Reckless Abandon(38)
He is giving me far too much credit. He doesn’t know what my family had to endure all this time. The doctors, the meds, the anxiety and worry over what I might do. The truth is, I barely made it through.
I look down at my hand and see that awful scar that takes up half my hand. “I hate this stupid scar. Not for how it looks. I hate how it reminds me of everything I lost. Everything I’ll never get back.”
Asher takes my hand and raises it to his lips, placing delicate kisses along every inch of the scar. My body pulsates at the feeling of his mouth on my most vulnerable piece of flesh.
“I want to try something with you but I need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Emma?” he asks and I look back at him, unsure of the truthful answer. I’ve already told him my darkest secret. Why not go further into the rabbit hole with him?
I nod my head yes. Numb to the fact I just bared my soul and he still wants to spend time with me.
I seem to have a problem saying no to Asher Gutierrez.
We arrive at the yacht; Asher pulls up to the dock on the starboard side. We get off and Mateo hops on to park the speedboat. Asher grabs my hand and leads me past the pool area and through the sliding glass doors I entered days ago. I follow him through the living area, past the bar and up the stairs. I get nervous as we round the corner to what I believe to be Devon’s private areas. The staterooms and the office are back here. I know Asher is impulsive but I hope he doesn’t do anything to get himself in trouble.
Or me for that matter. I’d hate to piss off the man who went through so much trouble to help me and my sister.
I follow his pull down the hall to the door at the far end. I know this door very well and my heart starts racing when Asher opens it.
The grand two-story music room is just as impressive as it was the first time I saw it. The piano still sits to the side looking all polished and pristine. I hope Asher doesn’t expect me to play again because I don’t think I’d be able to after his appraisal of my performance last time.
Asher closes the door behind us and flicks on the light switch, setting them to dim. The sun is hidden from our view out the window. On the horizon, dusk awaits.
I turn toward Asher. “We shouldn’t be in here. This area is private. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
Asher grins and places his fingers in my hair, pushing the ashy strands behind my ear. “No one is here. It’s just you and me.”
“No Devon?” My voice is shaky, like learning my boyfriend’s parents are out of town for the weekend. No supervision. No rules.
“No Devon. We’re free in here. It’s our sacred space.” Warm lips brush my cheek as he grabs my hand and whirls me around toward the cello. “I want to play with you. Together.” He walks around a seat and stands just behind it. “I know that wound on your hand runs deeper than the superficial scar.”
I stop just next to the cello and really think about that. I’ve been on one date and countless boats with the man. I think it’s clear I trust him in the physical sense. In the emotional sense, I don’t trust myself.
“Asher, I don’t think I can—”
“Shh.” He guides my body down onto the chair and slides another stool behind mine, so close the two are touching. He presses his body behind mine, his legs straddling my hips. “Close your eyes.”
I want to explain to him the cello and the violin are different instruments. I want to explain they’re the same instrument. I want to explain my injury prevents me from playing any bow and I want to tell him to stop whatever he is about to try.
But I can’t.
Because his entire body is wrapped around me and all I can do is feel his heat.
I close my eyes and breathe in. His scent of sea and soap eradicate my senses and the velvet skin of his forearms along with his strong thighs outside my own feel like a warm blanket on a blistery cold night.
Asher glides his right hand underneath mine and lifts it in the air, palm to knuckles. “Hold onto me just like this,” his voice whispers in my ear.
I nod and then jump a little with the feel of the weight of the cello resting against my kneecaps. “Open your legs.”
I do so and allow him to place the cello in between my thighs, resting on my left knee. He spreads his even wider to accommodate the heavy instrument in between us.
He lifts my left hand and places it on the strings of the cello. My fingers instinctively find a chord even though the strings are placed further apart than I’m used to. With my hands in place, Asher weaves his free left arm around my waist and pulls me in tight.
“Are you ready?” He rests his head beside my neck. His lips warm on my skin. I know he can feel my quiver at the feel of him. All my attention is focused on him and not the instrument in front of me.
“Ready for what?” I say with a swallow.
I feel his mouth turn up against my neck. “To feel.”
With his words, Asher raises his right hand, which mine is laying on top of, and grabs hold of the bow. My hand gently forms around his in response. His elbow up in the air, his palm poised for performance, Asher dips the bow across the strings eliciting a glorious sound. He guides our hands back and dips back across the strings again, creating more familiar sounds.
His hand is gripped around the bow, taking the control I cannot obtain without screaming in pain. With my hand wrapped around his massive one I am able to imitate the feeling of playing.