MirrorMusic (3 page)

Our lips hit together again, hungrily kissing one another as
his hands explored the contours of my exposed butt cheeks, dipping into the
cleft, up to the small of my back and down to the backs of my thighs.

His touch was electric, sending spikes of yearning to my
pussy and clit as I fumbled and yanked at his jeans. Despite his astronomical
wealth he still went without boxers and his hot, thick cock sprang into my
palm. He groaned as I tightened my fist around the marble-smooth shaft, and
with my thumb found the strong pulse point just below the center of the head.
“Condom,” I breathed onto his lips.

He muttered and fumbled for his wallet. Produced a blue
foil-wrapped condom and ripped it with his teeth. With deft, experienced
fingers he slid it on just before the car accelerated and pressed our chests
together.

My body was alive, on fire, it had been a while since I’d
had sex. I hadn’t been able to find the same enthusiasm for bedroom action
since Robbie and I’d broken up. But now, like a volcano of desire, I erupted. I
wanted him so bad I actually, physically hurt. Between my legs was chaos, a
wet, pulsating inferno of lust demanding attention.

My hands clasped convulsively at his sweater as clumsily,
frantically I took the tip of his cock into my entrance and began to sink onto
him. But I’d only taken him an inch or two when his hips thrust up in one
powerful surge. His cock pushed in, hard and determined. I cried out and
squeezed my eyes shut. A dagger of pain mixed with my pleasure. I’d forgotten
just how much I had to concentrate on relaxing to accommodate Robbie. He was
big. Big, thick and solid.

“I’m sorry, oh god, I’m so sorry, Jenny,” he said, stilling.
Remorse seared through his eyes.

“No, it’s okay,” I said in a strained voice, willing myself
to relax around his shaft. “Please, don’t stop, don’t stop, Robbie. It’s okay.”

His mouth captured mine, his tongue dipping in as his hands
encircled my waist. I pressed downward until he was butting up against my
cervix, filling and owning me, and began to rock, my clit grinding wonderfully
against his hard pubis and his wiry pubic hair. An emergency siren traveling in
the opposite direction wailed past flashing its blue neon lights around the
darkened car. Oh god, what the hell were we doing? What the hell was
I
doing? I didn’t care, I was possessed by my lust. There was a devil in me that
had taken control. Satisfaction in the form of a big, wonderful orgasm was the
only thing that mattered, the only thing that was going to happen next.

“Oh shit, this isn’t gonna do my fucking ego any good,”
Robbie grunted. “I can’t last long. It feels too fucking awesome. It’s been too
long without you, Jenny.”

“Me neither,” I gasped, my swollen clit gyrating against him
as my hips danced and weaved, hitting the spot just right. I grabbed for his
hair, clawed it with my fingers. “Robbie, ah, it’s here. Oh god, yes…now…come
with me.”

As my orgasm raged I tasted blood in my mouth. Trying to
keep quiet for the sake of the driver had meant a painful meeting of my bottom
lip and teeth. Robbie didn’t succeed in keeping his pleasure inaudible and
groaned deep and carnal as he gave an almighty thrust into my clenching,
spasming pussy. The car jolted over a pothole, which ground us even harder
together at the height of our pleasure. “Argh, fuck, Jenny,” he cried out,
holding my head tight and kissing me as if he would never stop. As if he would
never remove himself from my body.

The car paused and we stopped kissing. On the other side of
the dark glass I heard music thumping from an adjacent car. I lifted from him,
my limbs weak, my mind disoriented. Still breathless I pulled on my knickers
and jeans and pushed my hair over my shoulders.

He was panting hard too as he yanked off the condom and
tucked himself back in. We both flopped back against the seat, not touching.
Silent.
Oh, my god, what had I done?
I couldn’t be trusted to be alone
with Robbie for two minutes. Two minutes was all it had taken and I was
shucking out of my clothes and welcoming him inside me. A wave of shame tickled
my scalp and traveled down my neck, but it couldn’t dampen the pulsating
satisfaction that had settled blissfully between my legs. What I had done might
have been wrong, reckless, against every sensible rule I’d ever set myself—but
it damn well felt so off-the-scale good that there was no way I would ever
regret it.

