Chapter 5: The Unfinished Track
The phone was warm from his hand when Paan pressed it back into his palm, her fingertips dragging across his knuckles just a second longer than necessary. The track kept looping on the screen, her own vocal drone humming out of the tiny speaker, and she could feel it vibrating in her chest like a second heartbeat.
Seita didn't look at the phone. He looked at her, and the bass from the wall speakers seemed to pulse in the space between them, slow and heavy.
"Then let me help you finish it."
His voice was low, rough at the edges, and it did something to her spine. Paan's breath caught, her chin tilting up to keep his gaze. He stepped in, and she didn't move. His hand found her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her hoodie, pulling her against him until the hard lines of his body pressed into the soft curves of hers. The warmth of him was immediate, shocking, a live current running through her skin.
"Finish what?" she asked, and her voice came out steadier than she felt, because she was drowning in the smell of him, faint cologne and sweat and something clean underneath.
Seita's head dipped, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. She felt the heat of his breath before his lips, a shiver raking down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
"Everything," he murmured, and the word scraped against her like a match striking.
His other hand slid up her back, palm flat, tracing the ridge of her spine through the cotton. The touch was deliberate, slow, and Paan's knees went weak. She pressed her hands flat against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat under her palms, the rise and fall of his breath going shallow. Her fingers found the collar of his shirt, curling into it, tugging him closer.
"Seita." She said his name like a warning, but it came out breathless, a plea she hadn't meant to make.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes half-lidded, weighted with something raw and unguarded. His thumb traced the curve of her waist, slipping just under the hem of her hoodie, brushing the bare skin of her hip. That single point of contact burned.
"Tell me to stop," he said, but his voice was a low rasp, and his grip tightened, pulling her harder against him. She felt the press of him through their clothes, the unmistakable heat of his arousal, and a soft sound escaped her throat.
She didn't tell him to stop. She pulled him down instead, her mouth crashing into his, and the bass swallowed the moan he swallowed.
The kiss broke only long enough for her to gasp, and then Seita's hands were under her, gripping the backs of her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Paan's legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, her fingers fisting in his hair as he carried her the two steps to the wall of speakers.
The surface was cold and solid against her ass, vibrating with the bass, the low thrum humming straight up her spine and settling between her legs. He didn't set her down gently. He pressed her into the vibration, his body stepping between her thighs, his hips rocking against her with a roughness that made her gasp into his mouth.
"Fuck," she breathed, and the word got lost in the next kiss.
He pulled her hoodie up, and the air hit her skin, and then his mouth was on her stomach, hot and wet, dragging up her ribs. Paan arched into him, her head falling back, and the vibration of the speaker rattled through her tailbone while his tongue traced the underside of her breast. She could feel him through his jeans, the thick press of him against her core, and she ground down on instinct, earning a guttural sound from his throat that she felt more than heard.
"Seita—" She didn't know what she was asking for. She just knew she needed more.
His answer was a growl against her sternum. He tugged her hoodie off over her head, then pulled his own shirt off in one rough motion, and Paan's hands found his bare chest like they'd been starving for it. The heat of his skin, the taut muscle shifting under her palms, the way his breath hitched when her nails dragged down his abs. She wanted to memorize every inch of him.
He stepped back just enough to look at her, and the hunger in his eyes was darker than she'd ever seen it. The bass thumped through the room, carrying the whole building's heartbeat, but all Paan could hear was the ragged sound of his breathing.
"Anyone could walk in," she said, but it came out weak, her hips rolling forward again, chasing the pressure he'd pulled away.
Seita's hands clamped on her bare waist, thumbs pressing into the soft skin above her jeans. "Then you better be quiet."
The challenge in his voice made her clench. She leaned back on her palms, the speaker vibrating against her splayed fingers, and she let him see exactly what that did to her.
Paan bit down on her bottom lip, hard enough to taste copper, and the sharp sting of it grounded her. The bass rattled through her palms, through her spine, through the damp heat gathering between her thighs, and she held his gaze like a dare. Her hips rolled again, slow and deliberate, grinding against the empty air where he'd been standing.
Seita's jaw tightened. He stepped back into her, one hand sliding up her sternum, over her collarbone, curling around the side of her neck. His thumb pressed against the pulse hammering in her throat, and he held her there, not choking, just feeling her heartbeat like he was counting the seconds.
"You're really gonna stay quiet?" he asked, his voice a low scrape against the bass.
She nodded, still biting down, and the way his eyes darkened told her he didn't believe her for a second.
His other hand found the button of her jeans. He popped it open with one thumb, dragged the zipper down slow, the sound sharp and electric in the small room. Her breath hitched. The denim loosened around her hips and he pushed it down, both hands gripping her waist as he lifted her just enough to work the jeans past her ass, past her thighs, until they were bunched around her knees.
She was left in nothing but her underwear, soaked through, pressed against the vibrating wall of the speaker. The cold surface against her hot skin made her gasp, and she bit her lip harder to swallow the sound.
Seita dropped to his knees.
