Girl on a Diamond Pedestal (11 page)

Because the more people there were, the more they blurred into an indistinguishable mass. When there were fewer of them, it suddenly became personal.

But rather than shutting Ethan out, she thought of just how he made her feel. She took a deep breath, put her hands on the keys and started playing. Slowly at first. She thought about ice cream and the beach. Ethan’s hands on her body. His lips on hers. She didn’t think about the future or about anything other than the immediate feelings Ethan gave her.

Lust, excitement. Happiness.

She shut everything out, everything except Ethan, and she played. Played for herself, to imprint the memories of what they’d shared inside her, to put it out there, the way some people would write in a diary. She wrote it into the song.

One she would be able to play whenever she wanted. Whenever she missed Ethan after all of this was done. Something to bring back the memories, clear and sharp, of what it had been like to be with him.

To simply share a conversation with him. A moment of pleasure.

Everything built to a crescendo, the rise of the music intense, exciting, mirroring how she felt now. The need for him. The fear he would say no. The fear he might say yes.

And then she stopped. It was quiet in the room, except for the sound of her uneven breathing. She took her shaking fingers from the keys and turned to him.

“That can’t be the end,” he said softly.

She shook her head and stood up, rounding the piano bench and moving towards the couch. “It’s not. But I … I don’t know how it ends. I was hoping you could show me.”

The air was thick between them. Ethan sat unmoving, gripping the arm of the couch. She took another step toward him and his chest rose sharply, his fingers tightening their hold on the fabric.

“How do you want it to end, Noelle?” he asked, his voice tight, rough. Like each word took supreme effort to speak.

“I’d like to start where things left off that night in Australia. And I’d like them to end where they should have ended then.”

“It should have ended before it started that night.”

“But it didn’t.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple dipping with the motion. “No. It didn’t.”

She took another step, stopping when she was right in front of him, her legs touching his. “So it’s too late for that. We can ignore it, and neither of us is doing a great job of that, or we can see what it would be like. You and me.”

She lifted her foot from the floor and rested her knee on the couch, next to his thigh. He lifted his hand and caught her wrist. “No matter what happens here, there will never be ‘you and me.’ I don’t say that to hurt you, just to warn you. I’m not the kind of man who does forever. I don’t even do long-term.” He let go of her wrist and traced the line of her arm with his finger, up past her shoulder, the curve of her neck, along her jaw. He touched her lips, the contact soft. Erotic. “But what I do, I do well.”

“That’s all I’m asking from you, Ethan. Nothing more. I don’t have any idea what I’m going to do when all of this is over, but that’s not what I’m thinking about. Not now. For
once I just want to … live. Right in the moment. To enjoy every last bit of now. To enjoy wanting you. The rest of it doesn’t matter. Not right now.”

She lifted her other foot off the floor, resting her knee beside his other thigh. He curved his arm around her body and placed his hand on her lower back, the heat of his flesh through her thin silk dress warming her, spreading sweet heat through her body, pooling in her belly, flowing out to her limbs, making them feel heavy.

He captured her mouth with his, their breathing mixing together, harsh and uneven. He slid his other hand down her thigh, gripping the skirt of her dress and tugging it upward, pushing slick silk up around her hips.

His hand met the bare skin of her buttocks. She’d gone with the filmy-fabric-friendly option of a thong when she’d dressed tonight. She was glad she had now. Even more so when a harsh groan escaped his lips and he squeezed her gently.

She gasped when he dipped his finger beneath her underwear, teasing her lightly, sliding over damp flesh.

He pulled his lips away from hers, pressed them to her neck. “How do you want this?” he asked. “I want you to set the tempo. Show me what you like. Show me how you think the song ends.”

She put her hands on his shoulders and tilted her hips, a sharp whimper escaping her lips when the movement pushed his fingers forward, the tips grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

“Good,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She repeated the motion, pleasure streaking through her like fire. She tilted her head down and rested it on his shoulder as she continued to move over his hand. He dipped one finger inside her and all the tension that had been building in her broke, unraveling, spiraling through
her in waves of sweet satisfaction, so acute it was almost painful.

