Tara had been in my apartment twenty minutes, and I still hadn’t reached for my cello yet. I’d stalled by showing her around—all five hundred square feet of my one-bedroom place—and then poured us some wine and asked about her day.
And then I stalled further by scheduling the final rehearsal at Elena’s studio.
“Are you okay?” she asked once we were both seated on my couch, a glass in hand. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”
Since the day she’d come to my match, we’d gotten so close. Between orchestra, rugby training, and learning her audition piece, it was difficult to find time to see her, but we talked and texted several times throughout the day.
Every day.
Which meant I’d put off the bad news long enough. I sighed. “I need to play the song for you, so you can decide what you want to do. I’m not sure you’re going to be happy with it.”
Her expression was dubious. Did she think I was being humble? I wasn’t. I needed my performance to be perfect, and even my best run through the song wasn’t close. I set my wine down, stood, and marched to the cello resting in its stand, snatching up the bow hanging beside it. The chair I’d play in was across from the couch, and as I sat and settled into position, Tara began to struggle out of her shirt.
“What are you doing?”
She flung the shirt onto the cushion beside her and hitched her fingers under the waistband of her skintight leggings. “I’m getting naked.”
“I see that.” My mouth watered at the sight of her tits, since the black bra she wore was sheer and see-through. “Any reason why?”
She’d taken off her heels when she’d arrived, so there was nothing to slow her down as she shimmied out of her pants, revealing her long, gorgeous legs. “I think it might help you.”
“You mean to distract me?”
“No,” she said. Her expression was determined. “I think you feel vulnerable playing for me. I thought this way we could be equal.”
I was touched by her gesture, but she was insane. “You’re underestimating the power you have when you’re naked.”
Her smile was lopsided, but she wouldn’t be deterred. Her arms twisted behind her back, her bra was unclasped, and off it came. Her breasts swayed as she hooked her fingers under her panties and pushed them down over her knees.
Was I truly stupid enough to complain about this? If my stunningly beautiful and sexy as hell girlfriend wanted to listen to me butcher the song while she was nude, I should be grateful.
She crossed her legs, folded her hands into her lap, and waited dutifully for me to start. She looked regal, like a queen sitting on a throne rather than my leather couch, and although she’d taken off her clothes so we could be equal, we weren’t. Our power exchange was flipped upside down, and I was off-balance with the lack of control.
When I was in charge, she liked to please, but it wasn’t the same for me in this role. I wouldn’t feel satisfaction at pleasing her—only relief that I hadn’t disappointed.
I swallowed thickly, straightened my posture, and pressed play on the recording.
The piano intro was short. I had to start playing as soon as I heard the music, but as I struck my bow across the strings, my fear evaporated. The tight tension released from my shoulders and I relaxed into my movements, suddenly finding it easy to keep time with the hurried tempo.
Every note was echoed on her face. Her eyebrows lifted, and her lips parted, but she didn’t seem to be breathing. Maybe she didn’t want anything to interfere with the sound of my cello as it sang.
As I played, energy flowed from my fingers. It was exhilarating.
We passed the two-minute mark, but I kept playing along with the recording, having memorized the whole song just in case. Tara looked like she was hanging on every note in awe, and it was clear what had been missing from all those times I’d practice.
Her. Tara was the spark.
My spark.
Whoa. My brain told me to pump the brakes. It was much too soon to be thinking like that.
As I struck the last chord, she rose from the couch. The sustain on the piano faded to nothing and the recording ended, and in the new silence, her expression shifted. Her eyes smoldered and she stared at me like I was her trapped prey.
When she stalked forward, I hurried to get the cello back in its stand in time to make room for her. She climbed into my lap, draping her legs over me and shoving her warm hands up under my shirt.
Her lips tasted like wine and longing.
I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her deeper into the kiss, and in that instant, the power dynamic flipped right-side up. I was fully clothed, but she was totally nude and writhing in my arms from my hungry kiss.