Harmony Ch. 03

His grin got even wider. "I'll book a room."

In the weeks that followed, she got used to the musty smell of the practice rooms. It was impossible to learn about writing music without learning about music, so soon she was meeting him in the library on some of his shifts, listening to Schubert and Mahler and Stravinsky and others with his commentary, until she felt like she was auditing an extra course. Or maybe not even auditing--he expected her to bring him things. He didn't just automatically like everything she wrote; they got into arguments about it. Sometimes the arguments got loud. Calvin would cede any number of points to her, but in the end, it was his thesis; he got his way. Still, she had never had someone pay attention to her work like this, picking it apart, finding strengths and weaknesses she wasn't fully aware of.

It was a strange thing, collaboration, taking your understanding of the world and running it up against someone else's. But she and Calvin were able to work out a rhythm, a way of communicating and listening between equals. She knew he valued her input and intelligence; in turn, she marveled at what he was able to hear and put to paper.

***

At first, in the bliss of find each other, their work had more or less come to a halt. Their schedules were not a perfect match, and she often had to stay or at least check in with Cynthia in the evenings, so their hours together almost felt stolen; and the priority in those first days was simply being together. They could hardly keep their hands off each other. But Calvin was not long deterred from his project, and with that iron will of his, stuck to his guns; one Thursday evening she met him in the basement of the music building to work on the third song instead of going to his apartment and falling into his arms.

She had not seen him in two days and the moment she laid her eyes on him, all she wanted to do was tackle him to the floor and have her way. She kissed him hello, and it was he who had to disentangle them, with a regretful but firm look on his face.

The next hour was torturous; how had she ever focused on anything with him in the same room before? She forced herself to pay attention, but at the edge of her mind she was exquisitely aware of his closeness to her, the faint scent of the soap he used, the glimpse of the pale hair on his chest at the V-neck of his sweater and the muscles in his arms below the edge of his rolled-up sleeves. And his hands--she had an obsession with his hands now. She wanted those hands on her back, her breasts, between her legs. She remembered how, the last time she saw him, he'd done something with his fingers and tongue that left her reeling.

And yet after this she could not go home with him; he had his library shift and she had to go back to Cynthia. Ginny had never minded the live-in aspect of her job before. She liked Cynthia, she liked living in a nice apartment with a large bedroom and attached bathroom and a full bathtub instead of in the ratty student slums of Allston and Brighton. But now she wanted to be able to spend any night she chose with Calvin. Only being able to do so two nights a week was not enough. She was pondering this as they finished, Calvin busy tucking his pile of staff paper and scribbled notes into his bag.

"Are you okay?" he said. She remembered the way that voice thrummed in his body when she rested her head on his chest. Oh, this is awful, she thought; am I really going to be thinking about sex all evening? I'm turning into an addict.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." He touched her cheek. "You look irritated."

"I'm not," she said. "I promise."

"Do you want to come up to my office with me for a few minutes? I've got a little time before I have to get to the library, and I have to drop something off."

"Sure," she said, though not with much enthusiasm. She followed him up the stairs. She had been to Calvin's office once or twice before, up on the fifth floor of the building. Though the basement, with its practice rooms, was busy during the early evening, the rest of the building was almost deserted. When he unlocked the door she followed him in and shut it behind her.

Compared to her professors' offices, Calvin's hardly qualified. Two desks were crammed into it, his and Assif's, a worn two-seat sofa against the far wall between them. She stood there watching him dig through his bag, adding and subtracting from the piles of papers on his desk.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he said, startling her out of her reverie. "You're very quiet."

"Yes!" she snapped, and then shook her head. He raised an eyebrow and she looked down at the floor. "I'm not mad at you," she said. "I just...I want..." Why was it so hard to admit?

He took a step closer, reached out to tilt her chin up until she looked at him. "You want?" he prompted.

She groaned in frustration. "You know what I want!"

"I have an idea or two." He leaned in to kiss her, laughing as he did so.

But she didn't laugh. Yes, she wanted his warm mouth on hers, but she wanted much more than that. She slid her tongue across his lips and kissed him more deeply. Her arms went around him, drawing him closer, and he made a pleased noise in the back of his throat. She loved how he was so much taller than her. Oh, but she wanted his lips on her neck, and she broke the kiss to tilt her head back; then he was there, slow and hot. She was melting.

"Ginny," he murmured into her skin. His hands had found her breasts, were stroking her through her shirt. She didn't want to stop. Who cared if Assif could walk in any moment? The odds of that were infinitesimal in the face of her need. She pushed him over to the little sofa. He went willingly enough, laughed a little as she pushed him down. When she straddled him, and kissed him again, hungrily, he grunted in surprise, and then returned the kiss with equal hunger. Her fingers were pushing under his sweater, finding his hot skin, and she threaded them over that spot on his chest that she'd been longing to touch. She rocked against the hardening ridge of his cock.

"Ginny." This time the word was a groan into her mouth. He broke their kiss. "We can't. Not here."

"Please." She pushed up her wool skirt, reached to unbuckle his belt. She was kissing his neck now, tasting him. Biting him. He swore softly, caught her hand.

"Ginny--"

"Please, please, please," she begged him; somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that she should be embarrassed, begging him like this, but she wasn't, she just wanted. She wanted him inside her, he was right there, and hard, all he had to do was unzip his pants. She pushed her panties aside.

"Oh, God," Calvin said in a low voice, feeling her. "You do want me."

"Please," she said desperately. She felt like crying with frustration. "Please, Cal," her face buried in his neck. She hardly recognized her own voice, whining and reedy.

He took a deep breath and then hand was stroking her, his fingers were inside her, the pressure relieving some of that awful need to be full. It wasn't his cock, but it might be enough. She rolled her hips, riding his hand, and he was doing something, maybe something he did on the piano...the image of his agile hands flitting through her mind. She was so aroused it took almost no time at all; she came in a shuddering spasm, gasping into his shoulder.

His voice in her ear was low and soothing. "There we go."

As quickly and intensely as the desire had come upon her, it was gone, replaced by burning humiliation. She couldn't even look at him. God, she thought, he must think I'm out of control.

"Better?"

"Mmm."

"I just can't, in here," he said in that same quiet voice. "I couldn't keep a straight face with Assif."

"Oh, Cal, I'm sorry." She couldn't lift her head to look at him.

"For what?" he laughed.

"I can't believe I just did that to you."

"Yes," he chuckled, "It's awful when your girlfriend wants you so badly she begs for it. Absolute nightmare."

That made her lift her head to regard him. "Am I your girlfriend?"

"I thought so." He caressed her thighs. "I hope so." He cocked his head, quizzical. "Aren't you?"

It felt like some irrevocable step, this naming what was between them. Faintly dangerous. She would be breaking a rule. Though it wasn't a rule that Calvin knew about. And when she thought about it that way, it was ridiculous. Why shouldn't she call herself his girlfriend? They were sleeping together exclusively; she spent all her free time with him. She thought about him all the time; she missed him when he wasn't with her; she dreamed about him. She'd never be able to convince him why she shouldn't be his girlfriend without telling him everything, and that, that would be...

"Hey." His fingers brushed her cheek and he looked concerned. "Does that bother you? Calling you my girlfriend?"

"No," she reassured him. "No, it's just...new. For me." She felt the way she had that first night after she'd heard his music; he was impossible to deny. "All right, then," she said after a moment. "I guess I am."

She smiled. He smiled back; she could almost feel his happiness, like a thrum in the air.