FascinatingRhythm (8 page)

The journalist offered a stammered apology and several
people took pictures. The sound bite, the headline. Hunter had learned to spot
them when they appeared. Whatever she said now wouldn’t be as important.

But Emmelie didn’t develop her argument. Instead, she
started to calmly explain the way her party worked and that she hoped to be the
first deaf prime minister of the country one day. Hunter didn’t doubt it, but
Emmelie had to employ a good publicity manager or learn to pick her chances
when she could. That one sentence embodied her cause and everything she fought
for, and she should have built on it, not gone on to something else.

When the conference had concluded, with a whimper rather
than a bang, he offered to escort his mother to the private refreshments room.
One of Chick’s assistants informed the press they were welcome to stay for a
while, and they left.

Hunter kept hold of Sabina’s hand. She didn’t speak, and
from the way she stayed with him and didn’t venture any opinions, he thought
she might be tired. The release from the tension of making the decision
probably hadn’t helped. But when he suggested they just get a cab to the hotel,
she shook her head. “This is fascinating,” she said. “What chance will I ever
have of experiencing this again?”

If he had anything to do with it, she’d do it repeatedly,
until she was as sick of it as he was sometimes. He loved the music, the
creation, the camaraderie of the band and the stage performances. It was the
other stuff—the draggy travel, the hotel living, good though the hotels were
these days, the fucking conferences and the recognition. Fuck, he hated the
recognition, the way people stared at him. What was he, weird or something?
Wasn’t he supposed to enjoy that part?

They reached the private room occupied by the band and their
immediate staff. Nobody from the venue, none of the press, no photos allowed.
He didn’t have to tell Sabina how privileged that made her. She knew. Not that
he saw it that way, but when he turned to smile at her and introduce her to the
band, he saw the expression of awed recognition that he’d seen so many times
with other people. He hadn’t wanted to see it in hers. “They’re only people,”
he signed, his back to the room.

“I know,” she signed back. “I’m fine.”

The guys looked exhausted, even more than usual. It had been
a particularly intense performance tonight. He wasn’t sure why, but he
appreciated it. Zazz grinned broadly, an expression he rarely used in public.
“So how’s it feel to come home in triumph?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” They were playing Zazz’s hometown
later in the tour. “It feels fuckin’ brilliant.”

“It’s good to meet you, Sabina.” Jace had his arm around
Beverley, who wasn’t only Chick’s right-hand man, so to speak, but the love of
Jace’s life. Jace declared it often, amused by Beverley’s reticence.

Sabina answered for herself. “Thank you.”

Those within earshot froze. “I didn’t realize you could
talk,” Jace said. Hunter would have paid to see the expression of shock on his
face. Laid-back Jace, who nothing fazed, was now officially surprised. Even
better, he grew flustered. A pink tinge edged his cheekbones. “Sorry, I mean,
you know, talk with your mouth, not your hands.”

“You’re fine. I know.” Unlike Jace, Sabina wasn’t in the
least surprised. She must have faced this situation or variations on it many
times. A pity she couldn’t hear Donovan’s shout of laughter.

“Jace, man, she got you.”

Jace gave a rueful grin. “She did. You did. It’s a very
pretty voice.”

“Thanks.”

After that, the band accepted her, relaxed around her, and
they could get on with the post-mortem, most of which came from Chick.
“Fucking-A tonight,” he said. “Keep it up.” Chick rarely interfered with what
happened onstage. He left the artistic side entirely up to the band and the
rest of the team—sound, lighting, the techies who kept the electronic equipment
up and so on. And the band controlled it all. Sometimes Hunter pined for the
days when the band could carry their equipment in the back of a van. Sometimes
the others did too, and they’d play a small surprise gig somewhere. Not
tonight. He had other plans for tonight.

He motioned to the table piled high with food and drink.
“Anybody want to party?” When Jace shook his head and Donovan looked at his
girlfriend, who had a modest sandwich or two, Chick roared with laughter.
“You’ll have kids and a mortgage soon. Well, not the mortgage, maybe.”

