

"I know Marcy Tulleworth. She's in the research department. Were you hoping to play professionally or teach or—"

I clear my throat. "No, I was going to study business."

"Well, surely with a minor in music."

With a turn of my head, I shake away the tears.

"You couldn't let talent like that go to waste." She bustles over and sits next to me. "Let's see,
Ma Mere
by Ravel is always fun."

Mother Goose
is fitting given that my own mother was the reason I applied to the business program. I'd rather be nearly done with a professional musical education, but I didn't have the guts to tell her I wanted to switch majors. Instead, I fled.

We play a few more duets. The woman, Maud, says matter of fact, "You should study to teach." She digs through a patchwork bag and passes me a card. "You remind me a little bit of myself when I was younger, though I favored flowing knits and long hair to your rock star style. But I like it." She winks at me. "I see potential in you. Call me when you see it in yourself."

When she leaves, I flip over the card. She's a professor at MSM, the Manhattan School of Music, one of the most prestigious programs in the city.

I don't exactly walk back to JQ's dorm, more like float. I had two music teachers over the years and both commended me for my discipline and outstanding performances. It wasn't because my mother insisted I practice every day for hours. She did believe piano, or any instrument, would increase my intelligence and round out my impressive achievements roster, but she thought my banging on the keys, especially in the early years, was more of a nuisance than productive.

I picked piano because Bubbie played before she got arthritis, and I loved the solidity of the old piano in the corner of her living room. I somehow knew that my fingers were meant for those keys the first time I felt their smooth density under my fingers. My six-year old heart had fallen in love. I played and played, breathing life into that old, beloved instrument because I loved doing it more than anything else. It wasn't discipline at all, but joy.

JQ stands with square shoulders in front of the main doors to the dorm with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He faces away from me in the opposite direction. There's something about the tilt of his head, the shade of his hair, his posture, and everything hidden under his coat and jeans,—the mind and heart, the creativity and devotion, and muscle and brawn—that tells me I've fallen in love all over again. There's a similar pull, the promise of joy, happiness, and fulfillment in the way we play together: flats, sharps, and naturals—the harmonics of us.

The clouds beneath my feet give way to solid earth, and I dash over to JQ, wrapping my arms around him.

"There you are." His smile could light up the entire city block.

"Here I am," I reply, his giddiness amplifying my own.

"What did you do this afternoon?" he asks as we retreat to the refuge of the warm dorm.

"Same as every day."

"Let New York take you on grand adventures?"

"Sort of."

His eyebrows rise in curiosity.

"I've been playing piano."

"Really? Where?"

"This old, dusty, vintage shop on Thompson Street."

"You should have told me, Ming could get you in the music building."

"Then I wouldn't have met Maud." I show him the card. "She thinks I have potential."

We're alone in the elevator and JQ gently backs me into the corner with his lips. Between the kiss, he says, "I disagree."

I can't back my head up any farther to show my dismay, but I don't need to because he says, "Not just potential, your ability is the real deal."

"I wouldn't go that far," I say, though the potential energy inside me is kinetic. I buzz with excitement.

He leans in and our kissing eclipses lips as we grope and paw at each other. We crash into his suite, knocking into furniture and empty beer can pyramids.

I don't care if anyone is watching because his body and mine transcends buzzing and lights me up, sending volts of electricity humming through my veins. "Actually, I want to go farther. I want to go all the way. I don't think I can keep sharing a bed with you if we don't—"

His eyes soften and he bites his lip as he leans in for another kiss. "Are you sure?"

I nod.

JQ tosses of his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He removes mine, and we collapse onto his bed, my pulse quickening, and his breath hungry. Our clothing and the sheets tangle as we hurriedly undress each other.

I kiss and tug on his ear with my lips, whispering, "I've been wanting to do this for a long time."

He quickly pecks a trail down my shoulder before landing on my breasts, sucking on my nipples like he's been starved and running his hands along my back. "I guarantee I've wanted it longer." His voice is a husky growl. His smile is a tease and a promise of what's to come.

We're fevered for each other, our breath ragged, and our hands scrabble across bare skin. When I manage to get his shorts off, his cock stands high and tight. Moisture beads on the tip as I massage it.

Heat burns between my thighs and his fingers find their way between my legs. With his tongue in my mouth, kissing me, he dips into my already-wet pussy. I ride up, thrusting my hips closer to him, wanting so desperately to lower onto his hard dick.

"I've dreamed about this. Fantasized. And it's already better than I imagined," he pants.

