He's holding my hand. Fuck! Palm to palm, our fingers intertwine. Merely days ago, I faced bombs without breaking a sweat, but right now, my palms are clammy. When I squeeze his hand and try to shake it free, he squeezes mine back.
I've refused to discuss the last set's events with anyone. Not that the sibs have questioned. Nor has Jasper, not at the gate, not in the days since. He has not mentioned me quitting either.
"Shh, listen," he whispers without looking at me.
Rule 21: Except for gaters and observers, all other referees agree to remain in secured locations during sets. Offenders will be kicked out of the competition/employment and ban for life, and, if applicable, offenders' names will be removed from Competition's Wall of Fame.
I return my attention to the concert. From our seat in the fourth row−the guy's too quick by half−I study each member of the orchestra. My badass referee likes classical music, who would have guessed?
My referee? Shit, shit, shit, where did that come from?
The concert hall is empty but for the band and us. Lilliputian lamps clipped to the musicians' lecterns, a beam from high above illuminating the conductor, casting mephistophelian shadows on his face, the orchestra is rehearsing in the subdued gloom. In the darkness, the hall is a glory of wood. A jigsaw-puzzle assemblage of exotic lumber, luxurious and decadent. The pipes of a majestic organ, a mix of dull lead, rich copper, and shiny brass, float silently in the air above the orchestra pit. Can I move in?
Berlioz's ancient Symphonie Fantastique is a favorite of mine, which exacerbates my romantic side. Yah, I do have one, how could I not? After all, I am a princess, raised in a castle in a far, far away land, her prince charming at her side. That my knight is dead and buried, that he became, postmortem, a gigantic pain in my royal fanny doesn't make me any less softhearted. A cynical, wary, catty, wicked princess. More shrew than gentlewoman. I have a game to win, damn it.
The orchestra intones the third movement. The viola's duality enthralls me. My surroundings dim but for the music ringing in my ears, the vibrations flowing through me, my racing heartbeat, and the scorching heat of the hand holding mine. This might be the most content I've been. Ever.
I will win the game.
I will return home.
Wee will come after me.
This will end.
I have no plans regarding Jasper. He does not fit in my life. I suspect he has plans of his own. Dark ones.
"Close your eyes, Caelina."
I close my eyes. Feel the palpitations. The music. My heartbeat. Jasper's. The musicians' vibrations.
"Let go," Jasper breathes into my ear as he releases my hand.
I rest my palms flat on my thighs and loosen my shoulders.
My eyes are closed. I focus on the pulse of the room.
"Shh, let me." Jasper's whispered chiding comes as I startle at his touch on my knee. His fingers caress up my inner thigh to my pubis. It's so hot when it cups my sex.
I glance down at it. His hand. My crotch. My eyes flutter closed once again.
Through the fabric of my pants, his fingers trace, oh so gently, my labia. With the slightest of pressure, they fondle my clit, my folds, my opening. Despite myself, I undulate under his probing. Harder, faster I want.
He's tender. Unhurried. "Let be."
I'm not as subtle when I reach over the armrest and grope him through his pants. He is hard, heavy under my touch. I squeeze and trace his length. He does not stop me. I massage and jerk him as best I can over his pants, zipper and all. He rocks under my clumsy, harsh touch.
Between my thighs, his hand keeps a languorous rhythm.
I climb and climb. The music. The vibrations. His heat. The very air.
My nipples ache. My hands clench into fists. One on my thigh. One around his cock.
"Let go," his voice grates. My skin. My sex. "Now."
"I can't," I'm about to say, but then feel his breath on my cheek a heartbeat before he kisses it, and I let go. I. Let. Go. "Jasper!" My scream is but a sigh.
I sag into my seat, out of breath. A drop of sweat follows a sinuous path between my breasts, and I shiver. Wipe my sticky palms on my pants.
Besides me, Jasper chuckles and readjust himself. "You'll unman me, princess." He smirks down at the spot on the front of his pants.
He doesn't look one bit embarrassed. I wish I had his cool. I'm already taking off my jacket to tie it around my waist.
"Leave it on, doll. Your eyes betray you every time."
"You're shameless."
"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Didn't Kendrick teach you that?"
"Nope. Kendrick didn't teach me squat. Besides, I abide more by 'a woman's work is never done' since, well, I am a woman after all."
"That you are. A woman after my own heart."
"I thought referees didn't have a heart."
"We don't. That's why I'm so good at my job."
"Which is what, exactly?"
"Keeping you player lot in check."
Once more, Jaz evaded my question. "Is that what you were doing a few minutes ago?"
"You and me both, Silk, don't you think?"
I don't answer him. I too will keep my secrets. Kendrick is well and truly gone. The king is dead, long live the king!
YOU ARE READING
Opus
General FictionI left out the real reason I'm here. Kendrick, my ex-lover, is dead. He was the game's winner three and two years back. On the Competition's Registration Form, at question 78: Why are you participating? Answer in 100 characters or less. I si...
