Now comes the song. Handing my sheet music to the student on the piano, I walk to the mic they’ve turned on and close my eyes. I know it’s a bad habit to sing with your eyes closed, especially if you’re auditioning for a musical where there’s acting, so I open them once I’m confident enough. My voice starts off shaky, and then I have a flashback to the night I sang with Levi and how calm I was. I allow the music to flow throughme and don’t move my eyes from the spot in the center of the back wall. Controlling my breathing and using the strongest voice I can while maintaining the daintiness I know I can bring, I feel my confidence grow. At the high notes, I move my body more, including my arms, which I rarely ever do. When I hear the final lyrics, I close my eyes again and throw my head back, smiling.
I did the damn thing.
There’s no applause from the directors or producers, only a couple of thank-yous. I know it’s their attempt at letting us get used to how things work in the real world. While grabbing my sheet music, I look up to find the mysterious shadow and see that the person is gone.
Walking out of the theater, I see some of the girls staring at me weirdly. They look mad, high-school-mean-girl kind of angry.
Jeez, lighten up.
I hate theater kids sometimes. If I do end up in the show, I’m hoping to make some friends, or at least acquaintances along the way, and avoid any drama amongst the cast and crew. Some sort of it will form, though, it always does.
My stomach growls as I make my way back to where I was sitting before, preparing myself to wait an hour and a half for the callback sheet to be posted. The girls look at me again, and I groan. Cursing under my breath, I walk over to the vending machines. As I’m about to step into the small room, I’m ripped away and twirled into one of the coat closets currently full of costumes. I start kicking at whoever is holding me. I open my mouth to scream for help when a pair of lips slam over mine.
What the hell?
Now I’m attempting to push the stranger away, and then I feel it. The texture of his hair, the way his mouth moves, and his firm body—it has to be him.
I push him away harshly, holding his face as my eyes adjust to the near-complete darkness. “Levi?”
He nods.
“What are you doing?—”
His lips come over mine again, not allowing me to finish asking the question. I attempt to move him away again, but he fights back, pressing me closer. Eventually, his tongue swipes against my lips, seeking permission. I whimper, allowing him entry, and melt into his arms. It’s been days since we kissed—days since we were both edged, unable to finish what we had started. We haven’t spoken about it yet because of our schedules, but my God. If this is the reward I get for not dealing with things, I’ll take it.
The kiss becomes harsher, and Levi pushes me against the door, pulling my hair, pressing his dick that’s straining through his jeans against my lower stomach. The kiss is so hot, in a place so dark. I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been. Andrew hated doing anything like this in public, but I craved something different. Something more. Istillneed more.
Levi’s right hand remains in my hair, while the left is on my back. Gently, I grab his right hand and intertwine our fingers. He pulls away, looking me in the eye, and all I can see is his jaw twitching before he grabs both of my arms and places them above me.
I shake my head, and he tilts his to the side. Knowing him, he’s probably wondering why, out of all things, I don’t like this. I do like it, but not right now. I need him to touch me.
“Touch me,” I whisper.
He presses his dick harder against me, and I moan.
“Levi, I want you to touch me.”
He lets out a deep breath and grabs both of my wrists with his left hand while bringing theother down slowly as he does what I requested.
He kisses me and touches my hair, cheeks, lips, jaw, and neck, but nothing below that. I’m practically dripping, and he hasn’t even grazed a boob yet.
“Levi,” I beg, not knowing how much longer I can stand the teasing. I don’t want soft, I want demanding.
I writhe against his hold and hear an unfamiliar chuckle come out of him, sending chills down my spine. He lets go of my left hand, keeping the other one pinned on top.
“Grab my hand,” he demands.
Finally.
I do as he says and wait for his next order. This time, his nose touches mine when he whispers, “Now use it.”
My head rears back a bit. “What?”
“Use my hand to show me what you like, Stevie.” His face creeps closer to mine. “I want you to take control. I’m usually able to keep mine, but not around you.”
My mouth dries at his confession. I affect him as much as he does me. He wants me to get comfortable with him. To trust him.
As I feel slightly self-conscious over what I’m about to do with someone else’s hand, he notices my hesitation.
