The Lesson

by Tara Leigh




She looked down at the postcard for the fifth time in as many minutes. Landing on her desk at 8am that morning, it had done nothing but tease her. An address and the cryptic note to bring her guitar had done nothing to ease the curiosity. She already had her guitar with her. She had a lesson that evening with her instructor, but William wasn’t nearly this inventive or cryptic.
He had one focus—getting her to learn the acoustic guitar. And his lessons were grueling, but informative, persistently boring but informative. She eased her car into a spot, dropping her gaze to the postcard one last time. She looked down the street and back up at the building before her. It was one of those converted warehouses, turned trendy condos in the heart of the city.
“Four-A,” she muttered to herself and hauled her guitar out of the backseat. She entered the turn-style doors, her boots clicking on the high end marble as she was met by a security guard.
“Hello, Miss. Can I help you?”
He had a quietly friendly face with twinkling grey eyes. She couldn’t help but smile at him, even if she was still completely lost. “Um, I was told to meet someone here. Four-A is the address.”
He looked down at her guitar, then back to her face. “Ahh, yes. I was advised to expect you.”
“But you don’t even know my name.”
“I know what I need to know and your description is spot on.” He smiled and held out a key. “You’ll need this for the elevator. It’s one of our protected floors.”
Her frown deepened, but she accepted the key and headed to the elevators as the security guard instructed. It didn’t take but a moment for the doors to swish open, revealing a huge, gilded car. It had to be an old utility elevator, but it had been repurposed with brass and copper tin with fleur de lis embossing and iridescent jade insets. It was over the top in the way that only the rich could be.
Tipping the case against the wall, she slid the key into the slim panel’s lock and pressed four. The rise was seamless as well greased wheels transported her to the correct floor. Expecting a hallway and a door, she wasn’t prepared for the wide open floor plan. Windows faced out along the entire length of the space. The panels were naked with a muted privacy tinting that let in natural light that blew open the room until she felt her mouth drop open. Natural wood, matte wrought iron touches and a trunk the size of bed littered the first half of the room.
The trunk was battered, echoing the heavy iron in its hinges and huge lock. A large white, oriental style tray curved off the trunk with a fluid array of candles flickering even with the daylight streaming in. Ginger and apples drifted her way as she slowly moved into the room.
Hardwood floors gleamed in between area rugs that seemed to be haphazardly strewn across the space. A stone fireplace dominated one wall with a mantle dotted with even more candles in pots, jars and simple pillars. Plants seemed to spill off every available surface from tables, a hutch, to a simple yet complicated series of shelves that framed the entire room’s ceiling. Climbing vines, trees, African violet and a host of other greens she couldn’t identify lent a homey feel.
“I hope you don’t mind the ginger. I’m going through a phase.”
She whipped around, her hand to her heart. “Jesus, you sca—“ She wasn’t sure if it was a gasp or a half shriek as her voice simply turned off in the middle. It couldn’t be. Obviously it wasn’t.
Her eyes dropped to the long, lean feet buried into the muted golds and greens of the Persian rug that delineated the living area from the dining. They were tanned and half hidden by frayed ends of jeans that were truly worn. Not the faux worn that were so much a part of the designer jeans out there now, but the kind that were worn every weekend because they were like an old friend.
The denim wasn’t tight to his long legs, just coasted up and hugged…her eyes skittered away from the rather impressive line of his inseam and up to the whiter than white shirt that hugged his lean belly and wide chest. There was a deep V showing off more of that tanned skin with a tangle of beads and chain that was as much a part of him as breath.
The cotton hugged his arms, showing corded muscles, ending in another layer of beads in deep browns, blacks and varying earth tones that climbed up from his wrist. Fingers that she knew would be long and elegant were half tucked away in his pockets.
Her eyes finally found his face and the amused dimple was the last straw. She dropped her guitar case. “Oh, shit.”
“Now is that any way to treat your pride and joy?” He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “I hear it’s someone’s birthday.”
“What?” She looked at him blankly, then at his hand and back to his warm, dark eyes.
“You have some very special friends, Elaine.” His brows furrowed and he cupped her hand in both of his. “Such a stuffy name doesn’t suit you. Ellie? No…”
Her breath caught at the heat that seemed to radiate off his hands. Not sweaty, just hot. Unbelievably hot. “Lainey,” she said softly.
“Lains,” he corrected with a smile. “I like Lains the best.” He folded his fingers around her palm and lifted her guitar case. “If that’s okay?”
Her stomach was somewhere between her knees and her feet, but she managed to croak out, “yes, that’s fine.”
“Excellent.” He led her to a wide chaise in a linen finish. “Right, as I was saying…” he sat down, tugging her down to sit beside him. Setting the case on the plush Persian rug, he took her other hand until both were clasped. “You have amazing friends. I received a letter that you had very little in the way of birthday wishes, but a lesson with me was at the very top.”
