Caressa's Knees (8 page)

“Take off your shirt,” he said. It wasn’t a request, it was an order. She thought about refusing, about playing the brat, but found she didn’t want to. Her fingers were already seeking the hem of her tee. Her bra was awful, some padded cotton thing in white, not the least bit sexy. Why didn’t she have any alluring bras or panties? God, he was staring at her so intently, and he was still fully dressed, which made her even more embarrassed. She stopped, losing her nerve. He cocked his head to the side.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“Because you’re lovely and I can’t wait to see your tits.”

She frowned. “My bra is totally unsexy.”

“Take it off then. Give it to me.” Caressa hesitated.
“Now.
Come on, hand it over.”

Slowly she took off her shirt and reached back to unhook the matronly white bra. At the same time, he moved closer and reached down to cup one exposed breast, then pinch the nipple. She drew in a sharp breath of shock, but before she could pull away, he took the bra and walked away from her to throw it in the trash.

“Kyle!”

“You don’t like it.”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. You make a lot of money. You shouldn’t wear a bra you don’t like.”

She opened her mouth to protest again but he silenced her with an index finger placed against her lips.

“Hush. And sit up straight,” he said. “Show yourself to me.”

Caressa was reeling, feeling a thousand things at once. She didn’t know whether to be angry or embarrassed.
Or devastated.
Or turned on.
He said it again, more softly, encouragingly.

“Show yourself to me, beautiful girl.”

Beautiful girl.
She didn’t know if they were having sex or something else altogether. She’d never thought of herself as particularly beautiful or desirable, but he was looking at her as if she were. She put her arms back on the bed and sat up straight so the whole front of her was exposed. She thought her breasts were okay, but her body was pretty average. Not fat but not skinny.
Nothing impressive like his amazing physique.
She knew
,
she
knew
he’d probably been with a thousand women, just because he was so sexy and good in bed. He apparently even kept a stash of condoms in his luggage. As for her, she’d been with one guy—him.

“Caressa.”

His voice drew her back into the moment, and he reached for her again as he had before, taking her breasts in his hands and manipulating them, not roughly, but not gently either. She hovered somewhere between pleasure and panic. Each time his fingertips squeezed or tugged at her nipples, a hot piercing sensation flared between her legs. She found she couldn’t stop the tiny sighs and lust noises that came unbidden from her throat.

“Undo my pants,” he said, his hands never stopping their caresses. She undid his fly with shaking fingers. His cock was thick and fully hard, straining against his boxer briefs. “Take them down,” he said in a husky voice. He leaned to kiss her mouth as she yanked at his jeans. Finally she
slid
her hands between the boxers and his skin, working the designer jeans down over his ass.

He groaned softly against her lips, kicking off the jeans and pulling his shirt over his head. He was so golden, so perfectly formed. She could hardly believe he was hers to take, this man that women must die for. She reached out for him and he came over her, his warm, flat stomach pressing her to the bed.
Put on the condom. Fuck me, fuck me!

He reached down to part her thighs, and the feel of that alone sent her pussy throbbing into overdrive. She grabbed at him, clutched him, but he pulled away again, this time tormenting her breasts and sensitive nipples with tingling strokes of teeth and tongue. She tried to pull her thighs together to soothe the ache in her clit, but he made a sound and wrapped his strong, elegant fingers around her legs so she couldn’t draw them closed.

“Kyle,” she gasped. But he was kissing lower now, down her stomach to the apex of her
mons
.
Oh, Jesus.
She tried in earnest now to pull away, to protect herself from his unbearable sensory assault, but he held her down, spreading her pussy lips and flicking his tongue against her clit.

She trembled, her head thrown back as powerlessness and ratcheting arousal froze her. She was a sexual being at his mercy, and each lick, each nibble, each kiss felt more powerful than the last. “Oh, please.” She arched her hips against his mouth. “Oh, please…just…please…”

“Please what?”

She looked down at him. He was looking up at her with a smirk and those eyes…those eyes… He knew exactly what she wanted.

“Kyle, please!”

“You want me to keep going until you come?” She
groaned,
not certain what she wanted at all, except for fulfillment. He blew against her pussy,
then
nibbled it softly.
“Mm.
You want my cock, maybe? You want me to fuck you?” Her fingers tightened in his hair as he looked up at her, watching her as he slid his tongue from the wetness of her pussy all the way to the tip of her clit. “Say it.”

“Please make me come. Please.” The words came out instantly, without thought.

“With my mouth or my cock?”

“Your cock.
Please! When you’re inside me it feels…it feels…”
It feels like something I’ve always needed but never knew before. It feels like I’ll die without you there.

He had the condom on in an instant, surging up between her legs and positioning the head of his cock at the hot, wet place he’d tormented with his tongue. She held onto him as he pressed inside, a long, slow invasion that brought the hum inside her to full, astounding vibration.

“Kyle. Kyle!” Just like that, she was up and over the cliff. He kissed her to muffle her frantic cries as her orgasm shook her. She contracted on his length and shuddered with delicious relief. She felt him chuckle against her lips.

“Again, Caressa.”

“
Nooo
…” she moaned, but he only smiled and flipped over with her, so she was straddling his powerful hips. She braced her hands against the broad expanse of his chest, certain she couldn’t bear another round. But then she felt the simmering ache start to build again in her clit as he pulled her against his pelvic bone.

He put both hands on her ass cheeks and squeezed them, parting them and fingering her ass.
No, no, no…
It was so dirty, and yet so pleasurable that she couldn’t voice the words to make him stop. She couldn’t pull away—he had her impaled and captured. He started to grind his hips against her and then reached to take both her nipples between his fingers. He pinched them hard, until the pain blossomed into something else.
Shocking pleasure.
Her pelvis throbbed with need, and her thighs tensed against him.