She leaned against him, her entire body limp, weak. Her dress was clinging to her damp skin, her hair sticking to her neck. And he didn’t seem to mind. He wrapped his arms around her and held her on his lap, his lips by her ear.

“I wondered if you would be as passionate about making love as you are about playing the piano. I think that question was just answered.”

“For me too,” she said softly. “I had no idea …”

He kissed her again, his mouth hungry, devouring. And she felt an answering hunger in her own body, arousal building even faster than before. Now she knew what he could make her feel, knew how powerful it was, how amazing it felt. And she knew he could make her feel that way again.

He put his hand on her bottom and stood, supporting her weight with one arm. She locked her legs around his lean hips, the hard length of his erection pressed against her clitoris. Every step he took sent waves of bliss through her, renewed her need for him.

He pushed open the door to her bedroom and walked to the bed, bringing them both gently down onto the mattress, his body covering hers. She arched against him, pressing her breasts against his chest. He reached around and unzipped her dress, tugging it down, baring her breasts. His eyes glittered in the dim light of the bedroom.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered. And I didn’t think that was possible. I thought for sure I must have imagined that you were this perfect.”

Her throat tightened, emotion building in her. Emotion she didn’t want to deal with. Not now. Not when she simply wanted to live in this glorious moment.

“I remember you being pretty perfect too,” she said, ignoring the persistent ache in chest. “You might want to refresh my memory.”

He pushed himself up with one arm and shrugged his jacket off, pulling his undone tie over his shoulders and casting it to the floor. She watched, every bit of her completely enthralled, as he unbuttoned his white dress shirt, revealing teasing glimpses of perfect, muscular chest and abs that had not come to him by accident.

He let the shirt fall from his body and started working at his belt. Her mouth went cotton-dry, her eyes fixed on him. She didn’t want to miss anything, not one second. This was her moment—their moment—and she was savoring it.

Ethan let his belt fall open and undid the fastening on his slacks, tugging his pants and underwear off in one fluid motion.

She rose up onto her knees, letting her dress fall around her body. She’d expected to feel nervous or unsure, but she didn’t, she knew just what she wanted. She moved forward and gripped his erection, the flesh hot and smooth, different than she’d imagined. When she squeezed him, his head fell back, a raw sound of satisfaction rushing from him.

She leaned in and flicked her tongue over the head of his shaft, a sharp sensation of desire and power racing through her when he reached out to grab her shoulder, like he needed something to brace himself against, as she had earlier.

“You want me,” she said, feeling a little bit shocked by the revelation. Not just that he wanted her in a vague, sexual sense, but that he wanted her in the way she wanted him. In that knees-buckling, body-shaking sort of way.

“More than my next breath,” he panted.

He moved back onto the bed, his hands moving over her curves as he bent her backward. She stretched out beneath him as he cupped her breast, his thumb skimming her nipple. He dipped his head and tasted her, pulling the hardened tip between his lips.

She arched, her hips lifting from the bed, and he took advantage, tugging her thong down her legs. She kicked it off the rest of the way, not feeling even a moment’s embarrassment over being naked with him. There was no room for embarrassment. There wasn’t room for anything other than the fierce need she felt to have more of him.

To feel the rush of orgasm with his body joined to hers. To give him the kind of pleasure he’d already given her.

He reached over to the side table and fumbled around for a moment before pulling out a condom. “Oh good,” he said. “I don’t have to fire anyone today.”

“Don’t tell me you knew this would happen.”

“No. But my suites are always supposed to be stocked with basic amenities.”

“You really are all about full service.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her neck, then nipped her lightly, immediately following it up with a pass of his tongue. “I told you I was all about service.” He moved his hand down in between her thighs, stroking her, heightening her arousal.

