Leila sat Indian-style in the middle of Nate’s bed, nary a stitch on her. They were taking a breather.
He had licked her pussy until she had come twice, fucked her to another orgasm afterward. Now he was sitting nervously in his boxers on a chair in his bedroom, guitar settled on his lap.
He looked fucking nervous as hell. Like he was performing at Carnegie Hall instead of only in front of his girlfriend.
“I’m... not the best at this,” Nate said. “I took a couple of months of lessons, learned the basic: chords, how to tune this fucking thing, learned most of the rest by ear or online tutorials.”
“Go on,” Leila said, nodding encouragement. “I won’t judge. Even if you’re horrible at it, remember that I haven’t a musical bone in my body- unless you’re fucking me while strumming on the guitar.”
“A musical boner?” His eyebrows arched.
“A... moner... or moaner,” she said, moaning through the word. “Musical plus boner equals moaner.”
“That’s what my singing will probably sound like, but here goes...”
He strummed a few chords, tuned a few strings, looked over at her and closed his eyes while taking a deep breath.
’Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your life... you were only waiting for this moment to arrive.′
Nate remembered the first verse and he relaxed a bit. His voice wasn’t half-bad. He was no Paul McCartney, but it was in tune and clear, sometimes husky at the beginning of his phrases. Like some modern rocker who groaned his lyrics with an agonized tone.
It was a simple melody, but Leila loved the song. Her mother used to play a lot of The Beatles at home, stating that they were musical geniuses. Leila had to agree with her. Their later works held nothing like the inane lyrics of the 70s and 80s. The only other time lyrics had really meant something more was in the grunge era of the early to mid-90s. Nirvana, Alice In Chains, Pearl Jam. No soapy pop lyrics or Taylor Swift-esque angsty teen bullshit. Music was getting better now, she thought. With the exception of some hacks that somehow made it from YouTube to make popular music. Or most of the winners of shows like X Factor and The Voice. Popularity contests at best in Leila’s opinion.
Lyrics were nice. They could mean any number of things to any group of individuals. Where some saw love, others saw hate. Where some saw hope, others the lack of humanity in the world today. It was all up for debate, and though Leila knew this song wasn’t about an actual Blackbird, she thought of her mother as the metaphorical bird in the song. Jittery, flighty, taking wing only to crash back down again.
Nate’s voice broke through the cloud of foggy thoughts scrambling to take root in her brain.
Take these broken wings and learn to fly...
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see...
You were only waiting for this moment to arise...
“Huh?” Her face snapped to the sound of Nate’s voice. He had stopped playing and was looking at her.
“You’re... crying,” he told her, concern etched on his face.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, wiping a tear from her cheek. She had no idea when tears had started to fall. “It... well it reminded me of my mother. Unable to move on, unable to see what’s going on in front of her properly.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“No,” she cut in. “It was beautiful and you actually have a really nice voice. You’re more talented than I thought. It’s just... the words...”
Nate got up, sat down next to Leila on the bed, thumbed away another stray tear. He placed the guitar on the bed next to him, pulled her onto his lap, held her close.
Leila tucked her head into his shoulder, recognized the scent that could only be Nate, and closed her eyes.
A few sniffles later, she cleared her throat, almost embarrassed. Being in a real relationship was dredging up emotions she wasn’t used to. In a heroic effort to distract from her tears, she decided to ask a question.
“Why are all the songs you know sad?”
Nate chuckled a bit, cleared his own throat.
“I wish I could say it’s because I wanted to sing sappy love songs to an old girlfriend or seem deep and mysterious. Or even that I wanted to impress chicks with my sensitive side,” he explained on a laugh. “But it’s as simple as this: slow songs are easier to learn and all the ones I liked were a bit sad.”
He was ridiculous.
Leila giggled, wrapped her arms around him and straddled his lap.
“Well, I can’t say you haven’t been completely honest with me, Nathan,” she said, smirking a little. “That was probably the worst and most honest excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“Don’t do the lying thing well.” Nate smiled. “Can’t when you’ve got the likes of Ramon hanging around. He can sniff out a lie at twenty paces. The tips of my ears get red too. Absolutely mortifying.”
She looked at him, the expression on her face softening.
“Thank you,” she said.
His brows arched.
“For singing to me, even if it did make me cry,” she said.
“Well, I’m just glad my voice wasn’t so bad it left you in tears.”
“No, you’ve actually got a really nice voice,” she told him earnestly. “When I sing I sound like a frog who’s swallowed another frog and then got laryngitis on top of that.”
“Luckily I don’t want you for your vocal prowess,” he told her, winking.
“What do want me for then?” she asked, pressing her lips to his neck.
“Your pussy, of course.”
She punched him lightly in the ribs. He cringed, grinned.
“I meant... your mind. Your beautiful, fuckable, lickable mind. It’s hot, baby. Like smokin’.”
“You do realize my mind isn’t between my legs,” she said, raising a brow.
