BorntobeWild (13 page)

Wow, she was turning into a poet herself. The new tower,
thrusting into the sky until it owned it, symbolized that drive for her. Never
give in.

“How far back does your family go in the States?” she asked
now.

“My great-grandparents came over before World War Two. They
were incarcerated in internment camps as hostiles during the war, which drove
my grandfather nuts, because he wanted to join the army and fight for the
country he regarded as his. After the war ended he started the business that
kept the family going. Widgets, you know, turned engineering pieces. My father
diversified into providing finely machined parts for computers and office
machinery.”

She knew his father still owned a big chunk of the company
he’d started, STS Industries. Going public had made the Shiraishis humungously
wealthy. “And you spent years in poverty in London? From choice?”

“They gave me two choices. Either I went back to playing
classical piano or I joined the family business. I said no, so they cut off my
allowance. They wanted me to run back home with my tail between my legs.” He
snorted.

“You wanted the rock lifestyle so much?”

“I can’t believe you asked me that.” His mouth settled into
a straight line.

Her appetite gone Cyn laid her fork on her plate. “I’m
sorry. I never belonged to that part of your life. I didn’t know.”

“I started to get disillusioned the last year at the institute.
In Paris I was sure.” He hesitated and she saw the uncharacteristic doubt in
his eyes.

“What is it?”

This time his laugh held no humor. “Typical Cyn. You’re a
bulldog, you know that? Never satisfied until you’ve got the truth.”

“I don’t like subterfuge. It makes me itchy. You don’t have
to tell me any more. I understand enough. They didn’t support you and you made
it on your own. Which is amazing, you know. To make all this yourself—”

“I failed,” he said abruptly. Her words petered out and she
stared at him, mouth ajar. Riku never failed. He was a brilliant student,
everyone said so and she’d heard his brilliance for herself. He could render
the trickiest pieces by Chopin and Liszt and pound them into submission. “In
Paris they told me I’d never make the top rung. I’d never be another Ashkenazy
but I could have a glittering and lucrative career if I worked it right. A
pianist with a concert orchestra, or a touring soloist. One examiner even said
that I could play pop classics, probably become more famous than the purely
perfect classical star.”

“Like an opera singer who has her own TV show.”

His gaze met hers, startled. “They told you to do that?”

“No, they didn’t tell me that. They said I was headed for
great things. Just not the great things I wanted.” She pulled a face. “That’s
over now. Gone for good.” He frowned and opened his mouth to speak but she wouldn’t
let him distract her by talking about her problems, which she’d worked out to
her satisfaction. “So being good but not great wasn’t enough for you?”

“It wasn’t good enough for my parents.” He paused, staring
at her. “It wasn’t good enough for me. You’re right. My parents would’ve taken
that, if I’d sold it to them the right way. I’d have done the pop thing or
become a regular with an orchestra, maybe worked my way up. But, Cyn, here’s
the thing. I was majorly sulky. How could all that work result in failure? How
could I not succeed? I was a brat. I behaved like a brat when I walked out.”

He heaved a sigh. “My parents didn’t help. My mother
insisted I deserved a year out but not yet, after I’d finished my training.
Then she reasoned I could go into my career refreshed. Only I didn’t want it
and I knew I didn’t. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough. I realized playing
other people’s work, interpreting their vision, however great, didn’t do it for
me. I needed time to think.”

His words came in a rush, as if he’d breached a dam and it
was all coming out. Cyn stayed completely still, afraid he’d stop and clam up
about what she was beginning to think of as Riku Shiraishi—the Lost Years.

“I needed to find out what I really wanted to do. I went to
London and sometime that winter I stopped being a brat. I met Zazz and we
roomed together, slept in the streets and parks sometimes. I learned what it
felt like to have no money. None at all. We played on the street, made more
together than separately and I made some hard choices.

“We met Hunter then, who was playing with bands in pubs and
making what we thought was a decent living. We joined him. I had no fucking
idea then that Zazz was the son of one of the most innovative and inventive
jazz trumpeters who ever lived. I found out much later and things slotted into
place. Zazz taught me jazz. He taught me to think unconventionally.”