“I believe it,” she whispered.

“Ready?” He tore the condom packet open and rolled the protection onto his length quickly before moving back over her.

“I’ve been ready for a long time,” she said. She put her hands on his shoulders, held onto him as he pushed into her.

It didn’t hurt, not in the dramatic way it seemed to in some of the books she’d read. But she was thankful that
he went slowly, that he gave her a chance to adjust to him, time to savor her first moments of full intimacy with him.

He flexed his hips and buried himself to the hilt, his muscles locking in place, his breath coming out in harsh, short bursts. “Are you all right?”

“Great,” she replied. “I’m great.”

He looked at her, and for a moment she saw darkness in his eyes, a sadness that stole the air from her lungs. She put her hand on his cheeks and kissed his lips.

“Please, Ethan,” she said.

His answer was the short thrust of his hips, a movement that sent a sharp burst of pleasure through her. He moved in her, building her desire, low and intense in her pelvis, deeper than the first time. Stronger, which she hadn’t even imagined possible.

She could feel his control slipping, as each movement became less measured, less controlled. All of that willpower he carried like a millstone around his neck seemed to fall away, leaving only the man, without his civility, without the trappings of modern society.

Now, in this moment, he was simply a man, and she was a woman—his woman. And she reveled in it, moving with him, against him. She felt she was drowning, not just in pleasure, in emotion. In the connection she felt with him. As if he was truly a part of her.

She felt whole, and she felt herself splintering into pieces at the same time, her orgasm rushing up, tangling with the tide of emotion that was crashing inside of her. Ethan stiffened above her, her name on his lips as he found his own release.

This time, it was her turn to hold him, his head resting on her chest, his breath cool on her sweat-slicked skin. Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t awkward. It made the
air feel close, like it was holding them together. Keeping them cocooned, shielded from reality. At least for now.

She ran her fingers through his hair. She didn’t think she could ever get enough—not just of the amazing things he made her feel, but of what it was like simply to have him in her arms. To be in his.

She didn’t know how long they lay there. But finally Ethan sat up. “I should go take care of some things.”

He got out of bed and went into the bathroom, returning a few moments later and sliding back in beside her. He pulled her to him, his arms encircling her.

“I don’t know if there’s any music that can capture this,” she said, moving her fingertips over his chest.

“If anyone could write it, you could,” he said. “You told me earlier that it wasn’t my business who you’ve slept with, and if you still feel that way, that’s fine. But I’m going to ask anyway.”

“I’ll save you the trouble. No lovers. None besides music. Isn’t that a dramatic way to put it?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Noelle.”

“Then don’t.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It can be. We’ll stick to the deal. We can have this, whatever it is, and then … and then we’ll both walk away with what we want. That’s simple right?” Even as she spoke the words, she knew they weren’t true.

“Sounds good.” And she could tell by his answer he knew it too.

Ethan just held Noelle, not even tempted to slip out of the room and head back to his condo. In fact, that idea was the opposite of appealing. Strange, since he was usually ready to do a runner by this point.

But Noelle was different. And not in the way men said
women were different when they just wanted to get into their knickers. Different in a real, profound way. And not just because she’d been a virgin.

He was her first lover. That … well, that meant something. At thirty he was well past the age where he expected to run across a virgin. He’d even avoided them in high school, mostly by choosing to have sex with older women. He’d never really fancied the idea of being a corruptor of innocents. His life was just too … raw. He’d never had true innocence himself.

It was impossible when the cupboards in his kitchen had more prescription pills than they did food. Impossible when he overheard loud fights and sex between his parents every other day. Impossible when he simply felt invisible in his own home.

His upbringing had been privileged financially, but bankrupt in every other way.

But what had just happened between him and Noelle hadn’t seemed corrupt at all. Far from it. It had been the best sex of his life. And it had meant something. Had altered something in him.

He wasn’t sure if he liked that, but it was the truth.