Chocolate Page 7

  That didn’t stop me from letting out a breathless gasp though. God he felt good. No matter how many times Luke and I had sex, it never became monotonous. It was new and different every time and I never got tired of feeling this connected, this close to him.

  Luke groaned. “Ugh, Lyss, you are so perfect. I’m going to worship this little body from now until the day I die. You’re all mine.” He paused to give me time to adjust, but I could feel his eagerness pulsing through him. “Are you ready?” he whispered.

  His breath against the side of my neck made me shiver. Unable to speak, I simply nodded my assent.

  He pulled out and pushed back in slowly. Almost painfully so. “Luke,” I said softly as I pressed my hips back to meet his. Now that we were joined, I wanted to feel the raw power that I knew he possessed. A gentle rhythm just wasn’t going to cut it. He knew it too. Wordlessly, he picked up the pace. In and out, in and out. Relentlessly. The only sound in the room was our hurried breathing and the television show that was still playing on the screen in front of us, which we both ignored.

  On and on we went. I arched my back to meet each thrust. Luke let out an animalistic growl and sunk his teeth into the base of my neck. Fucking vampire I was sleeping with. I’d been bitten more times in the last month than in the rest of my life combined. I kind of liked it though. It was primal, possessive. Like he was marking me as his.

  “Ah, Lyssa,” Luke panted. His body tensed up, his hands gripped mine even tighter, and I knew he was close.

  I was getting there, but I needed a little more time. “Yes, Luke,” I gasped. “Keep going.”

  A struggled sound escaped his lips and he slowed. “I just need a second,” he said. “I lose all control with you.”

  I nodded, let my head drop, and closed my eyes, entirely focused on the connection between our bodies. Our momentary détente allowed time for my anticipation to grow, so that when we started up again, I couldn’t help but groan at the renewed stimulation.

  Within minutes, I felt the familiar sensation building in my core. I was going to come.

  “Ah, yes. Yes!” I cried. Luke was forceful, demanding. He urged me up higher and higher, toward the precipice that I couldn’t wait to fall over.

  Luke formed no words. Just heavy, concentrated breathing against my ear while his dampened chest slid against my back. Finally he choked out, “Come on Lyssa. Let go.”

  And then I did. My whole body tightened as pure pleasure coursed through me. From behind me, I could hear Luke moan his release while he wrapped one arm around my waist to keep me pressed against him.

  I kept my eyes shut firmly while I struggled to perform the basic task of breathing. Oh my god that was amazing. Two thumbs up for impromptu living room sex. An unexpected delight. Sure to leave you wanting more.

  But not right now. Right now, I was completely and utterly spent. I barely managed to stay upright and the only thing preventing my wobbly knees from buckling and sending me crashing to the floor was Luke’s strong arm across my stomach.

  He caught his breath more quickly than I did, and he capitalized on my ongoing fatigue by scooping me up in his arms and carrying me back around to the other side of the couch. Instead of placing me on the cushions, though, he deposited me on the floor in front of it. The fuzzy rug tickled my naked thighs, but I quickly settled into it. Luke grabbed a blanket and wrapped me in it, pushed the coffee table out of the way, and then went to retrieve the comforter and some pillows from his bed.

  “Are we building a fort?” I inquired when I saw him returning with all the necessary materials. “Or a bare-acks, if you will? Ha! Get it?” I asked. Man, I am funny.

  He smiled and shook his head. “What did I tell you about punning in the nude, L.L.?”

  “I know but, come on, it was right there.”

  “We can build a fort if you want,” he said as he sat down next to me. “But I was more so planning to just lie down and watch TV.” Then he set about creating a little nest for us to lounge in.

  “Okay, yeah, that’s a better idea,” I said. I propped a pillow against the base of the couch and settled in.

  Luke reclined, put his arm around me, and pulled me close so that I was lying against his chest.

  We were both quiet for a minute until he asked, “So, anyway, how much is the last hour going to set me back?”

  I laughed, realizing that he was referencing our earlier conversation about me turning tricks for cash. “Hmm, I don’t know, big spender. I mean, there’s the sex, the kissing on the lips,” I said as I pretended to total up his charges on my fingers, “plus the sweatshirt mending work. You know what? Why don’t I just invoice you?”

  “Are you going to leave a bill on my nightstand?” he asked incredulously. “I feel so dirty.”

  We both chuckled before a comfortable silence washed over us again. I think I may have even dozed off for a minute or two. I couldn’t help it. Sex plus the steady rhythm of Luke’s hand caressing my back equaled goodnight Lyssa. It was such a serene moment.

  A while later, the muted ding of Luke’s text message indicator rang out in the apartment. His phone was in the pocket of his pants, which had been discarded a few feet away. When it rang out twice more, I guess Luke finally decided that he needed to get up and deal with it.

  I leaned forward to allow him to get to his feet. He padded over to his rumpled pile of clothing, pulled out his phone, and stood for a minute while he scrolled through it. The whole time, I literally just stared at him, posed over there in all his male glory. Wowie wow wow wow. I was honestly baffled by why this incredible person had chosen to be with me.

