Refrain (Stereo Hearts Book 3) Page 4

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as well.

  “Is it…” She swallowed thickly. “Working?”

  His gaze remained locked to her lips. “Hm?”

  “The TV. Is it working?” Shut the fuck up, Viola! Who gives a shit if the TV is working?

  He raised his eyebrows and looked toward the in-flight screen before him, giving it a few taps of his knuckle. The screen didn’t respond, remaining black as night.

  “We could share mine,” she offered.

  “Yeah? What you watching?”

  “Sex and the City.”

  He groaned as if she’d just stabbed him in the chest with the plastic knife in her pitta box. “Let’s talk instead.”

  Jon Baca? Admitting he was attracted to her? Admitting he just wanted to talk? She barely resisted the urge to poke him because surely he was a clone. Some automated droid that hadn’t yet been programed to understand just who he was. That a guy like him even breathing in her direction should be something that didn’t even compute. A defect in his wiring that should set off alarm bells, warning him to recalibrate before she dragged him down into a pit of poverty-ridden flames. Flames that could only grow so scalding hot in the world of a broke college student.

  They shifted their bodies towards each other.

  “Be honest, which band member’s your favorite?” he asked.

  “Honestly? You.”

  “You can say Adam. I’m not in denial.”

  “No, I mean it. It’s always been you. You’re the reason I begged my mom for a guitar for Christmas in ninth grade. She warned me it would be the only gift I’d get that Christmas because it was so expensive, but I didn’t care. Said she’d buy it for me, but only if I promised to use it and practice every day. And I did. The second I opened it, I practiced all day and night in the hopes of getting even half as good as you. As it turns out, I’m a shitty guitar player, and she was begging me to stop by the end of it.”

  His eyes shone. “Maybe I’ll teach you one day.”

  “You’d be wasting your time.”

  “You? Waste of time? Not possible.” His gaze grew hooded as it traveled her face, voice softening. “I think you’re absolutely beautiful. From the moment I looked up and saw you…” He drew in a breath as if he was unable to finish. “The thoughts that went through my head…”

  Viola’s eyes widened at his sheer brazenness. Then she remembered she was talking to a rock star. Bold was his middle name. There was probably little in the world that intimidated him. Let alone a five-foot tall, hundred pound girl with the nickname “peanut”.

  “So if I was your favorite… did you ever fantasize about me?” he asked, softly. “Because I’m definitely gonna fantasize about you tonight.”

  Holy shit.

  A Cheshire cat grin spread across Viola’s lips. How lucky was she? Out of all the girls in the world, all the girls on that plane, Jon Baca had chosen her. Her. Jon Baca was into her. Jon Baca was going to fantasize about her. Just as soon as the goofy smile had spread across her face, however, it was gone. Her mind shot back to Milo at the Chinese restaurant a few days earlier, flicking her phone away in disgust after reading the filthy text massage from Gleb.

  “Men are going to test you like this, peanut.”

  She frowned. Were Milo’s words already proving themselves true? Was Jon testing her? Dipping his toe in the sexual waters just to see if she’d bite? Making comments that were only borderline inappropriate just to see what she’d do? What she was willing to put up with? What box to put her in?

  “He’s placed you firmly into the casual sex box, and once you’re in that box, there’s no getting out.”

  Jon raised his eyebrows at her silence, clearly waiting for a response.

  I don’t want to talk about sex. Viola. Say it. She tried to say the words, but they wouldn’t leave her lips. I don’t want to talk about sex. One simple sentence. Seven simple words.

  “Of course I’ve fantasized about you.” The words left her lips without her permission. “I think you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

  He smiled softly, breathing in deep, voice breathless. “You took my fuckin’ breath away when you stepped onto this plane.”