“Mine is,” he said with a shrug.
“You’re a dick,” she told him, narrowing her eyes on him playfully.
“You want my dick? I can make that happen.”
He ground up into her. Hard. He was hard, and Leila was wet. Dripping wet.
It honestly didn’t take much.
“One... track mind much?” she breathed out, asking.
His lips pressed against her neck, nibbled her flesh, licked up to her lips. He kissed her deeply with a groan.
Leila’s hips ground down on him, circling, as he thrust up.
Again. It had been only a little while since they had come together, but he was stiff as steel beneath his boxers. Boxers he wanted to rip from his body so he could pierce her to the hilt.
His cock eventually slipped out the slit in them, rubbing against her slit, moistening it with her arousal. Leila rose up, up, up until his prick was at her entrance. All she needed to do was slide down.
His tip strained at her entrance, slick, soft and warm until she settled onto him, inch by thick inch, seated bare inside her.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Nate groaned. “I love it when we practice.”
Nate sometimes kidded her about the whole baby conversation they had had a few weeks ago. Practicing until they were ready. He didn’t say it, but the idea seemed to please him as far as Leila could tell. And surprisingly, she didn’t get freaked out when he mentioned it.
Men. Impregnating a woman seemed to be the ultimate way of claiming them. It wasn’t possible at this point, what with Leila being on birth control, but the idea of his baby- their baby- inside her seemed to excite him.
Leila rose up slowly until only his tip was inside her, relaxed, and sat back down. Up. Down. Again and again. Hips circling as she came down on him, his pelvic bone grinding against her clit when she was full of him.
His hands on her breasts, face, pulling her closer so they could kiss. Devouring each moan the other gave each other until they were just panting bodies, close to release.
Nate pulled her off his lap, laid on his back and pulled her up so that her thighs were on either side of his ears.
“Ride my face, baby,” he told her, pulling her pelvis closer to him. “I want to taste you when you come.”
She looked down at him. She was straddling his face for all intents and purposes, and she widened her legs slightly, sinking lower onto him until his mouth was sucking at her clit.
“Fuck! Don’t stop!” she cried. Her hips gyrated, the slick sound of her sex sliding across his mouth loud.
He ate at her, licking, sucking, tugging on her lips as her chest heaved, her breathing heavy and deep.
It was almost too much and she lurched forward, her hands planting on the bed. Her legs shook, quivering with the need to come. His lips sucked, tongue stroked her, teeth tormented her and her whole body shook.
“Fuck!” Leila screamed into her hands. He was going to kill her with the tongue of his. Death by orgasm.
Nate mumbled something from between her legs, the blood rushing in her ears drowning the words out. Then he quieted, groaned, sucked Leila’s clit into his mouth, didn’t let go until she was screaming her release.
The world tilted on its axis, and at first, Leila thought Nate had some insane ability to move heaven and earth, flip them upside down, and somehow,reverse them back to normal.
But that wasn’t it. As soon as she had started coming, Nate had pulled her down and shoved his dick up her to feel her pulse around his cock.
“Sorry, love,” he told her, pumping his hips roughly up into her. “I needed to feel you coming around my cock more than I needed your sweet taste in my mouth.”
She was still moaning, unable to form coherent sentences and she rocked against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
His hand went down to her clit, still sensitive, still quivering a little and he started to rub her with his thumb.
“Give me... one more, baby,” Nate rasped out. “I need it again.”
Hips pumping up, his pelvis slammed into her, over and over and over again.
She was going to be sore, so sore, in the morning.
His hands played with her, teased her clit, slipping and sliding against her wet engorged flesh until she was moaning so loudly, he was certain they would wake the neighbor’s kids.
She clenched around him and he groaned.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he told her. “Grip that fucking cock.” His voice was gritty and raw, his jaw clenched with need as he chased his release, teased hers from her.
He pulled her mouth to his, plunged his tongue inside and took over the punishing thrusts.
“Yeah?” Breathy, barely audible.
“I’m... gonna come,” she announced softly on a moan. “Please... come with me.”
No problem there. With the first pulse of her climax, he started to come inside her, grinding against her pelvis and forcing her to ride out the waves of pleasure.
When he was empty and the last aftershock had winnowed away, they lay there, breathing labored and hearts pounding. The beats weren’t in sync, but they were damned close.
“Babe?” Leila murmured.
“Yeah?” Shaky and spent.
“I like your sad songs.”
“Because they end with me fucking you?”
“No. Because you chose them. For whatever reason you did, whatever their message is or for whatever their message is to you, you picked them.”
“But what if they meant nothing to me but a pretty tune that was easily manageable?”
“Hmmm... doesn’t matter,” she told him. “Something always means something to somebody, even if it’s just one person. The best lyrics are written from the heart, and even if no one but the lyricist knows what the song means, at least it speaks to them in some way.”
Nate didn’t speak, thinking.
“Did I fuck the cynical right out of you?” he asked.
“You might just have.”