I laugh, before I mean to. Because now I understand, this is all new to her. I take her by the shoulders and force her to look at me.
“Yes, it was for you. It was ALL for you, you were the only one on stage playing. And it was YOUR PLAYING that they were going crazy for. Why? Because you are a freaking star… and don’t you ever let anyone, ANYONE ever tell you otherwise.”
She doesn’t look away, but for a split second a see a shadow cross her face, before it’s replaced by a look of exuberation. “DAMN. FUCKING. STRAIGHT. I’m a star!” She throws her arms out and yells to no one in particular.
“You bet your as-, er, HARP you are!” Brad calls out, running towards us. “You were amazing, Anca. Really. There was something different about tonight.”
“She was happy.” We all turn to see Jez standing there, his hands deep in his pockets, his eyes fixed on Anca.
There’s something in that revelation, and it coming from him that makes us all stand silent for a moment. Then she pulls away from me and walks over to her brother, pulling him into a hug. I try to look away, wanting to give them a private moment, but I can’t help it. There’s something in the tender way he holds her, her cheek tight against his chest, his resting on her shoulder, that touches me. And makes me regret all the hurt that we’ve caused him.
They pull away, and smile at each other for a moment.
“I am happy, Jezzy.”
“I can see that, Anca. I can. Whether I want to admit to the reason or not, the fact is, you are.”
She steps away from him and back to me, slipping her hand into mine. There’s a tensing of his jaw, but that’s all.
He nods to me, and I can just barely hear the words under his breath, “Take care of her.”
I nod back, and he turns on his heels and walks away.
“Well! Um… okay then!” Brad speaks, to break the ice. “So… who’s turn is it to shout for drinks?”
“I’ll pay!” pipes up a little voice, and we all spin to see Ben walking up to us hand in hand with his Mom.
“Deal!” Brad laughs as he picks Ben up into his arms.
“Mom? Can I borrow some money?” Ben yells to his mom who rolls her eyes and throws her hands up in the air.
“Why don’t you ask Brad? He’s the millionaire!” Emily suggests, practically.
“Well, last time I asked him to buy me a toy truck, he said he needs to save his money, so there’s something for me to inherit,” Ben shoots back, his voice serious as Brad tries to hide his smile behind the little boy’s back.
We all laugh, perfectly able to imagine Brad telling him just that. In the lightness of the moment, I feel Anca lean against me and sigh. For the moment at least, it seems Jez has given his approval, and that might just have to do for now.
***
The next week rushes by in a daze. Four cities and concerts in as many days, we spend most of it either passed out on the tour bus, on stage, or in fast food restaurants trying to get enough sustenance for the next day.
Anca and I try to steal as much time alone as we can, but the moments are few and very far between. It’s harder still trying not to rub our time together in Jez’s face, who has mostly remained civil, if not avoiding us both when he can.
The only time we know we are guaranteed some moments alone is that half hour carved out before our performances that I insist we have to sit down so we can both meditate and be prepared for our concerts.
But even my mental health has to take a backseat to my need for her at times.
“Hey!” Anca squeals as I slide onto the floor in front of her, pulling her crossed legs straight and up over mine so she’s straddling my lap.
“Shhhh,” I whisper, pulling her mouth down to mine.
She responds to me instantly, and I can taste her own need in her kiss, her body arching against mine, her hips grinding down to meet the gentle rocking of my body.
“Marius… we don’t have time,” she argues, pulling her mouth off mine for a quick breath before crushing her lips against me again.
I don’t say a word, I don’t need to.
We understand each other perfectly when we’re locked together like this.
Her hand tear at my shirt and we rip, then hear the pop of a button as she lifts it over my head. Her hands then pull at her own dress, bunching it up around her waist as I trace my tongue along the length of her gorgeous, smooth neck. God, that smell, I still can’t get enough of the sweet, heady vanilla scent that lingers around her like a soft, talcum cloud. It heats my blood and hardens my cock.
Which, right now, can’t get much harder.
She lifts her hip, just high enough for me to slide the zipper down on my jeans. Suddenly her hands are around me, stroking me, and it takes all that I have not to push her down onto the floor and take her. But I know her, she likes to take her time with me, tease me, feel like she’s in control, taking me to the point where I can’t control myself, and I can’t wait to be inside her.
I close my eyes and bite my tongue, feel her slide off me, as she lowers herself to the ground between my legs. Her hands fumble with my belt buckle until she can free the button of my pants. I lift my hips, helping her slide my jeans down my legs.
And then she’s there, her mouth hot over my cock, taking me deep.
“Fuck. Anca… oh god.” I can’t help but moan, as she giggles, her mouth tightening around the tip, making the breath catch in my throat.
“What? You want me to stop?” She teases me, whispering mere inches from my hardness, her hot breath washing over me, making me squirm.
“No, seriously, what are you, some kind of witch?” I struggle to say.
“No, I’m just, you know, practicing my meditation and yoga, to prepare me for the concert.”
“Well, what the fuck kind of position do you call this?”
“Oh, I call it the ‘make the viola player beg me to fuck him’ pose.”
“Yeah, well, I think you’ve got it down.”
I flip her over to the sound of her squeals and slide down her body, pushing her knees apart as I slide the flimsy material of her panties to the side.
God, she’s so fucking sexy, I can’t help but think to myself as I lower my tongue to trace along her slit.
“Oh, God, Marius!”
“Shhh, I’m meditating,” I tell her, as my tongue wriggles between the softness of her labia.
She squirms again, pushing her hips down, forcing contact of my tongue against her clit. “Fuck,” she moans, as I pull away.
“This is MY move, ‘make the harpy harpist beg the viola player to make her come,’ pose,” I taunt her, sliding my finger against the opening of her sex, dipping the tip into her wetness.
“I’ve never heard of that pose before, it mustn’t be very effective,” she says, pushing herself up on her elbows and glaring at me.