Zazz, Riku and V, who was solo until Paris, decided they
could last a few more hours, but the others slunk away. Including Hunter. Why
should he waste his time here when he could be fucking Sabina?

Back at the hotel, Hunter whisked Sabina into their room and
started undressing her. “Not had enough of me?” she asked, teasing him. It only
reminded him they didn’t have much time before he had to leave for the next
gig.

“No,” he said as he stripped off her jeans. He glanced
around the room and found what he was looking for before returning his
attention to her. He paused, his hands on her bare hips. All she wore was her
underwear. “Hungry? We didn’t stop to eat.”

“I’m fine. Room service later.”

“Chocolate dessert?” He loved the way she flushed when he
said that. They hadn’t even done anything with the dessert yet, only thought
about it. Watching her, never taking his attention from her face, he picked up
the phone and ordered room service.

He could imagine a few things. Did she like the idea?
Time
to find out.
She looked edible herself, standing in the center of the room,
dressed only in a pretty lavender silk bra and panties and nothing else. He
made a twirling motion with his fingers. Obligingly, she turned around. His
mouth went dry and he had to swallow. The hollow of her back urged him to lick,
taste, and then curve his hand into the delectable shape while he pressed her
as close as he could get her. The panties creased into her buttocks, caught in
the cleft between, outlining her stunning shape.

She turned back. “Did you say anything?”

“No.” Though he might have groaned, he wasn’t sure. He
beckoned to her, a sultan to his slave, except he was the one under a thrall.
This time he wouldn’t deny what they had. When the tour had finished, he’d come
back for her.

Smiling, she came to him, taking her time, her saunter
emphasizing her graceful movements. She shook her hair, a curtain of midnight
drawing his gaze. When she got to him, the person on the end of the phone
answered, asking him for his order, and for a few seconds, he couldn’t
remember. “Chocolate dessert,” she whispered, and he marveled at her control
over the pitch of her voice.

“Chocolate dessert,” he said, and patiently listened to the
list of chocolate desserts on offer, while he let his hand trace the path his
gaze had followed a moment earlier. He smoothed his palm over the sweet shape
of her back, drinking in the silken texture of her skin. And that after a hurried
and less than adequate shower at the venue.

This room, decorated in shades of brown and amber, didn’t
suit her like the room in the hotel at Stockholm had, with its black and blue
décor. Sabina was made for clear, cold colors, her pale skin reflecting their
purity.

He ordered a little of everything because none of the
recital meant much to him. Then he remembered to add a selection of sandwiches
to his order and a dry white wine. He hung up.

“What shall we do until the food arrives?” He turned her to
face him and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Can you think of
anything?”

She shook her head, her hair swirling. Taking a strand
between his fingers, he let it thread through. “You’re made of silk. Your skin,
your hair, everything.”

“Thank you.” She paused and grinned cheekily. “I think.”

Cupping her cheek, he bent his head to kiss her. Every time
they seemed to move closer, their tongues coiling against each other in
harmony, knowing what the other liked. He licked the roof of her mouth, a
neglected place but a sensitive one, and she responded by moving closer,
nestling her breasts against his chest. Her nipples, already hard, pushed
against him, urging him to do more, to arouse her until she couldn’t take any
more. The trouble was, he didn’t know if he could last that long.

One kiss melded into another and another. Lost in her, he
pulled her close, pressing their bodies together from breast to thigh, groaning
when she undulated against him. He undid the clasp on her bra and the garment
fell open but not off, because he didn’t want to separate them for that long.
She pushed his T-shirt up and explored his back with hands that trembled. She
wanted him as much as he did her.

If room service had taken longer than ten minutes, he’d have
been inside her. As it was, they ran it close. She hurried into the bathroom
when he answered the door, her modesty adorable and precious.

He saw what he wanted on the cart, and by the time she
returned, he had it in his hand. A glass dish of something gooey and chocolaty,
with two spoons inserted in either side. Having lost the bra, she came back to
him, her pretty breasts moving with her, and he watched with rising
appreciation. He’d taken off his t-shirt but still had his jeans on. She wore
only her panties. Far too much for his liking.

