Two Days
(A Chapter Excerpted from Sex and Guitars)
By Gwen Masters

The thick carpet snuggled up to my toes.  The wide pottery mug was warm in my hands.  Outside, light spring rain fell to cover the beauty of Tennessee.  There in my home, a small fire crackled in a rarely used fireplace.  Cashmere and satin felt luxurious and sexy against my smooth and scented skin.  The house was in less than perfect order, comfortable and with the signs of obvious living, not a home designed to impress.  It suited me well. 

His car was almost silent as it pulled into the drive.  Headlights washed across my handmade curtains, joined briefly the light of the candles in the room, and then quickly disappeared.  The slight rumble of the engine was followed by the garage door closing.  The return of silence made me smile, but I didn’t move from where I stood.  I stared at the crackling fire and sampled the cocoa.  It had been five days since I had last seen him.  Five days to contemplate and think.  Now I smiled at the sound of his footfalls across the porch.  Ayza knew he was always welcome here. 

His key turned the lock, and the sight of him made me catch my breath.  He looked strange in my home, more formidable than I had ever thought him to be.  The perspective of comfortable had just changed in an instant.  The realization made me smile. 

And he smiled back, more relaxed than I had seen him in a long time.  Two long days awaited us.  The door lock clicked behind him, and I vowed it would not open until he had to leave me for that long blue tour bus.  His hair was tangled and his clothes were rumpled, but he smelled heavenly, and looked even better.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as he stepped in front of me.  Only his breath touched me as he leaned in close to my ear. 

“I like knowing that you are waiting for me,” he whispered. 

“Good, because I like waiting for you.” 

His gentle laugh stirred the ringlets around my neck.  He moved around me, not touching me, just letting the scent of his cologne and his low laugh settle around me.  A slow shiver ran down my spine and my body tingled.  It was going to be a good two days. 

His breath touched the back of my neck, then was gone.  I turned to watch him walk through my home, the space that I knew so well.  He trailed his fingers over the back of the long davenport and stopped to study the painting on the wall above it.  Thick canvas was the home for a guitar painted of the finest black oils, the instrument resting on a chair awaiting the return of its owner.  A cowboy hat in equal shades of black graced the headstock.  On the floor of the painting, sheet music fell in hurried disarray. 

“It’s beautiful.  Simple,” he said quietly. 

“So is the life of a songwriter,” I noted. 

He turned to me with a gleam of appreciation in his dark eyes.  He still didn’t touch me.  The absence of his skin on mine filled the air with a sensual thrill.  He reached out slowly and took the mug from my hands, his fingers only a whisper of suggestion.  He watched me for a long moment, knowing damn well what he was doing to me.  Then he turned to again survey the home he had seen before, but never quite like this. 

He ran his hand over the mantel, looking down into the fire.  I studied him as he stood there.  The flames danced only inches from his jeans but he didn’t seem to notice.  His low cut boots glistened in the dim flickering light.  The gray sweater made his hair look darker than usual, long wavy hair that had lost its red tint with the diminished sunlight of the past winter.  He looked around the room, taking in the homemade curtains, the quilts adorning every corner, the large chessboard on its marble pedestal.  My home was meant for comfort and warmth.  So was he. 

He smiled at me again, and held out his hand.  I went just as willingly as ever, cuddling into his side and breathing deeply his cologne mixed with the light scent of the fire. 

“Your home is beautiful.  I feel at ease here.” 

He drank from the cocoa and set the mug on the mantle, right next to a shining glass statuette.  The award glistened in the firelight.  He studied it for a long moment, then his hand tightened around my waist and a flash of jealousy ran through his eyes. 

“Is that Aaron’s award?” 


I said nothing else, just watched him look at the visceral proof of the man who had come before him.  He touched the cut glass with reverence. 

“I envy him,” he said suddenly. 

I looked up at him, at the strength of his jaw and the fire snapping in his eyes as if it had jumped from the grate to take up residence there.  He slowly lifted the award from its resting place.  The glass shimmered with a life of its own.  He ran his fingers over the engraved gold plate. The tension in his body surprised me.  He gently settled the statuette back on the mantle, drawing back a little to study it. 