That made sense. “And then you applied your own slant to it.”

“I gave him the discipline and fire of classical music in
return. Together we made great music and I don’t mean in any metaphorical
sense. We clicked. Hunter has the same attitude, the need to do something
different. Restless. He joined Murder City Ravens first and developed his
craft. Two years later Murder City Ravens was in the toilet, drugged into
oblivion, two of its members in rehab. When they came out Jace rejoined the
band and tried to revive it, and Matt started the production company. He never
wrote music, he was and is an interpreter and he’s a genius at it. Hunter
suggested us. We were doing okay, some session work, some small gigs with bands
but hell yes we were interested. You know why Hunter thought of us, apart from
the fact that by then we’d become a tight musical unit?”

“Tell me.” She had the feeling the reason wouldn’t be
straightforward. Nothing about Murder City Ravens ever was.

“Zazz didn’t drink or take drugs.”

She blinked, startled. “What?”

“Nothing. His dad, you see, was a big-time addict and Zazz
wouldn’t touch them because he’d seen the worst. Hunter knew they needed
something fresh and they asked us for a trial.” He shrugged. “It worked.”

“And how.” She recalled the symbiosis of the concert
Saturday night, when everything coalesced, the members truly becoming one
entity. “It was as if you thought with one brain, acted as one body.”

“With lots of limbs, like a giant spider.” He laughed. “Not
a bad idea. We don’t write together, not completely. Zazz writes most of the
songs and he and Jace get those sumptuous melodies. I work on them and twist
them and distort them. Occasionally I write. It just works. Donovan and Hunter
lace it together. Usually.”

“That’s why I love the music. You’re not predictable.” She
loved telling him this, a fan explaining why she enjoyed what they did.

He reached for her hand, grasped it warmly. “I don’t know
why the fuck I’m telling you all this. I never talk about it.”

She smiled. “I’m probably your oldest friend. You’re
certainly mine.”

“You don’t have any school friends?”

“Do you?”

He shrugged. “Acquaintances. People who try to get into the
gigs free because they knew me at school. I went to a swanky place I hated and
I spent most of my time in the music labs.” He glanced away then back at her,
his eyes full of the truth. “Girls came anyway. I don’t know why.”

“You want me to tell you?”

“Fuck no.” He gave an embarrassed laugh but then heat
entered his gaze. “But you can show me when you’re feeling better.”

“I could show you now,” she said. “Prove to you I’m well
enough to have dinner with your parents.” She still wanted to go. Since she’d
learned more about his relationship with his family she wanted to see it for
herself and assess it. Riku didn’t seem unhappy with the current situation but
she knew better.

Her parents had never lavished her with affection. She still
found it difficult to be totally open.

Careful not to jar her injury she got to her feet, using the
table for support. “We both need a shower.”

“I don’t,” he responded. “I had one…I’m wrong, you’re right.
A shower it is.”

He took a chair into the shower, one of those plastic ones
meant for invalids but like the rest of the furnishings it had style. She liked
that someone had thought the designs through. It pleased her sense of
aesthetics.

He propped the chair in the corner and came outside to help
her strip. She only needed help with her bra. “I’ll have to get some front-fastening
ones,” she murmured as he popped the clasp for her.

He slid the straps down her arms and then cupped her breasts
from behind. “I’ll enjoy helping to size you.” He kissed her shoulder, nipped
the base of her neck. She shuddered.

Gently he urged her into the glass enclosure and touched the
panel on the wall to turn on the faucet. With a sigh of sheer pleasure she
stepped under the warm spray. “I love this place. I could live in your
bathroom.”

“Not unless I’m here too.” He turned her, pressed her back
against the cold wall and eyed her greedily. “How do you want to do this?”

“Use me.”

He groaned. “Fuck, Cyn. Do you know what I’m thinking about?”

“Tell me.”