The sight of him there, between her thighs, looking up at her with that ravenous focus, made her chest tighten. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of her underwear and pulled them aside, the fabric damp and clinging. The hum of the bass vibrated through his mouth when he leaned in, pressing his lips to the inside of her thigh, dragging them up slow, teasing, torturous. His breath was hot against her core and she trembled, her fingers finding his hair, gripping it as a warning.
"Seita," she breathed, the word barely a whisper.
He looked up at her, his mouth a hair's breadth from where she needed him, and he grinned, a flash of teeth against the dim light.
"Quiet," he reminded her.
She bit her lip until her vision blurred.
His tongue found her clit, and the world went white.
The first stroke was flat and hot, dragging up through her slick folds with a slowness that felt deliberate. Paan's hips bucked off the speaker, but Seita's hands were already there, gripping her thighs, pinning her open, holding her steady as he did it again. The second pass was pointed, the tip of his tongue circling the swollen bud with a precision that made her knees shake. She was glad she was already off the ground because she would have collapsed.
The bass thrummed through the wall behind her, through his mouth, through the core of her, vibrating against his tongue as he worked her. She could feel the sound more than hear it, a low pulse that synced with the rhythm of her heart slamming against her ribs. Her fingers twisted in his hair, and she pulled, not to move him away but to hold him there, to beg without words.
Seita groaned against her, and the vibration of it sent a jolt straight through her clit, up her spine, into the back of her skull. He licked her like she was the answer to some question he'd been asking his whole life, his tongue flattening and curling, his lips sealing around her as he sucked her into his mouth. Her vision swam. She heard a sound torn out of her throat, high and broken, and the echo of it bounced off the practice room walls.
"Quiet," he murmured against her, his breath hot and wet against her skin. But he didn't sound like he meant it. He sounded wrecked, like he was the one losing control.
His mouth returned to her, and this time he pushed her thighs wider, spreading her open for him like he was starving. His tongue dragged down from her clit to her entrance, dipping inside her just enough to make her gasp, her hips rolling forward to chase it. He gave her another inch, two, his tongue curling inside her, and she felt the pressure building low in her belly, coiling tight and hot.
"Seita, I'm gonna—" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, a breathless warning she didn't want to give and couldn't keep.
He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his lips slick and swollen, his dark eyes burning through the dim light. "Not yet."
The command undid her more than the touch did. She was shaking, her thighs trembling around his shoulders, and he smiled, slow and cruel, before he lowered his head again and sealed his mouth over her clit.
He rose.
Paan made a sound of protest, something small and desperate, but Seita's hands were already on her, gripping her hips and turning her, pulling her off the speaker and guiding her down to the floor in one smooth motion. She landed on her back, the cool, worn wood of the practice room floor pressing against her bare skin, the bass from the speakers now thrumming up through the boards into her shoulder blades.
Before she could catch her breath, his hands were on her thighs again, pushing them apart, spreading her wide as he settled between her knees. The hunger was still in his eyes, darker now, and he looked at her like she was the only thing that existed in the room.
"I told you," he said, his voice rough, barely a whisper above the bass. "I'm not done with you yet."
He lowered his head, but this time he didn't stop at her clit. His lips pressed against her inner thigh first, then the other, dragging up the sensitive skin with maddening slowness. He watched her as he did it, reading her reactions, cataloging every twitch and shiver. Then his tongue found her again, flat and broad, dragging through her slick heat with a growl that vibrated through her.
Paan's head fell back against the floor, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the wood as he worked her open. He lapped at her like she was something sacred, long, deliberate strokes that made her hips arch off the ground. When the tip of his tongue traced her entrance again, dipping inside her, a broken moan tore from her throat.
"Quiet," he reminded her, but he was smiling when he said it, his lips brushing against her clit. She could feel the curve of that smile against her, the bastard.
She bit down on her fist, muffling the sound as his tongue pushed deeper inside her. He curled it, exploring her, learning her, and she was so full of him and his mouth and the vibration of the bass that she thought she might come apart entirely. Her thighs tightened around his head, her heels digging into his back, and he made a sound against her, low and possessive, like he'd been waiting for exactly this.
The sound of the door creaking open sliced through the bass like a blade.
Paan's body went rigid, every muscle locking at once. Her fist stayed clamped against her mouth, her eyes flying wide open, staring at the ceiling's dark acoustic tiles as if they held the answer. Seita froze between her thighs, his mouth still against her, the warmth of his breath suddenly sharp against her slick skin. For one endless second, nobody moved. The bass thumped on, oblivious, shaking the floorboards beneath her back.
Seita moved first. He rose in a single, fluid motion, his body blocking her from view of the door, his shoulders broad and deliberate as he turned to face whoever had walked in. Paan's hands flew to her thighs, pulling them together, her heart slamming so hard she could feel it in her throat. She scrambled for her hoodie on the floor, dragging it over her head in a clumsy, desperate motion, the fabric sticking to her damp skin.
"Shit," she breathed, the word barely audible over the music.
A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the hall's dim light. Paan couldn't make out the face, just the shape of a person frozen mid-step, hand still on the handle. The silence stretched, thick and electric, filled only by the relentless bass.
"Sorry," a voice said. Low. Male. Not someone she recognized immediately. "Didn't know the room was taken."