Then he turned and swept me into his arms, kissing me in a way meant to drive away old ghosts.  His tongue gently probed into my mouth and my knees went weak.  My hands came around his shoulders, my nails catching on the little ribs of his sweater, the smell of his cologne heady and addicting already.  His lips were soft yet demanding, just enough.  His hands slipped under my sweater.  I moaned against his mouth as he found my breast through the satin and lace of my bra. 

He pushed me gently away and settled himself in the plush recliner.  I stood looking at him uncertainly, but with the confidence of a woman who knew she was desired.  His voice came low and steady as it blended with the crackling of the fire. 

“Undress for me.”

I waited for a long moment.  I took in every shadow, every cast of light across his body.  I memorized his hands, lying so quietly on his thighs.  I studied him and found that having him in my home was - fantastic.  I didn’t want him to leave.

I slowly pulled out the hem of my lounge pants.  I pushed them down slowly, feeling them glide over the swell of my hips.  My legs were smooth and just long enough to entice.  I let him see them, one slow inch at a time.  I let my hair fall seductively over my forehead, knowing that his eyes were torn between the red strands he loved so much and the milky white skin he loved to touch.  I knelt down and let the pants fall to the floor.  He took in a deep breath as I ran my hands up my smooth legs, learning my own body.  The emerald green sweater made my skin look even paler than it was, and the black lace panties made him breathe harder. 

“I like those,” he whispered, and I smiled.

I ran my fingertips around the lace of the panties, enjoying the way they felt around my curves.  My little belly almost fit into the palm of my hand, but not quite.  When he saw that gentle swell appear from under my sweater, he smiled.  I knew he wanted to rest his head there.  I pulled the sweater over my head with agonizing slowness, finally taking it off and dropping it gently to the floor.  The fabric released my hair with a little flip of curls, and he almost chuckled.  He was enjoying what he saw. 

I touched the straps of the black and lacy bra.  My breasts were ample enough to overflow his hands.  The lace held their weight in a way that suddenly seemed sensual.  I ran my hands over the lace and satin, watching his eyes and enjoying the feeling until I heard his low, needy moan.  I turned away from him then, running my hands down my back.  I let my fingertips slip into the panties.  I turned as I brought my hand around, facing him again, letting him watch as I caressed the curve of my hip. 

“Come here,” he whispered. 

I walked to him slowly.  I reveled in the maturity of my body.  My breasts were no longer as rounded, and my body no longer as thin.  But those marks of maturity were suddenly the most sensual things a woman could possess.  His eyes never left my body, and I was proud of that. 

I slowly straddled him.  The rough denim against my legs made me want to grind against him, but I kept my composure for the time being.  His sweater was warm and so soft against my skin.  I felt his breath on my shoulder.  I let my fingers delve into his hair.  I pulled his head closer, demanding that his lips touch that sensitive spot between my breasts.  His hands held my hips lightly.  I pushed against him once, then twice, feeling his belt buckle rest against my belly.  My fingers dipped into one of his pockets.  I pulled out the shiny gold packet that I knew would be there.  He moaned as I moved over him. 

“I want you,” he said. 

“I know,” I teased.  His hands came up to my breasts and I caught them there.  “No.” 

He looked at me silently, not quite understanding.  I moved back just enough to let my hands find the buckle of his belt.  The snap was deceptively loud.  I smiled as he sucked in a deep breath.  The snap of his jeans was just as easy to open.  The zipper made a sound like anticipation.  His body began to tremble.  I looked into his eyes as I told him exactly what I wanted.

“I’ve missed you.  We have all the time in the world to make love.  I want to fuck.” 

His eyes widened with his deep groan.  I yanked his jeans open.  I moved back and he lifted.  The jeans slid down just enough.  His fingers found the lace of my panties and pulled them aside.  One quick motion, then one settling thrust, and I impaled myself on him. 