“Things I shouldn’t. Not while you hurt.”

She cupped her breasts, lifted them to show them off, then
opened her legs so he could see her clit, teasing him with the sight. “You won’t
hurt me. I’m not made of glass.”

“Cyn!” He stepped forward and lifted her. She noticed he’d
already grabbed a condom from somewhere, the orange packet a lurid flash of
color in his hand. This shower was fashioned from the same material as the
bath, honey-streaked, creamy white marble with touches of pink and peach. The
orange didn’t work, the only jarring note in the scene. She welcomed it.
Perfection should always have something to remind the onlooker of the flaws of
its maker. She never trusted perfection. That was why she never strived for it
herself, even in her singing career. Voices should sometimes break at moments
of high emotion.

Exactly as hers did now. She could hardly speak and her
voice came in a husky croak. “Fuck, Riku, I want you so much.”

“Wrap your legs around me.” He’d sheathed himself, and the
packet was now a shred of color on the tiled floor. Leaning against the smooth,
heated wall, she did as he told her, bringing her pussy in close proximity to
his cock. They both watched as he guided his straining shaft to her entrance
and nudged inside. Neither lifted their gaze and Cyn watched him enter her. She
was wet enough for him to easily glide deeper and deeper until their bodies
joined in the most elemental way.

And the most satisfactory. “Riku…” she forgot what she meant
to say and raised her gaze to his face.

He was looking at her as if she was his salvation. No, she
wasn’t that. He felt vulnerable now he’d told her the things he’d kept close to
his chest for so long. Nothing else. Not her, he could have told anyone. She
wouldn’t let him say more, not until he’d had time to think. Did he want to
tell her more or would he feel vulnerable?

Ignoring the pain from her ribs as best she could, she
leaned forward and kissed him. He responded like a man possessed, kissed her
and kissed her with a passion and desperation she’d never known in anyone
before. He angled his mouth over hers, broke off to change to another angle,
exploring her and opening himself to her. She wrapped a hand around his head,
digging her fingers through his thick, dark hair to his scalp, then slid her
palm down to grasp the back of his neck. He broke for air, gazed at her, kissed
her again.

All the time his cock drove in and out of her like a pile
driver, relentless, heading for the inevitable orgasm with singleness of purpose.
If this fuck were a song it would be one with one singer, one piano and one
tune. No distractions. Except at no time did he forget her bruises. He never
pressed on them, as if he’d memorized every one and worked out how to do it,
cradled her carefully, his hands under her bottom, holding her securely without
pressure on her injuries. For that matter he probably had memorized them. His
attention to detail was part of what made him Riku.

She kept her back hard against the wall for support, used
her body below her hips to respond to him, thrust against him as he fucked her.
The regular rhythm helped her to respond without distracting her with pain, and
although it didn’t disappear under his onslaught, it nearly did and she
dismissed it as unimportant.

Her excitement rose, her juices wet them over and above the
water powering down and she gave a series of sounds, noises. Not at all
musical, nothing but raw passion in her tone. He seemed to like them. “That’s
it, Cyn. Shout, scream, let me know how much you need me. Because I sure as
fuck need you.”

“Yes, Riku, if you keep doing that I’ll come and come. God,
you don’t know what you do to me.”

“I have an idea.” He panted between each word but didn’t
stop his drives. When he leaned back, just a little, he caught her sweet spot
better, his cock caressing it with every stroke. Up and up and up until she
caught her breath, only to release it in one long yell as she convulsed around
him, milked him to his own conclusion.

She watched him come, wonder in her gaze, together with
something else she wasn’t ready to articulate yet. Fear, reticence, the
emotions that had kept her whole during her secure, boring and cold childhood
came to the fore without her volition and stopped her saying what she felt.

They came together this time and she released with unabashed
joy, gave herself to the moment.

He withdrew and stared with dismay at the shredded condom. “Fuck,
Cyn. What do we do now?”

“We don’t panic,” she said.