  “It’s a group text with all the guys,” he said, still looking at the screen. I’d been around long enough to know that “the guys” meant his bandmates. “They want to do some beer tasting thing on the North Side next week. Do you want to go?”

  “I mean, yeah,” I said. “But are you sure you want me to? Like, is this a male bonding, no girls allowed type of thing? I don’t want the other guys to mutiny on you.”

  “What? No,” he said as he dropped his phone back down onto the heap. “You’re my old lady. You’re always invited where I’m invited. Plus, I want you to come.” He said it so matter-of-factly that I was sure he didn’t realize how sweet he was being. I’d never been with someone who genuinely wanted to hang out with me as much as Luke did. It was such a simple thing, but it made me feel really good about myself and like him even more, if that was possible.

  When he sat back down next to me and pulled the covers around us once more, I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out, “Can I just ask you something?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why me?”

  He stared at me, perplexed. “Why you what?”

  I looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Instead I played with a stray thread on the comforter I was wrapped in. “I mean, why are you with me? I’ve been to one of your shows. You literally have girls screaming your name. You could have anyone you wanted. Why choose me, a socially awkward twenty-something with no real life experience or notoriety to speak of? I haven’t traveled, I don’t have a lot of money, I –”

  “Stop it Lyssa. Right now. I’m serious.” He suddenly sounded really angry and I didn’t understand why.

  I looked up at him. “…What?”

  “I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself like that. Not now, not ever.”

  “I’m just saying –”

  “No, you’re just pointing out a bunch of characteristics about yourself that don’t matter to me one bit. You want to know what does matter to me? You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re interesting, you’re challenging. Not to mention you are stunningly beautiful.”

  “Well, that’s not true.”

  “You are. And in any event, I think you are, and that’s the most important thing. I knew I wanted to be with you from the minute you walked into that conference room and went all Heat-of-the-Night ‘Call me Ms. Lyons’ on me. And if you can’t see all the t
hings that I see in you, well then that’s just a fucking crime.” He paused for a second before he said, “And it’s hard for me because I sit here and I look at you and I’m so happy, but I just know that one day you’re going to look around and realize that you’re with some washed up singer in his thirties. And then this whole thing is going to come crashing down,” he finished dejectedly.

  “Now who’s not giving himself enough credit?” I asked. “You think I care about you being a famous singer? I don’t. In fact, the thought of having to go to an awards show or appear on a red carpet with you gives me hives. I just want you to do what makes you happy. If that’s writing music, then great. If it’s not anymore, then whatever. You are a singular human being, Luke Davies. That’s why I’m with you. Plus, you don’t even know if you’re washed up yet.”

  “‘Yet’ being the operative word,” he said.

  I wasn’t going to let him go down that path. “So what is it you really want to do?” I asked. “What makes you happy?”

  “Writing music. I want to write music.”

  “Well,” I said, “then let’s really get into what’s holding you back from doing that.”

  “Right now?”

  “Sure,” I said casually. “I feel like we’re naked, we’re sitting on the floor. It seems like the ideal time to do some hippie-style soul searching. If you want, you can even lie against me and I’ll say something about you having eighty-eight inches of therapy wrapped around you. Although I don’t think my legs are nearly that long. Now,” I said, patting the space right next to my thigh, “tell me where you’re getting stuck.”

  He lay down and pulled me against him so that we were both staring up at the ceiling. Alright, this position worked too. “Okay,” he began. “Well, I guess my first album was about my misspent youth, you know? It was light, it was easy, it was about partying and having fun. Which was all fine when I was in my twenties. But now writing about the same old stuff seems forced. I just feel like, I’m in my thirties and, maybe it’s cliché, but I’m looking for a more mature sound. I want to write about deeper, more complex things.”

  I thought about that for a beat. The answer seemed so obvious. “So then do it,” I replied simply. “Luke, it’s okay to write about something different. I interview bands that are trying new things all the time.”

  “I know, but I feel like people expect a certain sound and subject matter from me.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But artists evolve, Luke. Or at least the good ones do. Your fans will understand that.”

  He paused. “So, you’re saying that I should start hanging out with a maharishi and dropping acid?”

  “Yeah, I mean, if that’s what it takes,” I shrugged. “Maybe incorporate a tambura. Or a sitar.”

  “Good call,” he nodded against the top of my head. “No, but maybe you’re right. I should stop fighting it. I think…I don’t know, I’ve been having some ideas for songs lately. Not fully formed melodies or anything. Just ideas. Maybe I should explore them.”

  “Sure. What have you got to lose, right?”

  “Yeah. Thanks Lyss,” he said. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around. You know, other than for what we just did.” Then he kissed my forehead and sat up. He walked over to his discarded clothes and threw on some boxers before he picked up his guitar. So I guess he’s going to start exploring his new song ideas right now. He settled into a chair near the window and pulled out a notebook. One thing about living with another writer was that pens and paper were never out of reach.