  Her heart sang, chest swelling in time with his, skin tingling. What the hell did Milo know anyway? Jon Baca was a rock star who could have any woman he wanted. Obviously, he was forward because he lived a forward life. A life that moved at a breakneck speed. He was surrounded by carefree women all day long. Not the type to judge one for embracing her sexual desires. He had to know right away whether a woman would be sexually compatible with him because he didn’t have time to waste. Why would he waste time breaking down a prude when he could have any woman he wanted without having to lift a finger?

  His lips parted ever so slightly as he leaned deeper into the armrest, close enough for her to watch his pupils as they expanded to twice their size, swallowing up his sea blue eyes. His nostrils flared as his breathing picked up, his cheeks flushing as he held her eyes firmly.

  “What did you fantasize about?” His voice lowered. “Tell me.”

  “You and me.” Viola’s chest heaved as she clenched her fists, her palms suddenly damp. “You touching me.”

  “Where?”

  “All over.”

  “I could touch you all over.” He bit his bottom lip, voice deep and gravely. “Rub you down, nice and slow.”

  This was spiraling. Moving way too fast, even for a rock star. Her fingers ached to touch him, so she clutched the armrest instead. But that didn’t stop the brush of his arm against hers from where he still took up most of the armrest. The warmth of his body on hers flooded her with heat as if he was transferring the blaze from under his skin into hers. She clenched her thighs tightly as her center began to ache, and when his eyes fell to watch it happen, she held her breath. He knew what he was doing to her. It was as clear as day in his rapidly darkening eyes, his heavy lids, and the soft tremble that now accompanied his every heaving breath. Viola knew right then she had to put a stop to this before she found herself telling him what her favorite sexual position was, whether or not she gave oral, and the dirtiest thing she’d ever done in the backseat of a parked car.

  Gasping softly, she yanked her headphones up from her lap, fingers trembling, and held them up. “You wanna watch the rest of the episode with me?”

  His eyebrows jumped, taken aback that she was bringing up a TV show in the middle of a conversation that had been veering into tawdry territory. Something passed through him, however, that made the corner of his mouth lift into a knowing smile. Like he’d climbed right into her head and could read her every thought. His eyes gleamed as if that mind of hers was one hell of an amusing read indeed, and he took the earbud she offered him without a word, wiggling it into his ear.

  Viola placed the other half of the headset into her own ear, a lump moving down her throat as she leaned forward and resumed Sex and the City. He leaned deeper into the armrest until it felt like half of his body was dominating her seat, as well as the spicy scent of his aftershave. Every so often one of them would shift, bringing them a little closer. Their arms became more entangled on the armrest with each passing scene. Even with one headphone in her ear, Viola was more aware of his heavy, labored breathing than the dialogue of one of her favorite TV shows. The tiny hairs on his arms tickling hers succeeded in taking her out of the show for good but she managed to keep her eyes trained on the screen regardless. She felt his eyes darting from the screen, to her, every few minutes, but she never returned the gaze, nibbling her teeth around her bottom lip to hide a smile.

  Whenever he did manage to pay attention to the show instead of her, he couldn’t help hissing and grunting throughout every scene like a man who couldn’t believe he’d somehow been saddled into watching this tripe. Any other day she would’ve taken such a blatant rejection of her favorite TV show personally, but that day she bit her tongue.

  That day, it was Jon Baca.

  So she let h
im express his disdain freely, deciding she’d give him the choice of what they watched next and then it’d be her turn to piss and moan. Just as she found the courage to risk a look at him and tell him that, the weight of his head hit her shoulder, cutting her off in mid-speech.

  Her mouth dropped open as she looked down at his sleeping face, his body slumped so deep in his seat his knees were nearly touching the bulkhead. His breathing went heavy and deep in seconds, lips gaping open like a man who hadn’t slept in a hundred years. The White Keys went on world tours bi-annually, the poor guy was probably exhausted. Apparently watching Carrie get screwed over by Big for the umpteenth time had been just the sleep aid he’d desperately needed.