He carried her to the chair he’d brought in for her and
gently placed her on it. She laughed and a shard of anger moved him. “So what’s
so fucking funny?”

“Just that I was thinking I’d like to go on the Pill again.
I mean, I’m already on it but recently I haven’t exactly taken it regularly, so
to be honest, we can’t rely on it.”

He swallowed and took in some of the water still cascading
over them. “What do you want to do?”

“Morning-after pill, you mean?” She frowned. “No prejudice,
Riku. If it’s what you want, then that’s fine.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I should be more shocked
than I feel. Maybe it hasn’t sunk in yet.” She laughed shakily. “So to speak.” She
wrapped her fingers together, flexed them. “I don’t want to tie you down or
anything. Nothing permanent, okay?”

“Fuck, Cyn.”He didn’t know what the hell he wanted or didn’t
want. Sure, he’d had a thought or two, imagining her with his baby, but that
came from the same mind that dreamed up angels with furry feet and talking cats
for the occasional lyric. What the fuck did he know? Fantasy was his business.
When it crossed into reality it seriously fazed him.

But the thought warmed him inside and like her, he wasn’t
shocked.

He grabbed the shampoo and rubbed a dollop over his hair
before helping her. Lifting her hands that high hurt her.

Did he want to pick up a morning-after pill? Hell, he didn’t
know. The idea of a baby filled him with panic because, fuck, he could hardly
take care of himself much less a helpless human being. He choked back his
panic. “I’m not ready.”

“From what I’ve learned nobody ever is.” She touched his
chest as he leaned forward, stroked him and he melted with pleasure. “But it’s
okay. No hassle.”

“No.” The reality forced his decision for him. He didn’t
want that. Like his work he preferred fate to take a hand in this. “If you’re
okay with this I’d like to wait and see.”

The realization forced him into a decision. What shocked him
the most was that the thought didn’t fill him with dismay. In fact the thought
of Cyn big with his child turned him on so his cock started its merry way
toward erection again. Not that he’d get her pregnant just to see her that way,
but still—he knew what he wanted now.

“Yes.” Her smile held approval, although he didn’t know if
she realized she’d let that much out. Just as the intense expression in her
eyes the minute before she came told him something that put him in a spin. He
knew that look, though not from her. Maybe he had eight and a half years ago,
before he left for Paris.

Would she shy away this time, turn her back and close him
down, or would she say something? It became important to him that she said it
first. Not because he doubted his feelings but he didn’t know if she’d have the
courage to follow through this time. If she didn’t would she always hide her
feelings from him, keeping them separate? Because that would kill what they had
for sure and certain. Rather than that he’d let her go, hurt for a little while
instead of for years.

This—this was something else. If she was pregnant he’d force
the issue and make her face her fears, instead of watching and waiting, letting
her take her time and recognize the inevitable.

Too intense. He’d given her the light meal so she could have
a nap before getting ready but time had disappeared, melted away and they had
to dress and leave. Five already. He didn’t want her rushing to dress and
hurting herself as a consequence.

“You still want to go?”

“We can’t tell them no now.” She snorted. “Are you trying to
chicken out?”

“Maybe.” He grinned back at her. He spent more time smiling
with her than he did with anyone else. He had a reputation in the media for
broodiness, mean and moody like Elvis, but sometimes a happy face seemed too
much of an effort. Not with her. She made him smile all the fucking time. “You’ll
ruin my public image,” he pointed out, reaching for the conditioner.

“You’ll ruin mine. We’re going to smell the same, you know
that?”

“That’s the idea.” She always used his toiletries but he’d
seen her collection of bottles and sprays when he emptied her apartment. He’d
wanted to give notice to her landlord there and then but he knew she’d probably
not thank him for doing that, more likely rip him a new one. Still, she wasn’t
going back there. Never, if he could help it.

“You want to smell like me?”

She touched her pussy, spread her lips and slid a finger
down to her opening. Scooping a few drops of juice, she tasted it. Just like
that he was rock-hard again, watching her lick her finger as if she was tasting
the greatest delicacy in the world.