The car slowed and rolled to a stop. The driver opened my
door and I scooted out, straightening my clothes and dragging in a lungful of
cool night air, hoping it might help my lost sanity and nonexistent
self-control. I looked up at the glass and steel building set amongst the
Georgian town houses. “Nice pad,” I said with an approving nod, trying to
behave as if I hadn’t just had a swift but mind-blowing orgasm.

“Thanks.” Robbie stood next to me and looked up into the
damp night sky. I was aware of his body heat radiating on to my cheek as he
leaned in to murmur, “But technically it’s Ian’s. He moved to the country with
Nina and the little one a while back. He’s supposed to be putting it on the
market but I got hold of the key. I kinda like it and I’m thinking about buying
it.” He curled his arm around my waist and pulled me until my hip rested on the
hard outer edge of his thigh. “Perhaps you could let me know what you think.”

I looked up at him but he was already urging me forward
through the mist toward the rotating brass doors.

We rode the lift, again in silence. I watched the numbers
ping up and my heart fluttered at the memory of his words
He missed me. He
couldn’t go on living without finding out if I missed him too.

I missed him like I would miss all four limbs and we were
clearly still good together, like
really
good together. But could I be
so masochistic as to let Robbie in again?
Really?
Could I?
He
would break me, take out my soul and spin it around until I didn’t know which
way was up and which way was down. It had taken me six months to stop crying at
the mere mention of his name last time. I couldn’t go through it again. I
should never have let it go this far. I should have put those damn tickets and
pass straight in the bin and not given them another thought.

We stepped out of the lift. Robbie produced a key and opened
a door with a large number six hanging on the white wood. “In you go,” he said,
pushing it with the flat of his palm.

I stepped into the dark apartment and waited as Robbie
bolted the door behind us.

“This way,” he said, flicking on a dim light and walking
into the living room.

My eyes widened as I looked at the London skyline twinkling
through a vast expanse of windows. The raindrops streaking down the glass
multiplied the soft orange lights like a spectacular kaleidoscope. “Wow,” I
said. “Great view.”

“Yeah, it’s cool isn’t it?” He walked to a door and pulled
it open. “Make yourself at home, I’m gonna take a quick shower. All that
dancin’ around and that.” He flashed a cheeky grin my way.

“Okay,” I said nonchalantly, walking past a low L-shaped
couch to the dark windows that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. I
looked down at the road below. Cars and taxis whizzed along, making the most of
the lighter traffic. I couldn’t hear them, the road noise didn’t penetrate the
glass.

A shower clicked on and I spotted a short corridor to my
right. The wall was covered in photos and platinum discs. Stepping up, I peered
at a large glossy image of Robbie’s ecstatic face as he held up a long silver
award. His bandmates were around him, their arms thrown over one another’s
shoulders, all equally gleeful. I touched the frame, I had so many photos of him
ranging from him in his football outfit, sweaty and muddy, to looking smart in
his first suit and with a radiant smile. I shook my head to rid the image of
him as a reckless teenager. That wasn’t who he was anymore. He was Robbie
Harding, lead singer of the Manic Machines. Photos of him were adored by
thousands of fans now, blown up into life-size posters and spread across
magazine covers and teenage girls’ bedrooms.

Peachy light from the room Robbie had disappeared into
spilled onto the wooden living room floor. Like a moth drawn to light I stepped
inside. It was a bedroom. But a bedroom like none other I’d ever seen. My heart
rate picked up a notch. The peach light bounced around the walls and ceiling,
all of which were completely covered by mirrors—huge, smooth, seamless mirrors
that were just the tiniest bit smoky. Even the door to what I presumed was the
en-suite—since it was open a crack and I could hear water splashing—was
mirrored.

I blew out a breath and walked farther in, creating a
never-ending image of myself in all four walls. The bed was enormous, bigger
than a king or queen and certainly designed for more than two people. It was
covered in a silky silver duvet and a huge pile of pillows were stacked against
the mirrored headboard. The bedside table was mirrored as was a large chest of
drawers, although these weren’t smoky. I ran my finger over the corner of a
gray cushion on the bed, it was crushed velvet and soft beneath my fingertips.