“I--“ She swallowed and tried again. “It wasn’t—“ She huffed out a breath. “They what?” There was no way she could cover it up, she was as confused as you could get. Her friends managed to get her a private lesson with Richie Sambora? How did that even happen?
“I don’t do this sort of thing. In fact, I’m the last guy that should be teaching guitar.” He laughed, his thumbs smoothing over her wrists. “I taught myself.”
“I’ve been taking lessons,” she managed to say as her entire body went haywire. “I uh,” she swallowed and ordered herself to have a moment of clarity for God’s sake. He was just a man. Okay, so he six feet plus of near perfection, but honestly…just a man. “I really admire your acoustic work.” She ducked her head, letting the curtain of her hair shield her features.
He tapped her case. “Well then, let’s get started.” He flicked the locks back and pulled out her guitar, his long tapered fingers coasting over the body of the guitar and strummed, automatically tuning it before settling it on his lap, tight to his body.
I’m never getting rid of that guitar.
A song she’d never heard fluttered out of Joe V. Yeah, yeah her guitar had a name—It was good enough for BB King, dammit. The tones were sweet and a little sad. His long fingers plucked at the strings without a pick. The soft flick of the calloused tips of his fingers made her suck in a sharp breath.
“What is that song?” she asked when her brain returned to functioning.
“Huh?” He looked up from the guitar as if he hadn’t realized she was still there. “Oh, uh—just something I’ve been working on. I actually hadn’t gotten that far in the song before. It just sort of came out.” He pressed the palm of his hand over the strings until the dulcet tones jerked to a stop. “I’ve never played on a Guvnor. It’s a sweeter sound than I thought it would be,” he said absently.
“Not all things in America are sweeter.” Her eyes flashed wide. Holy—had she said that out loud?
“So I see,” he grinned, his dimple flashing. “What would you like to learn from me, Lains?”
Was naked an option? Because a lot of things in her head were naked all of a sudden. She pressed her lips together. “Well,” he held her hand out for her guitar. “I’ve been trying to learn a few of your songs actually.”
“Wanted?” he asked with a knowing grin as he passed the guitar to her.
“No,” she waggled her fingers, nervy all of a sudden. Wrapping her fingers around the fret, she picked out the first few chords and strummed carefully. The tempo was a beat too slow, but it was Richie watching her after all.
“The lightning flashed as angels rode fiery chargers through the clouds,” his voice was smoky and low. “That answer scared me into tears and all the grownups laughed out loud…” he faded off as she kept strumming, afraid to look up.
What if she’d offended him? What if he was horrified by the fact that she’d dare to play his song? She let the song trail off, finally looking up. His dark eyes were open and soft.
He cleared his throat and smiled encouragingly. “Almost. You have a lovely way about you with the guitar, but you have to feel the song. Don’t try to copy what I wrote to the letter. Feel it.” He picked up his own acoustic off the stand beside the fireplace and the rich tones of the song flowed. “Now you try.”
She nodded and it actually became worse, she tripped over the chords she’d learned so long ago. She’d been practicing this song until the sheet music had been emblazoned into her head. Until the song played in her head even without the guitar by her. Until the song was as much a part of her that it could be, without being her own.
“No, you’re over thinking it. Close your eyes.”
She slaughtered the opening crest that she’d nearly nailed the very first time. He was there, beside her. Warm and so big. His leg stretched out, the strings of his jeans lay on his long, tanned foot as he lightly tapped the time. She picked it up where he was in the song and still she was unsure. Aware. Painfully aware of him right beside her, less than three inches from her thigh.
And the inches fell away as he flicked his guitar behind him on the chaise and curled his arm around her, his fingers brushing hers aside gently to strum. His other hand came up to guide her on the strings until the song slowly started to come together. “Feel the music. Close your eyes, Lains.” His voice fluttered her hair lightly. “See where the heart of the song is in your head and let it come out through the music and your heart. Just like I wrote it.”
She shivered lightly as her nipples tightened painfully. He was so warm and so gentle. She knew he honestly was trying to teach her, but all she could concentrate on was the wall of male behind her. He probably wasn’t thinking a thing about this. Just showing her…Oh, God. His fingers curled around hers until her thumb was following his on the body of the guitar. She turned to him, to see his face but he wasn’t looking at the guitar and he hadn’t closed his eyes.
They were open and they were watching her. His tongue flashed along his lower lip and she felt herself do the same. She was crazy. It was just the song. The song was making the moment seem heavier than it was.
She was convinced of that until his left hand lifted away from the guitar and pushed her hair aside. He gave her plenty of time to pull away, push him away, even to freak out. He stared at her mouth, then into her eyes and leaned in slowly. She could feel his breath there in the air between them. It was as hot as the unnatural heat that seemed to radiate off of him.