  It wasn’t until Viola felt her own head tilting down toward his that she realized how exhausted Carrie and Big’s emotionally abusive relationship had made her as well, slowly sinking into Jon and the amazing, strange, and totally unexpected little cocoon they’d built in the armrest between their seats.

  ——

  Viola’s eyes flew open with a gasp as a violent rumble shook her awake. She clawed for something—anything—to hold onto, as the seat beneath her appeared to be on a mission to dislodge itself from the floor. Just as her blurry vision focused and crystalized in the aircraft cabin, the shaking eased, and the plane was flying smoothly once more. She removed the death grip she had on the armrest by the window and clapped it over her heart, feeling how hard it was racing. Then she looked to her left, where she’d tried to grab hold of the other armrest as well, but instead had grabbed hold of a hand.

  His hand.

  Her fingers were entwined with Jon’s, clutching his hand almost as tightly as he was clutching hers. Her eyes rose to his, and his blue orbs appeared just as wide as hers felt—equally as shaken by the unexpected turbulence that had yanked them from their slumber.

  They shared a soft smile.

  Jon’s was the first to fall, his face going serious as his gaze fell to her lips. His own parted lips were so close she could feel the warmth of his breath tickling hers. So close she could pick up subtle hints of every fragrance used to concoct his spicy aftershave. The minty scent of the gum he’d been chewing the whole flight tickled her nose as well, making her nostrils flare. His fingers tightened and loosened around hers, sending a new ache shooting through her body each time, each blast a little stronger than the last.

  Releasing their hold, he caressed the palm of her upturned hand with the tips of his callused fingers. The scratchiness against her sensitive skin made her feel like it was the first time she’d ever been touched. It made every inch of her clench for more.

  She was convinced the craving, the thrill, the pull had to be all in her head. A deep, stomach-clenching urge that couldn’t be explained in words. But as he leaned in softly, his eyes growing heavy as he drank in her lips, she wondered if maybe she wasn’t alone. If maybe the inexplicable thirst begging to be quenched was slowly killing him as much as it was killing her. Mere seconds away from leaving them both bone dry if they didn’t get a taste.

  He took the first bite, drawing her bottom lip between his with a moan like a man starved. Taking a soft sip before releasing it gently. His fingers entwined with hers again, and he looked up to meet her eyes. As if casting a silent question as to whether or not that tiny taste had been enough to relieve her hunger. To quench her thirst. To quell her ache.

  She answered with her own lips, leaning in with a soft gasp and pressing them to his. His fingers tightened around hers, so hard she worried he might crush her bones. She wondered if she’d even feel it if he did. Sure that every pulsing drop of blood surging through her veins had relocated to her lips, leaving them swollen, sensitive, and parted wide for anything he had to offer. Anything he had to give. The soft suckle of his lips. The wet sweep of his tongue. The playful nip of his teeth. She took it all, whimpering as he took control of the kiss and dragged it down as deep and dirty as he could. His lips battled hers fervently, tantalizing her with the stark contrast between their softness and the sharpness of his beard. The whiskey on his tongue cut through her like a razor, sending a chill down her spine topped only by the quiver that encased her when he covered her upper thigh with his free hand and squeezed, leaning so deeply into her seat he was nearly in her lap.

  When he couldn’t get close enough, fast enough, he broke their kiss just long enough to shove the armrest between them up into the seats, clearing the space between them before charging forward once more. She was there to catch him, arms and mouth open wide to receive him as they resumed the kiss. As their every gasping breath found itself trapped between their heated, dueling lips, his trembling fingers found her thigh once more, lifting it across his lap. He continued surging forward without breaking the kiss, forcing her back against the window until he couldn’t get any closer.