He took one of the spoons out of the dessert, tasted it and
made a sound of appreciation. “It’s very good, but it needs something extra.”
He grinned, deciding to see if orders turned her on. She’d be sure to tell him
if they didn’t.

“You. Take off your panties.” He glanced around, deciding on
the setting. “Go into the bathroom and get one of the towels. Come back, spread
it over that sofa,” he indicated the amber upholstered item of furniture
gracing this part of the room, “and sit on it. Legs wide apart. I’m going to
eat you, baby, eat you all up.” Already his mouth watered.

Her gaze heated to boiling point, the brown lighting with
arousal. He loved that look. She said nothing, only did as he demanded. Slipped
off her panties and left them on the floor, went into the bathroom and returned
with a soft, ivory-colored towel. Turning her back, she took her time arranging
it, standing with her legs apart. When she bent to smooth creases out of the
towel, he glimpsed her pussy, glistening with her juices.

Enough. Dropping to his knees behind her, he pressed one
hand against her back, preventing her from straightening. “Stay there.” She
couldn’t hear him, couldn’t read him because there was no reflective surface
for her to see. But she got the message.

The chocolate had some viscosity to it, but it was thicker
than the juice she was producing for him. He dipped the spoon, then held it up
over her back, watching the mixture land on her spine. She shivered. The
dessert must have been refrigerated before being put into the chilled glass
that held it. The change in temperature and the texture would entice her. The
chocolate slid down toward the cleft between her buttocks. It never got there
because he lapped it up. It tasted good, but not as good as her. Her aroma
wreathed around him, womanly, irresistible, like apples and spice, laced with
the musk of arousal.

When he dipped the spoon back in the dish, her soft sigh
drifted into his senses like the finest guitar chord, the most subtle melody
Riku could lay down. Hunter scoffed at the thought. Even Riku couldn’t rival
this, couldn’t get close.

Taking his time, he daubed her pussy with chocolate. Some of
it dripped, but he just put more chocolate in place. He wouldn’t have objected
to wrecking the sofa, but he knew she would so he’d given her the concession of
a towel.

She had her fists clenched, propped on the seat, holding her
upright. She’d have to stay there a while, but if she sagged, he’d catch her.
He’d always catch her.

Sweet. The scent of good chocolate blended with her own and
he couldn’t wait to taste her, but he deliberately took care painting her,
using the back of the spoon as a spatula, drawing the edge gently through to
make patterns which, sadly, the mixture wasn’t firm enough to hold for more than
a few seconds. He wanted the anticipation, to drive them both to the screaming
point. His mouth watered.

Her soft sighs and moans, hardly audible, told him what his
game was doing to her. He drew the spoon along the center, pulled it back and
circled the entrance before licking the bowl clean and reversing it, using the
rounded end now. He drew more patterns but with more purpose, concentrating on
her most sensitive parts, her clit and further back, the slit that led to
heaven. His cock felt heavy in his pants, but he ignored it as well as he
could. He wanted to play.

Her ass tempted him, two plump peaches with the occasional
daub of chocolate where the spoon had dripped. He licked the concoction off one
buttock, letting the tip of his tongue linger. Then he went to work.

He had to bend farther and tip back his head to reach her
properly. As he took his first taste of chocolate-flavored Sabina, she sank
down, resting on her elbows on the seat of the sofa instead of her hands. The
action pushed her ass farther up and out toward him. She had to shift back to
give herself space, but that meant her pussy hovered over his mouth now.

Disdaining hesitation, he feasted. Slurping and sipping, he
sucked off the dessert, first from her outer lips, beautifully smooth and bare,
then the insides, which tasted more of her than chocolate. He paused at her
clit, sucking and shaping the small pearl of flesh, swirling his tongue around
it to get every morsel of the dessert. No part of her skin would remain
untasted. Her moans increased in volume, and he knew she’d given up the iron
control she kept over her voice, and rejoiced that he could do that to her. He
wanted more.

Chocolate spread.
He’d put it on every rider from now
on. Even if she wasn’t there, the taste would always remind him of her, and he
could get a less than perfect reminder, like Proust’s madeleines. Murder City
Ravens liked Proust, wanted to do a song about the madeleine scene. This might
help, except he wouldn’t describe it in detail. Only how it felt.