The tip of his finger trailed over her cheek, along her jaw and finally his thumb traced her lower lip. The soft groan could’ve been his, it could have been hers—or a mix of them both. She didn’t hear it as much as she felt it just before the soft brush of his lips on hers.
The kiss was light and easy. It was as if he was giving her that out clause still, but she didn’t want it. She wanted the kiss, wanted it more than she could ever remember wanting anything in her life. She opened for him and the purring groan shot through her like it was a living thing. The kiss grew harder, more insistent. It still edged on the side of caution, but she could feel him wavering.
She lifted her face to him, opening wider until she felt the tip of his tongue trace the little dip in her top lip. She couldn’t stop her hand from searching out his face, the line of his cheekbones, the scruff of his chin, the long line of his neck. She pushed the guitar out of the way, until it lay against the couch back.
His long fingers curled around her waist, his fingers finding the flash of skin at her back where her shirt and jeans met. He gripped along the slope to her spine, his thumb fluttering against her belly. She shivered, wrapping her arms around his neck and held on tight as he kissed her as if they’d been doing it for years. No awkward darting tongues, no rhythm to find, no learning curve. It was just right.
She pressed her breasts to his chest and he curved his hand into her silky t-shirt she’d worn under her suit jacket for work. The suit jacket was in her car, so it was just silk and a little lace between them. Could he feel her nipples? He worked his hand up her back, his palm insistent but his fingers light to the touch.
“I-“ she croaked against his mouth. “God,” she sighed into his mouth as she kneeled on the chaise, turning her body toward his, her inner thigh pressing against his outer until they were completely aligned.
His mouth moved to her neck and she tipped her head back. He groaned as her hair flowed down her back. “That hair,” he moaned against her neck, sucking and kissing until she was sure that her entire body was going to break apart. “I can feel it on my arm and I want to know what it would feel like on my chest.”
She lifted his head away from her neck and looked into his eyes. “I want to know, too.” She pushed at the white shirt, at the clinging cotton that kept her from him. Her hands plowed under it until she felt the trio of chains and beads that were tangled underneath it. He sat back a little as she nibbled on her lower lip as another inch of his flesh was revealed. As the cross sat low between his pecs and dangled a little, before it curled around her hand.
He hissed as she pushed the shirt higher, finding his skin with her mouth. Before she could even think, she wanted to taste him. Her hair pooled into his lap as she found his nipple and sucked. He groaned, his fingers threading into her hair to hold her there as she sucked. His skin was so warm, so silky soft. The air, heady with heat and ginger, made her dizzy, but still she stayed there. Her tongue rasping through the soft, silky patch of hair there.
His nipple tight to his body, poking against her tongue. She widened her mouth until she could get the flat of her tongue to cover him completely, flicking until the tip of her tongue could tease and curl around the taught tip. She looked up at him, the brown of his eyes had gone near black as he watched her.
Her fingers tangled in the large silver beads of his rosary, to the matching brown beads that circled his wrist, to the fine gold chain and the little medallion there. He flipped his shirt off and her mouth went dry. Wide shoulders. Crazy wide shoulders filled the whole damn room.
She bent to his clavicle, her hair brushing over the nipple she’d just tasted and left. She wanted to taste all of him. Every blessed inch. Up his long neck until she found the knot of his Adam’s apple and scraped her teeth over it lightly.
He jerked her onto his lap, until she straddled him. Until he could press his hard cock between her legs. Even through the denim, she could feel his length and her body warmed to it, seemed to stretch for it. Her dress pants were thin, so she felt every ridge of the denim, every bulge of the zipper and every inch of his length.
She rocked against him until he groaned. Until his eyes and those dark lashes matched. Until he flipped her own shirt over her head. The click and rattle of his bracelets jangled by her ear as he fisted his fingers into her hair, letting it flow over his arm.
He looked down at the soft lavender of her bra, as he trailed her own hair over the lacy cups, letting it flow over and around her, until it settled just above her waist. “That hair is going to be in my dreams for a very long time,” he said huskily.
She dragged in a shaky breath, unable to even think about talking. She felt the clasp at her back give and the bra slide forward. He dragged his straight little teeth over his bottom lip as her breasts were revealed. His fingers spanned her waist, his thumbs reaching up her rib cage until he could trace the fuller underside.
Tracing so lightly, so endlessly, until the tips of her breasts felt like they’d actually explode if he didn’t touch her. “Now,” she finally said. “Touch me now,” she whispered.
He stared at her and much as she did to him, he bent down and watched the tight little tips. But his breath had to be hotter. Had to be more amazing than when she’d touched him. She buried her fingers into his hair, pulling him. “Please,” she moaned. She closed her eyes, unable to bear it. Her body undulating against the shaft trapped between them. Restless. Hot. Dying.