  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Viola nearly spoke the three breathless words that were dominating her mind as her lips and tongue glided with his, but she couldn’t speak. Her mind had closed up shop. Incapable of forming her ardent thoughts into comprehensible words as it gave every inch of its energy into the act of keeping her racing heart from climbing up her throat. Her pulsing skin from lifting away from the bone. The bundle of nerves between her thighs from exploding with a need that could never be fulfilled so publicly. No room for any words. Only hushed gasps, choked cries, and desperate whines as her body gave itself over to him.

  She dragged her nails down his back until she was sure she could rip the cotton of his t-shirt apart. The folds of her pussy grew more slippery the deeper the kiss moved. Keeping pace with the slip and slide of their ardent lips until she was sure she could come without him even having touched her. Every inch of her body writhed at the thought of his fingers slipping under her dress and finding that aching bud. She hadn’t even realized her ass had left the seat, sealing every inch of her pulsing body to his, until he wrapped a hand around her waist and held her body to his, bearing all her weight. Cradling her like it was nothing, his own hushed moans warming her glistening lips as he claimed them. Coaxing them to spread a little wider, fuse a little harder, and slant a little deeper until they both felt seconds from crushing each other to dust.

  Her stomach descended to hell and then soared to heaven, over and over, like a roller coaster that never stopped rising and plunging, until she felt like her pumping body was no longer hers. It wasn’t until the plane hit the ground, its wheels disagreeing with the tarmac violently enough to pull their plundering lips apart, that she realized the up and down feeling in her stomach might’ve been due to the fact that the plane had been landing, and not that she was making out with Jon Baca.

  But the jury was still out.

  As her stunned eyes took in the sight of the tarmac outside of the window, and then flew back to his, she knew it hadn’t been the rapid descent that had left her stomach so knotted. No. As she took in his equally stunned eyes, his swollen pink lips, and his gasping chest, she knew it had been him.

  And their lips met once more, picking up the kiss as if it had never ended. Clawing, biting, bathing in each other until the plane brought them out of their little world once more. A world where time apparently moved at the speed of light, shocking them once again at the sound of a ding that came far too soon, alerting the passengers that the plane had parked safely at the gate and they were free to deplane.

  “Flight attendants, please prepare doors for arrival.”

  “Holy shit,” Jon whispered, pulling back from Viola and looking around at all the passengers who’d already left their seats in a frenzy to gather their bags from the overhead bins as if he was seeing them for the first time.

  “Oh my god.” She swallowed thickly and sat up in her seat. When had she laid down? How long had he been on top of her? How many people had seen? One cursory look up at the passengers gathering their things—most of whom were smirking down at them with naked amusement in their eyes—and she had her answer.

  She attempted to straighten her dre
ss, pull herself together, and appear at least somewhat less of a wanton whore to everyone around her, but it was a collection made in vain. The knowing eyes all around proved their minds were already made up. Jon straightened up in his seat too, his eyes playful—almost shy—as they held hers, from his seat. She saw the same lump race down his throat that had yet to stop chugging down hers. Always re-manifesting when she was sure it was gone for good, reversing and lodging itself in her esophagus once more, making it harder to breathe every second. For the first time that day, Viola wished she hadn’t been blessed with a seat so close to the door. She wished they’d both been seated in the back because it would mean she’d have at least another fifteen to twenty minutes to realize her goal of touching the back of his throat with her tongue.

  The first class cabin emptied at what felt like the speed of light, and then it was their turn to deplane. Jon stood on trembling knees, clearing his throat and ignoring the looks from the passengers waiting behind him. He offered Viola a hand to help her out of her seat and some part of her worried if she’d be able to stand at all. She did, but only because he clenched his massive bicep tight, flexing enough to give her some leverage because he knew her knees were shaking just as wildly as his were.

  He got their bags down from the overhead bin, setting hers down first, and then placed his own behind him. He gathered their coats next. Viola’s eyes stayed on the floor, cheeks heated, as she took her coat and lifted the handle of her roller board. She’d been making out with him fervently enough to not even notice the plane landing, taxiing, or even parking at the gate, but now she was suddenly too shy to meet his eyes.