Chapter Twenty
Gabby
Having Jonathan here is good. But also weird. We spend most of our time in his hotel room, closeted away from the world. He plays for me, familiar favorites like “Everything” and a new song he calls “Goodbye Kisses.” That one brings tears to my eyes. The only time we leave is for him to drop me off for class in the mornings and pick me up in the afternoons.
We order room service and spend almost the entire time we’re together naked. He even convinces me to practice naked, which makes me laugh at first, but the way his eyes devour me with love and lust quells the urge to laugh. I’ve never thought of practicing as sexy, but it is this way.
After I’m done, he waits for me to put everything away, then stands and removes my case from my hand, gently setting it against the wall.
Then he clasps my hands in his, bringing them to his lips, kissing the indents left from the strings on each of my left fingers, the red spot on my right index finger where it presses into the bow. He draws me close, his lips linger on the mark the violin leaves on my neck. He told me once he was jealous that my violin got to leave visible marks on me while he didn’t. But this doesn’t feel like jealousy. This feels like reverence.
His hands leave mine, stroking down my back as he kisses me. The way his hands glide over my skin, his lips kissing a path up my neck and over my jaw before finally claiming mine, seems intentional. Planned. Like he was imagining this while he waited.
He read a book while I played, and I largely managed to ignore him. But every so often I felt his eyes on me, and when I glanced over at him, he stared at me, his eyes dark and heated.
But he didn’t do anything or say anything to try to get me to hurry or cut my practice session short. His words from Tuesday echo in my mind about him supporting me no matter what.
When his fingers slide between my legs, parting me, easing inside, finding me slick and ready for him after his slow, drugging kisses, he lets out a soft sound of satisfaction. “On the bed,” he whispers against my mouth, removing his hand because he knows if he doesn’t, I’ll stay right where I am no matter what he says.
With a whimper of protest that makes him grin, I move toward the bed, Jonathan right with me. He has me lie on my front, and then starts worshiping my body again, starting with my right foot, he rubs with his thumbs, kissing the top of my foot, then my ankle, working his way up my leg, massaging my calf, then my thigh, brushing his lips over each part in turn. After placing a kiss on my low back, he moves to my left leg, giving it the same attention.
I groan in distress when he skips over my center, sliding his hands up my back, the bed dipping as he climbs on with me. But he proceeds to give me a massage, alternating between using his hands and his mouth, nipping, kissing, tonguing a few places. By the time he’s done, I’m even more worked up. He is too, if the hot and heavy erection resting against my ass as he straddles me is anything go by.
Enjoying the attention, but also getting tired of waiting for what I really want, I rub my ass against him, provoking a grunt from him, then his teeth scraping against my shoulder.
He rubs his dick over me as he puts his mouth right next to my ear. “Is this what you want, Gabby?”
“God, yes.”
His teeth graze my neck, and he moves off me, his legs nudging mine apart to make room for him. His hands go to my hips, pulling them up. Going up on my elbows, I arch more, presenting myself to him, waiting for him to fill me up.
The crinkle of a wrapper ripping reaches my ears, the distinct sound of a condom unrolling, and then one hand is on my hip, the blunt head of him sliding against my opening.
“You ready for me?” he asks, his voice low and gruff with need.
“I’ve been ready forever.”
He plunges inside, hard enough to steal my breath and push me forward, but his hands pull me back toward him. He starts up a slow, smooth rhythm. “God, watching you play for me, like that. Holy fuck, Gabby. Do you know how hot you are when you play? Watching your breasts bounce as you attack the violin? I’ve been hard for over an hour, waiting for you to finish.” He fucks me harder as he talks, then slows down again, his hands smoothing up and down my back once more.
I pull my hair over one shoulder so I can look back at him. “Then why’d you make me wait so long, teasing me like that?”
His eyes narrow, and his hips slap against my ass. “Payback.”
In this position, he’s hitting my G-spot with every thrust. The feeling is so intense that I think I could come from this alone. And when his fingers slide down, gathering wetness from where we’re joined, then circling my clit, I cry out. My head drops down between my arms because I don’t know how much of this I can handle.