She had to be dying. Nothing could feel this good and be real. He flicked the very tip of his tongue over the tip of her nipple and she cried out. Grinding herself against his lap harder, she shuddered. God, she’d come just like this. Possibly just from the way he touched her there. He wrapped his full lips around her breast finally and sucked.
She cried out as her entire body pulsed. “Oh God,” she held on as he drew from her. As he went from one breast to another and sucked. “Richie,” she said on a near mindless gasp.
“Come for me,” He said against her skin. “God, you sound so sweet.” One hand cupped her breast, his thumb flashing back and forth against the aching tip. His other hand flat on her back, holding her upright—and thank God for that, because she’d have been in a puddle on the floor by then. He’d angled her against his jeans and she shamelessly rode him until her body tore apart.
Until the cries she screamed couldn’t have been her own. Until she sagged against him like a ragdoll, her body completely lost to him. His heat warmed her like nothing he’d ever felt. She draped her arms around his neck to let the closeness last.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“It was amazing.” He said against her neck, his fingers playing with her hair. “When a woman gives of herself like that, it’s nothing short of a miracle.”
She looked up at him, startled and not sure what to say. “But you didn’t get to…” she trailed off. The evidence of her lone orgasm was still between them.
“It’s okay, if that’s all you want this to be. The fact that you shared that with me…freely. It was a gift.”
“You can’t be real,” she blurted out.
He laughed. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, it’s the moments you treasure. When you’re not sure what’s going to happen tomorrow, you take what life gives you and you’re grateful for any act of complete faith. The fact that you lost yourself with me, a near stranger, was more than I could ask for.”
She stared into his eyes and knew the truth was there. It was as humbling as it was amazing to behold. A man like this was a rarity. “But what if I want more? Does it make me greedy? That the moment was here and now it’s gone?”
He stood, wrapping her legs around his middle as he walked across the scattered rugs, the greens that grasped and twisted from every surface and every archway as he got to the back of the room. A bedroom lay behind the soft white doors that diffused the lights of the day that were starting to wane. “Are you sure?”
She smiled, her arms tighter around his neck. “I take it you like greedy?”
He gripped the rayon blend of her pants, his long fingers digging into the pockets. “I want to be inside you so bad I can’t breathe,” he said and took her mouth. “But I wouldn’t ask.”
The earlier ease built into a frenzy. Her boots clicked together at his back as she lifted herself higher. Looking down at him, she gripped his hair, meeting his mouth with kiss for kiss, tongue for tongue until the sweetness of the moment before was a blur of skin and heat.
Where there was gentleness, there was now a flashpoint of lust. She’d coasted effortlessly through the sweetness of him, but the punishing grip of his fingers on her ass as he pulled her tight to him was her undoing. He tumbled them onto the bed, furious fingers undid zippers and pushed at denim and the blend of her dress pants.
“Faster,” she gasped.
He groaned against her mouth when his fingers found her slick. “Oh God, you’re so wet. For me?” he raised his head. “For me?”
She nodded, jerking when his thrust two fingers deep into her. “God, yes—for you.”
He flicked his thumb along her clit and she arched against him. That heat was going to be the death of her. It felt like her skin was going to sizzle off her body. She palmed his length and groaned. He’d fill her until she was sure she’d never, ever be the same woman again. Of that one thing, she was sure.
He hissed as she grasped him and guided him inside of her. Her fingers rounded his hips to grip the soft flesh of his ass, pushing and pulling him inside of her.
“Wait,” he said on a groan. “I want it to last. There’s only one first time.” He said and their eyes met as he slowly sunk into her. Pulling out of her, he thrust again.
She cried out at the invasion, the utter and amazing heat of him. She’d never been that warm in all of her life. From shoulders, to breasts, to sex, to thighs, to feet he pressed her down into the lake sized mattress and when his mouth completed the circle she coasted up against him.
Riding the heat and the pleasure, she felt each thrust like it was a part of her. The tip of his cock, sliding against her walls, the shaft of him widening her, the base of him connecting to hers. The oneness was unlike anything she’d ever known.
And when he finally lost that iron-clad control she reveled in it. The completeness of it would follow her throughout her life, she was sure of that. It was a perfect moment of clarity, just before her body released into a blazing white hot release.


~

When she woke, it was to his heavy arm around her waist, the tail of his beaded bracelet dangled against her hip as they’d snuggled together in sleep. There was no sheet, no blanket, nothing but their skin from back to front. She’d never been so warm.
At the butterfly soft kiss on her shoulder, she smiled. “That was amazing.”
He slid his hand over her belly, to drag her flush to him. “That was only lesson one.”