She watched his lids lower and felt a slight shudder run through him. They needed to make up, repair the rift between them before anything got in the middle of their bond. So many new insights were pouring into her mind that it could barely hold them as she watched his reaction. Silently she swore she'd never travel the uncharted waters of blind, jealous rage again--made sense that one came home and sealed the fissure in a relationship after a lapse. The moment the line got crossed, the spirit registered the breach in the hull; the mind went into panic then damage-control strategy. The body became the solder to take the pressure off and seal the vessel of the relationship from incoming, rushing tides of change so it wouldn't flood with problems and tank. That kinda mess would drown the whole crew. Lord, she understood so much better... and apparently just in the nick of time.
Carlos hadn't answered her verbally, just stripped off his shirt and walked over to the bed, unfastening his jeans and kicking off his unlaced Tims. She smiled, loving him as much as the relaxed intimacy that now cloaked them. It was something to be cherished, so she took her time going around the room, lighting tallows and enjoying the anticipation that made the vibe thicken around them.
Every now and then, she glimpsed over her shoulder to catch the utter appreciation in his expression. His eyelids were heavy, but his eyes burned silver beneath them as they watched her strip away her clothes to join him under the covers. No, nothing was worth risking this.
She slid against him, her skin catching fire as it ignited his, and she leaned down to land soft caresses on his forehead and eyelids with the barest brush of her mouth. "Wounded, lover... I'm sorry," she crooned softly. "I should have been more careful with your love." She stopped her song to find his mouth, and then broke the kiss, sending her gentle apology into it upon a sad melody. "Wounded lover... forgive me. This time I'll make it up to you." Her hands stroked his hair, and glided down his shoulders to gently rake his ni**les with her nails, making him close his eyes. "Wounded lover... I love you." The song stopped where his deep kiss began. Her guilt ended where his touch started. Her confusion ceased where he entered her. The muse's lure was lost where her man's rhythm was found. With every ragged breath they drew, she remembered where she was supposed to be. Not even a rip in the universe could come between this, they were one.
But at three o'clock in the morning, she found herself sitting up in bed. Damali looked down at Carlos, his breathing was deep and steady, a man contented and asleep. Her mind was raging with the rest of the song they'd created. She bent and kissed him; he stirred, and reached out a lazy arm to claim her.
"Your muse calling you again?" he murmured with his eyes closed and a slight smile gracing his mouth.
"Yeah," she whispered and kissed his cheek.
"Go to him then," Carlos murmured as he yawned and snuggled deeper into the covers. "I know where to find you."
She hesitated. "I'll be downstairs in the studio, okay? Just for a little while."
"That's what you always say." He chuckled, turning over with a sated smile. He hadn't opened his eyes, and was beginning to drift off to sleep again. "I know you can't fight that call... and you lose track of time."
"I'll just be a little while," she said, so conflicted she'd begun to wring her hands. "We'll have breakfast together, okay? I'll make you something--"
"Damali, go 'head, baby. I ain't got nothin' for you until morning." He chuckled and stretched, not even looking at her. "I don't know how you do it."
She slipped from the bed after kissing him once more and went into the bathroom to splash water on her face. It had to be safe now. She'd made her point, made her choice. But she had to be able to finish what she'd started, had to be able to keep working with the second love of her life--music.
"Wounded Lover" demanded recording now. In her sleep she'd heard the rest of the song, just like she was sure she could complete the other two that had jumped into her brain earlier that night. Three cuts were screaming to get laid. Once she recorded them, all she'd have to do is let Jose hear them and he could score them. Rider's guitar would know what to do, just like Shabazz's bass and J.L.'s keyboards.... Mike would be on it with a second keyboard or drums, Mar would bring the bells and shakers, and they'd have a healthy jump-start to getting back into the groove.
Washing up quickly, she felt so alive she could have skipped back into the room. With guilt gone, Carlos satisfied, and her freedom no longer in question, she was energized. This drama was a fluke.