“That’s it. Fuck, Gabby. Let go. Let go for me.” His fingers press harder, rub faster, and he pounds into me. My fingers curl into the blankets, and I come hard, my head snapping up with a wordless cry.
His fingers still, but continue pressing into me, his other hand wrapped around my hip as he groans through his own release seconds after mine. He stays pressed into me like that, breathing hard. Then he places a kiss between my shoulder blade and pulls out. I collapse onto the bed, completely spent.
After he’s disposed of the condom, he climbs back in bed, gathering me against him, kissing my shoulder. “What am I going to do with you?”
I turn my head to look at him, arching an eyebrow. “Um, that? That works for me.”
A low chuckle rumbles through him, and I feel the vibrations from his chest in my back. I love feeling his voice, his laugh, in my body. Something about it almost more intimate than what we just did.
He squeezes me tighter, sighing with contentment. “Have you made plans for Thanksgiving yet? Joining your brother again?”
I shake my head. “No. They’re going to Seattle to watch one of his friends play football. Their whole group is going. I could probably finagle an invite if I begged, but I thought I might have another option.”
“Oh yeah? And who might that be?”
Narrowing my eyes at his smirk, I give him a light smack on the arm wrapped around me. “Ha. My other boyfriend.”
He lets out a growl.
“Oh, you don’t like it when I play that game?”
He flips me over and holds himself above me. “No. I don’t like that game. I don’t like the idea of you with anyone else.”
Stroking a hand over his cheek and down his chest, I meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. It was a joke.” But I can’t hold his gaze as I continue. “I don’t like the idea of you with anyone else, either.”
Tension melts out of his body, and he lets more of his weight rest on me. “Hey.” It’s a soft plea for attention, but I can’t make my eyes meet his. “You know there’s no one else.”
I nod, keeping my eyes on where my hand slides over his shoulder. “Yeah. I do. But I hate when I see pictures of you and Charlotte James under headlines speculating about your relationship. Or the long lines of girls waiting for a chance to see you with signs professing their love or offering sexual favors.”
He moves his head so I’m forced to look at his face. “You’ve met Charlie. You know there’s nothing going on between us. She’s like a sister to me. We’ve never had any kind of romantic relationship. And the fans …” He sighs. “That’s part of the gig. It makes me uncomfortable to see those things, too. But none of that means anything to me.”
“I know. I do. But it still stings that all the tabloids are so eager to have you cheat on me or break up with me.”
He kisses me. “I know. I’m sorry. If I could somehow stop them, I would. You know I would. But there’s nothing I can do. You know they’re lies. I know they’re lies. The only thing we can do is ignore them and be happy.”
“Are we happy?”
His arms slide under my back, squeezing me close. “I’m happy when I’m with you. Being apart is torture. The only moments that get me through are when I’m on stage and knowing I’ll get to see you again soon.”
I squeeze him back. “Me too,” I whisper, tears prickling at my eyes. “I hate that I can’t just go with you all the time.”
He opens his mouth, closes it, and clears his throat. “Spend Thanksgiving week with me. Skip two days of class and spend all week with me. I have a few concerts, but we can relax on the holiday itself. Have fun. Just us.”
His face is open, honest, sincere, his eyes transmitting the depth of his love. A smile stretches across my face. “I’d like that.”
He hugs me hard again, kissing me deeply. When he pulls back, I keep him close, but not so close I’m cross-eyed. With a deep breath, I spit out the next thing on my mind. “I want you to spend Christmas with me. With my family, I mean. I want you to meet my parents, finally, and stay with us. Will you?”
His smile is blinding. “I can’t think of a better way to spend Christmas than with you and your family.”
His response makes me happy. But will he think the same thing when Christmas actually rolls around? My dad’s still not on board with this whole relationship. So he might give Jonathan a rough time. At least at first. But I know Mom will love him. And she’ll get Dad to come around eventually.
I hope.