The Tour (23 page)

I cry out as he licks me first here and then there, taking a slow and steady pace. I pound the bed with my palm as he takes my pearl between his teeth so gently and moves the underside of his tongue back and forth, before moving in circles. As I feel the tension building in coils like his tongue’s movements, he stops. It’s too late, I’m already coming.

He smiles defiantly as I grab his hair and try to keep him from stopping but then his finger moves inside me. It’s just what I need. I ride his hand, wave after wave, as his finger moves in a ‘come here’ motion.

“That’s your G-spot, Mia,” he says before bringing his mouth back down. Where I was falling inside, I’m climbing again. Falling and climbing at the same time. I cry out in curses and moans. I squeeze my legs around his head.

He places his palm flat on my abdomen, creating this feeling in me between the pad in his finger and the palm of his hand. I’m bucking and shaking against his tongue. Part of me begging him to stop, part of me begging him to never let this moment end.

He lifts himself up, keeping his finger moving in a steady rhythm. I feel like his piano keys, like he’s playing me, and I’m rewarding him with my sounds. His mouth is wet, his hair fucking wild. His chest is rising up and down. His tattoos are darker when they’re wet.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Mia. How does this feel?” he asks, rubbing against this sensitive spot with just the right pressure.

“It’s like I can’t come down. It’s like sensation after another.” I’m crying now, real tears. I move my hands up to my hair and press my palms through the pillows, up against the linen headboard.

“You come so hard around my finger. You give me everything I ask for. So fucking perfect,” he says, adding another finger inside and lying down beside me. He moves down and rubs his chest against my breasts, then licks my nipple, pulling it into his mouth, slowly. Still, his fingers massage me inside. In my mind I see the place he’s touching, a dark spot he’s turning into light.

“For this part, Mia, I need you to calm your breathing. It takes focus, you have to tune into me and yourself,” he says. I take two purposeful breaths, and lock my eyes with his. “I’m going to massage you in different ways. I need you to tell me what feels best. When I do,” he adds, moving his finger all the way inside me and beginning a slow circle against it, “you’re going to come so hard. Your whole body will come. But I want you to let me in—I want to feel it with my cock, not just my finger.”

His words are fucking me. My skin is on fire. He presses his thumb against my clit and circles it, and then moves his finger back and forth, deep enough that he presses against the soft sensitive surface.

“Do you feel any pain?” he asks gently. “No,” I say. It’s not pain. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt. It’s like stars are forming and exploding all around me.

“You have to trust me to let me touch you here. Do you like the circles?” I pound the bed with both fists and stretch my arms all the way across from one side of the bed to the other. “Yes!” I demand. I feel what he needs me to do. It’s like my body is talking. Opening to him. Letting him in. Speaking a trust language. It can’t be faked. He knows it, and I know it.

“I feel it, Mia,” he breathes and the tingling feeling turns into pure weightlessness. Loss of time. Truth. “Do you want me inside you?”

“Yes. Yes.” I’ve never seen this look on his face. Bliss. Is that bliss? I’m crying in long thick tears. They come from all the places in me that store the pain, the tension, the fear. It’s seeping out of me.

He lifts me on top of the pillows stacked against the headboard. When I look down, he’s so thick and long, pressing against his stomach. The veins are straining against his deep red-velvet skin. My eyes roll back into my skull. I feel like I could faint.

“Breathe, Mia. Breathe,” he coaxes, lifting my thighs over his hips. He’s nearly sitting up straight with the thickness of the pillows behind me. It gives me a certain amount of control over this, too. I can ride him and he can guide me.

He presses his palm against my heart. “Connect with me. Don’t panic. You’re doing perfect,” he says before pressing himself inside me. He’s so aroused that he stretches me beyond what I can handle. He senses it, and pulls back out. “I know. Is this better? You’re so wet,” he moans, sliding slowly into the heart beating inside my core and circling his hips.

He bucks against me, and I cry out; I’m so sensitive and I push against his chest. He cries out. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, leaning back a little, retreating. But I need him—I want to feel that again, but more until we feel this together. I circle my hips in the eight pattern he’d taught me after the fire. His tongue comes out to his bottom lip and I pull him down to me, sucking his lip into my mouth. Slow and unrestricted.

I put my hand on his heart and it centers me. I close my eyes and rock my hips, feeling it in my spine, my core, my heart. It’s like a string wrapping around my soul, snaking its way between and around us. We breathe as one, down and up the center of my body.

I let go of everything, all my barriers. I submit to him, to us—give and receive. When I surrender, the feeling so deep and rooted within me begins to swell. It’s like a promise becoming a reality, a seed growing and blooming, soft and bright.

