I turn toward Asher. “We shouldn’t be in here. This area is private. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
he 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 between my thighs, resting on my left knee. He spreads his even wider to accommodate the heavy instrument 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?” His lips warm on my skin. I know he can feel me quiver from his touch. All my attention is focused on him and not the instrument in front of me.
“Ready for what?” I say with a swallow.
His mouth brushes 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 and dips back across the strings again, creating more familiar tones.
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.
Tension in my spine stiffens. It feels unnatural to be playing in this position. My elbow props up on his with each glide and I pretend not to notice when his forearm casually brushes against my breast with each stroke.
Instead of focusing on the unnatural, I keep my eyes closed and try to feel the movements. My fingers shift chords and his hand dips to let the bow strike the strings in a new direction. I allow my head to fall back against his shoulder and breathe in the sounds we are creating and suddenly my arm doesn’t feel like following anymore.
With a tightened grip on his, my hand glides free and takes control of the movements, this time telling his where to go. I weave and thread the bow across the strings, my movements faster and with more purpose.
I lean forward and play chords up and down, pulling the massive wood with me to create a musical force I haven’t felt in months.
The sounds keep playing and the song is magnificent. It’s not one I know, but something that is pouring through me. With every pump of his muscles against my body I play harder and with every feel of his breath against my very tender skin, I play louder. Faster and with more control than I’ve felt in a long time, I play that instrument until the sound is so violently vibrating throughout the space I’m afraid I’ll shatter the windows.
I open my eyes and take in the site of the ocean in front of us. I play to the crash. I play to the white tops. I play to the rumbling of the waters beneath us.
Even before the accident, my heart and soul have never felt so liberated. You can’t truly learn of the bliss and joy of something until its been taken away from you.
In this moment I am feeling exhilaration.
In this moment I am feeling rapture.
In this moment I am . . . Feeling.