“Yes… That’s a good girl.”

His low, whispered encouragements helped her sink even deeper into the intimacy of the moment, and then he was forcing her down hard on his cock, roughly squeezing her ass. He pinched her breasts and groped at her thighs. He slapped her tensing ass cheeks, a shocking pain that tipped her over the edge into the same wildness he’d driven her to before.

She came so hard she lost control of what she was doing. She thought she hit him on the face or the chest, but she wasn’t sure. She collapsed on him and he caught her, clasping her close as he found his own release. She lay still as he bucked through aftershocks with sharp, rough thrusts and breathless gasps against her ear.

For a long moment he continued to squeeze her, and then his arms relaxed in slow degrees. She pressed her lips to his neck and opened her teeth against his skin. She wanted to bite him but she didn’t.

“Caressa,” he sighed. “Caressa…”

She licked him instead, tasting salt and aftershave, and feeling dark prickly stubble like a trilling cadence against her tongue.

* * * * *

She was surprisingly easy to bundle up and get to the concert. Kyle hid his bemusement at her spacey subordination to his curt instructions and commands.
Shower. Pack up your cello. Eat a little bit, you’re nervous.

She did only eat a little bit. They were running behind schedule, so he took a hairdryer to her hair, carefully, with a diffuser. She watched him in the mirror as she did her makeup, occasionally complaining about the heat. It was all novel to Kyle. Jeremy had never done his own primping. If he’d needed makeup, the set or studio makeup artists handled it. He had his hair trimmed every few days, styled perfectly by his own personal hairstylist.

Caressa, on the other hand, did everything on her own. He supposed it was probably for the best, since she grew more nervous with each passing moment, and the mindless tasks seemed to occupy her. Makeup done, she pulled out a black outfit that looked like mourning.
A silk top with a soft-shaped neckline that framed her face, and black slim trousers.
No jewelry, no rings, not even a watch.

After all the care he’d taken with her hair, drying each curl into spiral perfection, she wrenched the mass into a low ponytail and secured it with
a plain
black elastic. With her dark lipstick and muted makeup, she looked severe. Where was the questing, reckless siren he’d just de-
virginized
?

“How do I look?” she asked as he stared at the final effect.

“Stunning.”
And he was stunned. The transformation from sex-drunk girl to master musician was complete and irrefutable. For his part, Kyle dressed in a tux at Denise’s request. He didn’t ask if the tux would be an every-night thing, or just an opening-night thing. Either way, he knew he would always feel underdressed next to Caressa.

The three of them rode in the limo as before, Caressa hunched behind her cello with her hands clasped firmly in her lap. He thought he saw her fingers moving in nearly immeasurable movements. In the tension of the silent compartment, Denise leaned toward him. “You’ll have to stay backstage.”

“Oh, I’d planned to. I didn’t expect to watch from the seats.”

“She’s nervous now…but she gets more nervous,” she said cryptically. “Just stay close.”

In the dressing room Kyle understood. The terror Caressa had claimed earlier hadn’t been an exaggeration, or humor. She paced. She wrung her hands. She breathed so fast that Kyle’s lungs hurt. She checked her cello three, four, five times, and then they took it to the stage and she really had nothing to do. Kyle came to stand by her, stilling her jittery pacing.

“Take some deep breaths, sweet pea.”

She gave him a strained look as he took her hands. He’d imagined sweaty palms, but they were icy. “God, are you that cold?” He pulled her close. She felt so small, so shaky.

“I’m nervous. I’ll be nervous until I’m out there. I just want to get out there and begin.”

“And then what happens?” he asked.

She was silent a moment as Kyle stroked the soft, captured hair so sleek against her scalp. That such wildness could be tamed. It gave him hope. “Then what happens?” he asked again.

“The music takes me. I slip down into it like a warm bath. Like a trance or something. Like waves…”

Kyle considered that a moment. It was the same thing alcohol and drugs did for him not so many months ago. He was still pondering that when the stage manager stuck his head in and asked for Caressa. She broke away from him and Kyle stepped back, catching a speculative look from Denise. God, he’d been handling Caressa just like a lover. Of course, they
were
lovers, but Kyle wasn’t sure yet how Denise felt about that. Charming her into submission was one thing. Fucking her repeatedly was another. Maybe Denise would fire him, send him back to New York on the first available flight after the concert was over. But no, she wouldn’t do that, not when he had Caressa doing what Denise needed her to do.

Caressa was already striding onto the stage by the time Kyle reached the wings. Applause
swelled,
the dignified, rich sound of a concert audience. At some unseen signal from the conductor, the members of the orchestra raised their instruments. Caressa sat in the middle of the stage alone, settling her cello between her knees and taking her bow between sure fingers. She looked utterly calm, utterly composed. Kyle supposed she was slipping…slipping down… He remembered that feeling, the soothing comfort it brought.

She drew the bow across the strings and the first note of the concerto sounded, soft and yet magnified by the fact that a hundred musicians waited to pick up the strain. From the wings, Kyle listened and watched as the song developed, his eyes glued on Caressa in the spotlight. He’d heard her play, but this was something new, with the orchestra accompanying her and her fingers flying across the strings. She, alone, held the entire audience in the palm of her hand.

She looked so vulnerable.

Her body twitched and swayed as she played. Her face screwed into a mask of concentration only to brighten at the onset of a few light notes. It was hypnotic just to watch her. She was inside the music, just as she’d said. He felt a strange sense of pride, even though he’d had no part in her training or grueling practice sessions to arrive at this place she was today. As the piece drew to a climactic close, Kyle thought to himself, such talent.
Amazing.
For the first time since the concert began, he remembered to look over at Denise listening beside him.