“Fuck, Cyn, all the time, sweetheart.”

No way could he say no. Never to her, whatever the
consequences. He grabbed another condom from the nightstand, vowing to replace
the ones in the bathroom. She eyed him as he sheathed himself. “We’re still
doing that?”

“Just because we had one accident doesn’t mean we should
throw protection out the window. But get back on the Pill, hmm?”

“Sure.” Her smile broadened.

He had her on the bed this time. He placed her carefully.
Her body on the mattress, her legs propped up beside her, in an effort to cause
the least stress to her poor bruised torso. And to give him the best view in
the world. He took his time, grabbed some pillows to kneel on to bring him to
her level and watched her face as he entered her. “You are so wet,” he
murmured, his voice barely a breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Yes we should. We don’t have to take long.” He wanted her
again, to stop her withdrawing emotionally from him. And just because he
fucking needed her. She jerked and bit her lower lip.

He wanted to kiss her but to do so meant he’d have to lean
over and risk hurting her. This restraint was killing him. Probably why he
needed to fuck her so often. No, he’d want to fuck her anyway. He couldn’t
imagine this urge wearing off anytime soon. Rough or gentle, restrained or
wild, he wanted her.

“You are so good at this.”

“I know.”

Her eyes shot open and she laughed up at him. Last time he’d
needed her with a desperation that verged on insanity but this time he wanted
to make her happy. He watched her as he slid in and out, changed his angle then
swiveled his hips. “You’re my experiment,” he said. “I’m going to drive you
insane. Make you addicted to me.”

“That’s not very kind.” Another small cry when she lifted
her chin, her head and shoulders lifting her body off the bed.

“I’m not trying to be kind. I’ll wear you out.”

“I’m not forgetting what we’re doing later. We’re going.”

He laughed. “I haven’t forgotten.” To be honest he’d be
happier on the other side of it. Then he’d get her back here and coddle her.
Caring for her had its own particular pleasure and since he’d never experienced
it before he wanted to explore it some more.

He took it slow, watching his cock disappear into her lush
depths, her inner walls clasping him in a lover’s embrace, before he eased out
to do it again. He bent, then lifted and pushed in, nice and slow. “That good
for you?”

“It’s all good.” She reached out and he clasped her hands,
smiling but he took care not to pull too hard. Otherwise he could have used it
to drag her closer and fuck her harder. They didn’t need that, not all the
time. Just each other and closeness.

Ah shit, he was getting maudlin. Just looking at her made
him want to cherish her. He watched her breasts move as he took her, marked
every nuance, every twitch of her lips when she cried his name, sighed or
moaned. He loved the way her breath caught in the back of her throat when she
was close to coming, just like now. Her juices flowed more freely and he
dropped the hand on her injured side to rub her clit, the small ridge hard
under his thumb. Then he pulled it away and dropped her other hand. “You do it.”

She blinked at him and he saw the moment his words
registered. With a smile that promised much she stroked down her body,
emphasizing every sweet curve before she slid her fingers between her legs.

She touched where they joined and caressed his cock, making
him shudder. Then, the smile still firmly in place, watching his face, she
pressed down, just as he had, before taking her clit between finger and thumb
and massaging it hard.

He watched to learn.

“The most efficient or the best orgasm?” she asked.

“Can be both,” he said.

Her voice, low again, stirred his senses. He felt it right
at the base of his balls and tension tightened his sac. He held on, barely,
still working her in a slow, steady rhythm, ensuring he drove in deeply every
time. Bliss to feel her like that, even better to see her.

“I can’t do much more.” In fairness he had to tell her.

“Neither—can—I.”

He increased the tempo as much as he dared, their bodies
slapping against each other. He grasped her upper thighs to pull her closer and
she shuddered against him in the throes of orgasm. He could hold on no longer.