Seita's voice came out steady, unhurried. "It is."
The figure hesitated, then backed out, the door swinging shut with a soft click that felt louder than thunder. The room fell quiet, just the bass and two ragged breaths.
Paan's chest heaved. She stared at the door, her fingers still gripping the hem of her hoodie. Her underwear was still twisted aside, damp and ruined, her jeans a mess around her knees. She looked at Seita. He was still standing between her and the door, his bare back to her, shoulders rising and falling with breath that was nowhere near calm.
Seita turned back to her.
The dim light caught the sharp cut of his jaw, the heave of his bare chest. His lips were still slick, his hair a mess, and there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before the door creaked. Something hot and possessive and barely contained.
He looked at her, crumpled on the floor with her hoodie rucked up around her ribs, jeans still bunched around her knees, underwear twisted and soaked. He looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever interrupted.
Then he crossed the room in three strides.
He dropped to his knees in front of her, not gentle, not slow. His hands found her face, cradling her jaw, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. His thumb dragged across her bottom lip, smearing the bite marks she'd left there.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice rough.
Paan's throat worked. She nodded. The word got stuck somewhere between her heart and her mouth.
His eyes searched hers, and whatever he found there made his breath hitch. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against hers, his thumb still tracing her lip.
"The door locks," he said.
Her heart lurched.
"Then lock it."
He held her gaze for one more heartbeat, then rose, crossing to the door in a few long strides. The lock clicked, a sound that cut through the bass like a drawn blade. He didn't turn back around right away. He stood there, one palm flat against the door, his shoulders rising and falling with breaths he was clearly trying to control.
Then he turned.
The look on his face undid her. The hunger was still there, but it was tempered now, sharpened by the interruption and the promise of privacy. He walked back to her, slow, deliberate, and when he reached her he didn't kneel. He reached down, gripped her hands, and pulled her to her feet.
The bass thrummed up through her bare soles.
He tugged her hoodie off over her head again, tossing it aside without ceremony. His hands found her hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of her jeans, and he pushed them down, helping her step out of them. She was left in her ruined underwear, and he looked at her, really looked, from her flushed chest to the damp patch on the fabric between her thighs.
"Mine," he said, the word low and possessive, like a claim.
Paan's breath caught. She reached for him, dragging her nails down his chest, watching his stomach clench at the touch. "Prove it."
A sound rumbled from his chest, half growl, half laugh. He lifted her again, this time carrying her across the room to the padded bench that ran along the mirrored wall. He laid her down on it like she was something precious, then pulled her underwear off, the damp fabric peeling away with a slow drag that made her shiver.
He straightened, looking down at her.
"Last chance," he said. "Tell me to stop."
She reached for the button of his jeans and popped it open, the zipper a harsh whisper in the quiet. "Keep going."
His jaw tightened. She watched him kick his jeans off, watched his boxers follow, and when he was bare before her she forgot how to breathe. He was long, thick, straining toward her with a need that made her mouth water. She sat up, reaching for him, but he caught her wrist.
"Not yet."
He lowered her back onto the bench, settling between her thighs. The padded surface was cooler than the speaker but softer, and the mirror on the wall caught the reflection of both of them, the image burned into her memory. His hands spread her open, and he looked at her like he was memorizing the sight.
"You have no idea," he said, his voice a low rasp, "how long I've wanted this."
Then he pushed into her.
The stretch was slow, exquisite, his thickness filling her inch by inch. Paan's head fell back, a long, low moan tearing from her throat. He paused when he was fully seated, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged and shaking.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You feel—"
She rolled her hips, clenching around him, and whatever he was going to say dissolved into a groan that vibrated through his chest into hers. He pulled out almost all the way, then drove back in, deep and hard, and her hands flew to his back, nails digging into the muscle.
"Seita—"
He answered with a kiss, hungry and bruising, swallowing her cries as he found a rhythm. Slow at first, dragging out of her with a friction that made her see stars, then faster, harder, the bench creaking beneath them, the bass from the speakers thrumming through the wall and into her spine. He drove into her like he was chasing something, a note, a release, an answer, and she let him take it from her.
She was close. She could feel it building, coiling tight in her belly, her inner walls fluttering around him.
"Look at me," he demanded, his voice a wrecked command.
She opened her eyes. His were dark, burning, locked on hers in the mirror behind her.
"You don't leave," he rasped, driving into her harder. "Not after this."
"Never," she gasped, and the word came out like a vow.
He slammed into her, deep and relentless, and she shattered. The orgasm ripped through her, her back arching off the bench, a hoarse cry torn from her throat. He watched her come undone above him, his jaw tight, his rhythm faltering. Three more strokes and he followed, burying himself deep, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he groaned against her skin.
The bass thumped on, oblivious.
Paan lay beneath him, shaking, sweat cooling on her skin. His weight was solid on her, grounding. She ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the rhythm of his breathing slow against her chest.
He lifted his head, looked at her, and kissed her, soft and lingering and nothing like the man who'd just fucked her against the mirror.
"Finish it," she whispered against his lips. "The track. With me."
His smile was small and real and it made her chest ache. "It's already finished."