  He began strumming his guitar and then scribbled something down on the paper, strummed and scribbled, strummed and scribbled. Every once in a while there was some faint humming mixed in with the strumming. I watched him for a while, happy to see him finally engrossed in his music. But soon I gathered up the comforter and pillows and made my way back to the bedroom. It was getting late and I wanted to read for a bit before I went to bed. Plus, I wanted to give him some privacy. I mean, I certainly didn’t appreciate it when someone looked over my shoulder while I was trying to write, and I was guessing that Luke felt the same way.

  He entered the bedroom a while later, just as I was turning out the light. He walked over to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then crawled into bed with me.

  “Creative breakthrough?” I asked after he wound his arms around me.

  “Too soon to tell, but it’s definitely something,” he said. “For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m writing something that’s good.”

  “That’s great,” I yawned deeply and closed my eyes.

  “Yeah, it is,” he replied softly as he pulled me in close. Then he said, “You’re very important to me, L.L. More important than you’ll probably ever know. I just wanted to tell you that.”

  It was so sweet and out of the blue. The nicest thing to hear at such a peaceful moment. I put my hand over his on my chest. “You’re important to me too,” I said.

  The last thing I remembered was the gentle caress of Luke’s lips against the back of my neck before I fell asleep.

  It’s Beginning To Get To Me

  Luke spent a lot of time in the studio working on his new music over the next month. Whereas before his schedule had been pretty erratic, with only the occasional meeting here or appearance there, now it was regimented. Every day he left the apartment around nine. If I had to go into my office, he would drop me off on his way. Then he’d go and do whatever it is musicians do all day when they’re in a studio. But he’d always return home in the evenings so we could have dinner and spend time together at night.

  He seemed happier too. More confident. I mean, he’d always been fun to hang out with, but now it seemed like there was more light in his eyes, like he’d found his purpose in life again, like he’d gotten his groove back. His renewed drive and passion made him even sexier to me than he’d been before. There were times when I’d catch myself practically drooling over him while he did something totally mundane, like wash the dishes. He was like a magnet that was drawing me in to him all the time.

  For the first week or so after he started writing again, I would ask him what his songs were about or if I could hear his new stuff, but he always remained tight-lipped about it. “You’ll hear it when it’s done,” he’d say. “And not a second before.” The only thing that I managed to pry out of him was that he was recording a completely new album – an ambitious endeavor, since the release date for his second record was slated for mid-February and he didn’t start going to the studio until after the first of the year. But he knew what he was capable of, so after a while, I gave up pestering him about what he was working on. It wasn’t getting me anywhere, and I believed that, true to his word, I would hear it when he finished it.

  Finally, one evening in early February –

  “It’s done!” Luke declared as he strode into the apartment and threw down his coat.

  I’d been working from home all day, and at the moment I was sitting on the couch with my computer perched on my outstretched legs. “Is it?” I asked, peering at him over the top of the screen. There was no need for me to ask what he was referring to. I knew it was the album.

  “It is.” He walked over to me, lifted my computer off of my lap, and placed it on the coffee table. Then he stretched his long body out on top of mine. So I guess I was done working for the day too. With his head resting on my chest, he breathed in deeply and snaked his arms around my waist. I was no stranger to the sense of elated fatigue that he was clearly experiencing right now. I felt it almost every time I turned in a long assignment at work. Or in college when I’d submitted a term paper at the end of the semester.

  “Well, congratulations,” I stroked my hands up and down his back.

  “Thank you.” Luke’s voice was muffled by the bulky sweatshirt I was wearing. It was actually his. I’d picked it out of one of his drawers this morning. I liked to wear clothes that made me look borderline homeless when I wasn’t at the office because I felt like it made me more
productive. Oversized sweatshirts were obviously a must.

  I allowed him a minute to enjoy the silence before I asked, “Do I finally get to hear it?”

  He shook his head, his hair tickling the exposed skin on my neck. “Not yet.”

  “Why?” I whined. Damnit. I’ve had the patience of a saint waiting to hear this thing.

  He turned his head to the side. “Because it’s written, but it’s going to take another couple of days for us to finish editing it,” he explained. “You are undoubtedly familiar with the process common to all literary and musical pursuits of polishing one’s work to make it sound exactly the way one wants it to.”

  “Yes, I am familiar with said process,” I mocked his erudite tone. “But I’m not reviewing it for Rolling Stone. I just want to hear what you’ve been working on.”

  “Patience grasshopper.” His words were stifled as he lifted his head and began kissing me all over my neck and collarbone. “The best things in life are worth waiting for.”

  I tried to hang on to my annoyance, but it was no use. Instead, I squirmed, reveling in the delicious sensation of his lips pressed against me and sinking down lower on the couch to give him better access. I wanted to reply to what he’d just said with some witty retort, but his mouth – his magical, perfect mouth – was quickly making me lose my train of thought. “Umm, something about gathering rosebuds…” I said breathlessly.

  “Shhh,” he whispered against the tender spot just below my ear. “We’re done talking now.”

  And at the moment, that was just fine with me.

  The next day, I was busy making dinner when Luke got home from the studio. And by “making dinner,” I meant setting out the containers of Chinese food that I’d just picked up from the restaurant down the street. I swore Luke and I single-handedly kept that place and the burger joint next to it in business. They were welcome.