“God, yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth.  He quickly found the lever on the side of the chair.  The recliner sank gently back, and I ground down harder, taking more of him.  When his hands settled on my waist, I took his hands in mine.  He let me lift his arms above his head, making it clear what I wanted.  He looked into my eyes and smiled. 

Then I slammed down hard, making us both groan as he filled me completely.  He arched up once and I growled low in my throat, a sound of warning.  His smile disappeared before he stopped moving, simply lying back and letting me have my way. 

I slid my nails over his throat and watched him shiver as little red lines were left.  Then my lips settled on the spot, my tongue licking and kissing away the hurt.  His body relaxed.  I scraped my teeth against his skin, making him gasp and tense again.  I smiled.  Moving slower, I waited to feel that relaxing motion calm him, to feel the deep breath that said he was melting into nothing more than sensation.  Then I bit down again, feeling him tense and his body surge harder inside me.  The tease made him chuckle. 

“Damn, baby…you know what you do to me.  Don’t you.”  It was not a question.

I snickered a little and rose, looking into the eyes that were shining with the light of the fire.  “Of course I do.  You’re just easy,” I retorted. 

“You’re just being a bitch,” he growled out endearingly.  Then he laughed, a low and gentle sound.  His eyes trailed down my body to where we met, then back up.  I let my hands follow the way his eyes had gone.  I slid the straps of my little black bra down my shoulders. 

“Yes, please,” he whispered. 

“Please what?”

“Please show me.”

I moved faster.  His breath matched me, but I still didn’t show him what he wanted.  I braced myself on the chair for more leverage.  He bit his lip to keep the moan inside.  That wasn’t what I wanted at all.  His hair twirled seductively around my fingers.  I yanked hard, and he groaned aloud.  “Don’t you dare be quiet.  Let it go,” I demanded. 

Then I moved harder, quicker.  My teeth sank into the tender skin just above his collarbone.  He let out a shout of pain tempered by passion.  His body shook.  I sank all the way down.  He moaned  as I stopped moving and let my tightness pulse around him with the rhythm my body had just abandoned.  I squeezed hard with that velvet touch and he fought for air.  A gentle tingling began running through my body.

“Dear God, I’m going to explode,” he whimpered.

“Yes, you are,” I replied. 

His eyes drifted closed.  I pulled on his hair, making those dark eyes open again.  “Look at me,” I whispered.  He gasped and moved slightly under me.  I slid up, until he was almost slipping out of my tight passage.  Then I slammed down once more.  Then again.  And again, while he cried out, his voice carrying to fill every room.

“Yes!  Finchy, yes…” I moved quickly, and he surged inside me one last time.  The groan ripped from him as if he were in pain.  The throbbing of his release set off one in me.  I came hard, my hands clenching in his hair, my hips driving him as deeply as he could go.  The pressure was almost pain but not enough to overtake the pleasure.   

Finally I fell over him, my heart pounding, my body spent.  His arms came down to cradle me against him.  The soft cotton of his sweater felt safe against my cheek.  I could feel his heartbeat, tripping far too fast, and his breath pulling in and out of his tortured lungs.  We held each other as tightly as we could, both of us shaking with the remnants of a passion that always took us by surprise. 

A moment later I felt his hand flick across my back.  The catch of my bra separated with that one deft motion.  I smiled against his chest as I buried my face into his sweater. 

“Sit up,” he whispered with a little laugh.  “I still haven’t seen what you teased me with!” 

We both dissolved into giggles then.  I fought playfully with him, both of us knowing that I didn’t want to win the battle.  I sat up on his lap and let him pull the lace down just a little before I pulled away and stood up.  My knees were a little unsteady, but not bad enough to keep me from backing away from him with a devilish grin.  He snapped the recliner upright. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked ominously. 

I squealed when he reached for me.  I ran down the hallway, hearing him curse roundly from the living room.  “You’re going to love it when I catch you!” he hollered.  His laugh was answered by my own as I dashed into the bedroom. 

It was going to be a good two days.   

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