He moans, his head falling backward. I open my eyes and feel as I start to contract around him, pulling him in. It’s not pain at all. It surprises me, the pureness of it. The trust it takes to open and allow. He cries out, pressing his fingers into my hips, leaning into me and rocking as if we are one. My legs press out, stiffen, and come back to wrap around him. A welcome invasion. A grateful desire. I cry out his name. The sensation like no other pleasure.

He moves so differently, just a gentle rocking against my shaking, full body tremors. I’m smiling and pulling him against my chest. He puts his hand up against his eyes, rubbing them, and then collapses on top of me as we shake, trying to come down from this experience.

“Mia,” he murmurs, looking into my eyes. It’s a confirmation, a plea for compassion. An act of love.

I’m deliberately holding him in place. Prolonging the moment and imprinting it into my brain. The beat inside me lessens, and slows as he kisses me. It is a pure, a thank you. A wave of relief comes over me. We were able to trust each other enough. My ears are ringing and I feel as though I’ve been floating with him in the air, but now we’re coming down to earth again.

We lie this way, with his body and mine conjoined. Our breaths are slowing; the contracting inside me is lessening. But our depth, the depth we’ve reached with one another—that’s just getting deeper and deeper.

I’ll Wait For You

H
e’s right, I feel different. It’s like he’s caused a constant hum radiating from deep inside me. I savor the feeling and open my eyes, finding that it’s still dark outside. We are a tangle of limbs. I listen to the sound of him sleeping; the deep rhythm of his breathing grounds me.

What am I going to do without him? How can I leave when there’s so much left unanswered between us? I close my eyes and sink back into the final night we’ll be what we are right now for a very long time.

*     *     *

We’re all quiet during our dark breakfast. I’m surprised everyone is up to see me off—

It’s five in the morning. I kiss Riley and wash my bowl before putting it in the dishwasher. I come back to her and sit down. She looks at me with puppy dog eyes.

“I love you, Riles,” I say, and her bottom lip starts to quiver. “I wanted to show you something.”

I pull out the fancy ring that she’d given Mom, the one that survived the house fire, and put it on my finger. “I’m going to wear this every night when I perform.”

She smiles proudly and hugs my neck. “Will you be able to call me and stuff?”

“Yes. I promise, I’ll call you every time I can,” I tell her, kissing her cheek. “And you can call me whenever you want.” She nods. “What’s wrong?”

“I kinda wish I could text you and stuff,” she admits.

“Well,” I say, “that would be kind of hard to do without this,” I change my tone and reach out toward Manny, who’s standing behind her. He hands me the package, and I place it on the table in front of her.

“A phone!”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re old enough, right?” She pops open the box and is jumping around so much it’s hard for her to take it out and start turning it on. “It’s already loaded with me, Deloris, Kaya, Manny and Devon, and Kolton as your contacts.”

I take a few minutes to show her how the phone works. She texts me, and I text her back. The smile on her face is priceless.

Her lip pouts a little as I grab my Birkin bag, give Deloris a big goodbye hug, and pat Manny on the arm, assuring him I’ll be fine without him, since he can’t leave LA during the investigation.

I reach for Riley once more, and she runs over to me, hugging me one last time. “I love you,” she says, her little mouth up to my shoulder.

“I love you more.”

When I check my phone in the car on the way, there’s already a text from her.

Riles

5:23 AM

I love
you
more.

5:31 AM

<3

Holding onto my Tiffany key necklace, I’m so anxious that I start counting the light posts. I’m up to thirteen when Kolton clears his throat. When I turn to face him, his expression is all hard angles.

I look him in the eye as memories of what we did last night flash across my mind like a movie of sound and feeling. I move toward him and he takes my hand. There are no words for this.

He’s marked me. There’s no doubt I am his—that we belong together. I feel my core’s heartbeat again. It’s like he’s switched something on inside me. And it won’t be soon forgotten.

*     *     *

“Do you want to come inside the bus with me to check it out?” I ask, as the car pulls up to the buses parked and surrounded by
The Stage
contestants. Kaya jumps out of the front seat where she’d been sitting with Devon. They’re giving us our privacy to say goodbye.

“I feel like you’re being stolen from me,” he blurts and I put my hand up to my eyes. Covering them shields me from the painful look on his face. “Look at me.”

“I don’t want to go, but I have to,” I explain, needlessly.

“What I want you to do while you’re away from me,” he says, “is remember how it felt last night when you opened up to me. Because that doesn’t just happen. This, us, what we share, this isn’t an everyday thing.” I start to agree with him, but he cuts me off. “We are supposed to be partners in life. Partners in work. And the next fucking time you go on tour, it should be with me.”

“I know.”

“What do you know?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“That I want to be open to working with you. Not
for
you, but
with
you. That I’m thinking about it very seriously.” He looks down, and then tries to cover up his disappointment with a smile. So I say, “Can you have the Bad Heart contract sent over to Bob and Lenora?” I ask, remembering that my lawyers offered to take a look at the terms.