Her hand stopped working her clit but she didn’t take it
away, instead moving down the deep-pink slit to his cock. In a movement he hadn’t
guessed, she gripped the base as he slid it inside her then released it and
gripped it again when he moved out of her. She did it with a regularity that
had him waiting for it, expecting it with every thrust and she didn’t
disappoint. Except the last time, when she gave one, vicious clasp before
releasing him so suddenly the essence surged up his cock. He held on as he
emptied himself inside her. She took it all and he longed to give her
everything.

He was in deep in more ways than one.

They had to hurry but in an hour they were ready. A bit more
for him. Cyn looked utterly classic, her gleaming golden hair swept into a high
chignon, the black dress unadorned except for one of her necklaces, a design
that looked as if it had washed up on a beach. He touched a crystal. “Diamonds?
Rock crystal?”

She grinned. “Glass smoothed by the sea. Isn’t it lovely?”

“You are.” He snatched a kiss before turning to the bathroom
mirror to apply his eyeliner. Some people called it guyliner. They were scared
of their feminine sides as far as Riku was concerned. He’d chosen matt-black
clothes with a flash of white at his throat, a midnight pirate vibe with an
asymmetrical coat that reached his ankle on one side and his upper thigh on the
other. Pewter buttons, no two alike, dotted it, though he didn’t fasten it. He
let it hang free, the tassels and pendants fastened haphazardly swinging around
him when he moved. Paired with an extravagant black poet’s shirt, a pair of
black pants with thin silver stripes down each side and a white scarf at his
neck, he thought he’d do.

“You’re going as Blackbeard Riku, are you?”

He ignored her until he was sure his lip paint was on
straight. Red and deliberately artificial it would probably wear off quickly
but it created a cool effect. He’d gelled and sprayed his hair, teasing it into
hard spikes. To finish he found a classic, expensive Swiss watch, wafer-thin,
platinum, to add contrast to everything else and suggest he knew what he was
doing. One long earring and a collection of tiny studs in his other ear, all
stars, a constellation of ear jewelry.

He stepped back, coolly examined the result and declared
himself ready.

“Wow. So you want people to notice you?”

He shot her a grin. “Showtime.” He had a particular reason
for dressing like this tonight but he didn’t think he’d tell her. She might
object. Let her think he planned to face his press prepared. Half the answer,
anyway, he told himself, trying to work out his decision to dress so
elaborately for a dinner with his family.

For once he wanted them to see. They might not understand
but they could at least see Riku the rock musician.

They took a cab to the restaurant and he held her hand
loosely, slouching against the side of the car so he could watch her.

“What does your family usually call you?” she asked.

“I was Ri-Ri to my sisters when I was a baby. I’ve been Rye-ku
and Riku. I answer to them all.” He found his name a source of amusement
sometimes but at least they hadn’t called him something complicated that he had
to spell every time.

She fixed on one. “Ri-Ri?”

“Yeah, well.” He waved his free hand negligently. His huge,
faceted obsidian ring flashed in the light of the street lamps. In this city it
never got truly dark. “When I was a baby I called myself Ri-Ri and my sisters
did too. My brothers did it to annoy me more than anything else. I towered
above them far too early.”

She laughed. “I can see that. You’re what, six two, taller?”

He nodded. “A freak to my family.”

“Not to a basketball player.”

He grinned. “Okay, you got me there.”

He’d let her see the incipient fondness between his siblings
without showing her the way his parents quashed it. Time to disabuse her. “My
parents made the kids practice until they got my name right. No nicknames
allowed. We all went to school early.”

“All kids do.”

“Not boarding school.”

A small silence. She turned her head to stare out the
window, not letting him see her feelings. She must know he could read her
fairly well by now. He enjoyed watching her curls tamed into the style that
made the most of her graceful neck. Already he wanted her again. He’d always
had a healthy libido. It was working overtime with no sign of settling anytime
soon.

The car drew up outside the restaurant and Riku, who was
nearest the sidewalk, exited first. He opened the door to screams and yells but
ignored them to reach in and help her out.

She winced but he’d taken care not to disturb her injuries.
He murmured in her ear. “It’s okay. Our security’s here.”