Damali quickly found a tank top and a pair of sweats and escaped the bedroom, hurrying down the hallways and a wide flight of stairs to the first-floor studio. The moment she entered the soundproof enclosure and turned on the lights, she felt like she was home. All she needed was a couple of takes, and she knew she'd nail it. Dawn would be coming through the windows in a matter of hours, and all would be right with the world.
She dashed over to the mixing board and turned on a stand mic and depressed the record buttons, not bothering to don headphones. She had this. A capella. Yeah, boyie.
Excited by the creation, she went to the mic, closed her eyes, and began "Wounded Lover." The sound of her voice filled the studio, and before long she'd improvised from the earlier melody in her head, had found notes between notes, her voice carrying raw power. Sensuality oozed from the melody that she let hover and falter, like a woman crying, begging to be understood. She sent everything into the lyrical promises, her arms outstretched, head back, feeling the music as it surged up and out of her. It was like being in church, testify. It was like being one with air, have mercy. It was electricity, pure adrenaline, as she belted out her soulful wail.
New words spun, dipped, and added to stanzas. Yeah, wounded lover, I've missed you--would never leave you. 'Cause, you're my wounded lover.... I can never he the one to hurt you. Don't go, not for a little while, baby. Just listen. I can explain and make it all right again. Just... wounded lover, please... hear me.
Perspiration made her white tank top cling to her torso. Energy-
infused body heat made her sweatpants second skin. Trembling, she sang her heart out. The wail of agony she released in soprano sent shivers through her, then she dipped it to a hoarse whisper of remorse, a stuttering repetitive baby that ended in a crooning ooohhh, you know I love you. Wounded lover, don't go.
He materialized right in her arms as she finished the song, welded to her in a desperate embrace. His hard kiss captured her mouth, stole her breath, and sent prisms of new melody through her. Sound became color within her as he moved against her, shuddering. Every color was a pleasure shard between her legs that arched her back and left her limp. His kiss was filled with indecipherable words that she could feel, understood from within, but only heard once he tore his mouth from hers and found her neck.
He held the sides of her face, raining kiss after rapid kiss upon her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, her forehead, then again sought her mouth. Each time he spoke, it was with the voice of a broken man.
"Beloved, you ruin me," he gasped, his hot words touching off another orgasm within her. His caress fused to her back, his burning hands rapidly tracing down it to cover the Sankofa tattoo at the base of her spine, and the acute, erotic sensation made tears fall. "Oh, Damali, I am beyond wounded, I have been slain. Outright slaughtered."
She could barely hold on to his shoulders, the heat emanating from his skin was so intense. All reason had been wiped from her mind as she felt him cl**ax hard in a tidal wave of pure sound, bury his face against her hair, and sob.
She stood there for a few moments, too stunned to move. This wasn't terror, this was outright horror. Her man was upstairs, an entity had released hard and was now sobbing, "I love you, don't leave me," in her arms. She'd just gotten out of bed with one man, was downstairs on the DL with another--in her family's house. She began to hyperventilate. Passing out was very possible. The fact that he hadn't actually entered her would be a moot technicality once Carlos dropped fang.
"Muse, Muse, listen to me!" she said, trying to extract herself from his warm, wonderful hold. "You have got to go--now!"
But he didn't budge. His nude, thick, muscular frame was pressed against her tightly. His body felt like granite had formed beneath his supple skin. His eyes searched hers, holding open desire.
"You don't understand," he said on staccato breaths. "Every time you began a song and let it die in fits and starts, you touched me... you did that for hours, all night long. When you finished, I finished, right here in your arms." His palm trembled as it cupped her cheek, his eyes never leaving hers. "I thought I would go mad from the prolonged wait... and you still have more brimming inside you, as do I." He captured her hand and dragged it down his torso to his pulsing shaft. "Just finish one more for me, lover."
Her eyes almost crossed when she touched him there. The look on his face was untarnished want. She understood where he was at, had been there herself. His body was so hot it felt like it had soaked up the sun. But reality and the cold light of day was an interesting mix. It brought instant sanity. She could not have Carlos come down here and find her standing in the middle of a sound studio holding a huge entity's dick.