He’d cleaned every part of her pussy except one and he
turned to it now with gusto. Circling at first, he swept the chocolate
confection into his mouth, then ringed her opening before pushing his tongue as
deep inside as he could and sucking on her. Only peach now, no chocolate, but
he didn’t give a fuck. Although he would in a minute. Give a fuck, that was.

She cried out. She was close, and he felt the juices
increase and subtly change in taste. Muskier, less sharp. Pinching her clit
between a finger and thumb, he heard her cries, wordless begging.

Triumph roared through him when she screamed and her pussy
clenched around his tongue, squeezing so tightly it made his cock jerk in his
pants.
No, not yet.
He wouldn’t come. Thank all the gods that he’d
stuffed a condom into his jeans pocket back at the venue, wanting to be
prepared for whenever, knowing he couldn’t go too much longer without taking
her again.

He stood and shed his jeans before slipping an arm around
her waist to hold her steady while he got inside. Taking his cock in his other
hand, he guided it to her. He soaked the grateful head in her juices, swirling
it around to gather up enough lubrication to drive hard and sure deep inside,
not stopping until she took every inch he had to give her.

His balls swung heavily against her body. Sabina cried his
name. Never had “Hunter!” sounded so good, so special.

Giving her no mercy, he pounded into her. He wanted her
coming again before he finally let go, so he reached forward with one hand and
tweaked a nipple. He pulled it out then twisted it, hearing her cries and
moans. They told him she didn’t want gentle and considerate. Just as well,
because he wasn’t in a gentle and considerate mood. Hard, relentless fucking
worked better for him right now.

He found her clit with his other hand, keeping up the
relentless rhythm. When she cried out, “No, no, no, no, no,” he prepared to
stop. It would kill him but he refused to hurt her, but when he slowed his
steady drives, she cried out again.

“Don’t stop, please, I’m close!” She used such a guttural,
nasal tone of voice that he knew she’d lost it. She wasn’t careful around him
now, something he’d wanted from the start of their renewed relationship. He
wasn’t fucking walking away this time.

He wanted her to hear the way their bodies met, the wet
slapping and the sucking of flesh as she grew increasingly wet. Hard and true,
he angled his body back a tad and she wailed his name. Aha, he’d found it. No
stopping now.

Hunter adored the way she screamed his name when she
climaxed. Her body convulsed so tightly he thought she might cut his dick off,
and fuck if he cared, as long as she didn’t push him away. Not fucking likely.
Now he exhaled a breath and a grunt with every stroke, until he was crying her
name too, and pouring his essence into her.

Oh yeah. Fuck, yeah.

Even better, he only had to tilt her sideways and she fell
onto the sofa, the seat just broad enough for him to tuck his body against
hers, draw her into him in the game of spoons.

If he could only do this for the foreseeable future, he’d
die a happy man.

* * * * *

Sabina came to in the shower. Still in a dreamlike state
from her orgasms, she’d let him lead her into the bathroom and do the practical
stuff. Then he held her against him while warm water poured down on them both. That
had been amazing. She’d never allowed anyone to fuck her like that before—take
her so she couldn’t see straight. Doing it that way made her feel helpless, out
of control, two things she normally hated. But this time she’d loved every
motherfucking minute.

Why didn’t worry her. She knew why. She trusted Hunter as
she’d never trusted a sex partner before. She’d known him a long time and the
only thing he’d ever done to upset her, the big, elephant-in-the-room thing,
had been walking out and not coming back. Now he’d explained and apologized she
understood, kinda, but something niggled at her about it. Out of character? No,
not really. He’d have done it if he thought it was for their own good—his and
hers.

She filed the thought away in favor of savoring the amazing
way he’d taken control, licked her into a near coma and then fucked her back to
life. Now, his big, soapy hands running over her body, her libido came back to
sleepy arousal. Not demanding, more “wouldn’t it be nice” thoughts. But between
her legs, she felt used and a bit sore. A feast of fucking after a period of
abstinence would do that. Especially with a big man, and Hunter was big in
every way.