“I guess Ian’s a bit kinky and we never even knew it,” Robbie
said from behind me, a smile lacing his voice.

I spun and felt my chest get tight and achy. Robbie stood
before me in nothing but a white towel hanging low on his lean hips, his
reflection stretching out behind him. I forced my eyes upward over his flat
stomach and the thin line of dark hair that trailed from below his navel right
up to his chest. I recalled perfectly what his skin felt like beneath my
palms—on my mouth, in my mouth.

“Yeah, I guess,” I managed, settling my gaze on his face—so
much safer than the outlines of his delectable torso that sparkled all around
me.

His eyes twinkled as though he could read my mind, as if he
knew I was remembering how I used to jump him in the shower, get down on my
knees and show him just how dirty I could get with my mouth.

“I wrote you this one too,” he said, moving toward the tall
dresser. “Last year.”

I studied the way he walked, confident and self-assured.
He’d always moved with purpose, didn’t waste energy, but now it was even more
noticeable. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was more mature or if it was his
off-the-scale success that made him that way.

He plucked a remote from the top drawer and aimed it at a
small black box hanging in the corner of the room. The intro to a beating tune
rang out and he turned to me and grinned. I noticed how the light refracting
around the room shone on his dark hair and picked out strands the color of
hazelnut.

If you’re searching for love, scouting for the one

All you gotta do is look right next door

Yeah, yeah, yeah

All you gotta do is look right next door

’Cause she’s there, always been there

Yeah, yeah, yeah

I tilted my head as his chocolaty voice filled the room.

“You didn’t hear it, did you,” he said as more of a
statement than a question.

“No, sorry.”

He shrugged wide shoulders. “I thought it was a bit subtle,
it was on the album but never released as a single.”

I swallowed tightly. “I didn’t buy your last album.”

“You didn’t?” A mixture of surprise and maybe even hurt
crossed his eyes.

“No.”

His tongue swept across his bottom lip.

“You’re out of my life, Robbie. Or at least you were. Why
would I want to hear your voice, hear about your conquests?” I folded my arms
and sighed. “Didn’t you think it might hurt me?”

“But that song was about you, how much I regretted letting
you walk out of my life.”

“Yeah, but
Strawberries and Screams
, come on, I don’t
know how you got away with some of
those
lyrics.”

He tipped his head back and laughed, a real meaty guffaw
that echoed over the music.

“What’s so funny?”

“That’s not about one of
my
conquests,” he said,
still grinning broadly.

“So who is it about?”

“Nina, Ian’s wife. He wrote it here, in this apartment, just
after they met.”

“Oh.” Now I felt silly. I’d flicked that damn song off every
time it had come on the radio for so long I didn’t know how I was ever going to
get out of the habit.

“Have you never seen a picture of her?” he asked.

I shook my head, tried to avert my gaze but instead looked
at the reflection of his beautiful, golden back in the mirror behind him. Wide
and tanned with the deep gutter of his spine perfectly outlined by long strips
of tendon.

“She’s got this shock of strawberry-red curly hair and the
palest skin I’ve ever seen,” Robbie said as I salivated at the memory of
scratching nails down his taut flesh. “Ian was inspired by his wife to write
that, it has nothing to do with me. I just sing the words while he bashes it
out on his strings.”

“Oh.” I curled my fingers into my palms.

“So you don’t need to get jealous, pumpkin.”

My lips flattened. “I’m not pumpkin, for your information,
I’m Dr. Calahan.”

“Yeah, I know,” he stepped closer, real close, and the scent
of his freshly showered skin filled my nostrils. “You’re important and
respected in the medical world, but,” he said with a naughty glint in his eye, “you’ll
always be my little pumpkin.”

The song about the girl next door finished and in its place
Party
Animal
began with its trippy tones and Robbie’s excitable voice.

I looked at the hollow of his throat—his smile was just too
devastating—but then all I could think of was the taste of his skin on my
tongue. “Then I guess I should be glad you didn’t write a song about pumpkins
and squeals,” I managed through a suddenly dry mouth.