He leans back onto the bed, pulling me with him. I hover next to his penis, ready for it to plunge inside when he adds, "But wait. Let's slow it down. Let's enjoy every moment." He takes one nipple softly between his lips, cupping the other, massaging, and caressing. "I don't want to miss a second of you."

"I can take it slow," I tease, sliding back, and gliding his dick across the outside of my moist pussy, causing the ache inside to burn hotter.

His eyes crescent when he smiles. "You're teasing me. I like it." I rock back and take his dick in my mouth, gumming the tip and working the shaft with my hand. His thighs clench. I wander back to his lips, his fingers tracing my curves as I move slowly. With one more kiss, he grips his cock and guides it inside me.

We start with gentle rocking. JQ moans in my ear, and I increase the pace. He presses to sitting with me straddling his hips, driving his dick deeper. With this, my sounds of pleasure range louder and more continuous. I forget we're in a dorm room. As though directed by my noise, he thrusts harder.

Our tongues swirl and with strong arms, he flips me over so I'm on bottom. He gently lifts one of my legs over his shoulder, kissing his way up the length. I've never seen the smile he wears, both sweet and devious and just for me. He rocks against me while he rubs my clitoris. My back arches and tingling pressure builds and builds and builds until I can't hold on any longer.

"Come," he commands.

So I do, releasing a fortissimo moan of pleasure. Then follow it up with a softer sound as ripples of delight flood me.

"This is what making love is like." I blink my eyes a few times, catching my breath, and look up at him.

His smile is loving, teasing, commanding, triumphant, and sweet in the moonlight winking through the window. His eyes and lips tell me the truth of everything I need to know about us: this is real.

He lowers to lie next to me, wrapping his arms tight. His breath is warm on my shoulder as I unravel from the intensity of the orgasm. His cock is still hard, practically vibrating against my back. He grips me closer to snuggle. I roll over and say, "Wait, we're not done."

Chapter 65

"I know," JQ says in a husky voice. In one swift motion, he slides in from behind, gripping my hips and pulling me closer as if he knows exactly what he wants. Me. He kisses my neck as he grasps my hips, plunging in and out. Soon I find the rhythm, rocking back against him, urging him deeper, and clenching him harder.

He nuzzles and kisses my neck tenderly, but from the waist down he's a sexy beast, all man and desire except where he softly swirls his fingers around my clit, alternating with light pressure. I could quite possibly come again. I angle down, pushing him deeper inside

I moan and he moans. I arch and he thrusts. It's a dance and a song and we perform it well, a duet. There's an escalating feeling this time, and I'm close, so close. He lifts his hips and pulls mine tighter to him. I find his lips with mine as he continues to thrust. The combination of tongue and dick renders me molten. After a few pulsing spasms, we find our way together.

He turns me around, gripping me close, and my breasts press into his chest.

"Hashtag double orgasm," I breathe.

He sighs, "Josephine." He envelops me in his arms as his warm cum drips between my thighs. His breathing slows, and I close my eyes, awash in contentment.

We roll over, face to face, and JQ traces my name on my skin. He whispers it again, "Josephine," and then says, "Guess what I'm spelling."

His finger draws a line down my chest. The next letter is similar but it turns at the bottom. The following letter is a circle, followed by a diagonal line that swings upward sharply. There are a few more letters, but I already know.

"I love you," I whisper.

"I love you," he replies.

"Thank you for being patient with me," I say.

"I already told you that you were worth waiting for and that," a sly smile slips across his lips, "that was worth a lifetime of waiting."

"Can we do it again after dinner?"

He nods. "And in the middle of the night."

"And when we wake up."

"And in the shower when we get back from a run."

"Ooh. I'd like that," I say, "And mid-morning?" I ask, wrapping my legs around him, already feeling the pulse blooming between my legs.

"Yeah, and lunch time."

"Lazy afternoons between naps."

Once more, he hardens against me.

I quiver.

"And maybe, right now?" he asks in low voice.

I lift my hips, letting him shuttle his dick between my legs, my pussy still slick. But he wants something more. He swings me toward the edge of the bed, lifting my legs so they're level with his hips and gripping my thighs in his hands. He drives in and out, angling my hips higher. He's sweet and rough, hungry and all about pleasuring me as he sweeps his fingers across my clit.

He kneels on the bed and another new angle brings cries of pleasure to my lips.

"Do you like that?" he asks.

"You make me feel so good," I whisper.

He kisses my lips and then my breasts, before picking me up with one strong arm. He sweeps his books from his desk and then sits, with me straddling him. I brace my feet on the edge of the desk. As I lift and lower, I squeeze my muscles around the smooth glide of his dick as the noisy night beyond the window eats up our moaning and calls of ecstasy.