Chords that Bind Ch. 13

James fulfilled her request, thrusting, and grinding his cock into her wet slit. The delayed orgasm made Natasha frantic, and she wrapped her legs around him, trying to force the penetration deeper. She squeezed her muscles tightly around James, and pumped her hips. He shouldn't have made her wait.

Natasha was such an expert lover the way she coiled around James and egged him on with her moans. He felt her arms push his chest away and moved to accommodate her, not wanting to hurt her. "No," she pulled him back to her. "I want to ride you James. Now. I need to." She punctuated the request with thrusts of her hips.

James acquiesced, and allowed her to roll over him, sinking the last few inches onto him for the full penetration she craved. Her hands were lewdly massaging her breasts again and the rapid motions she made with her hips were incredibly pleasurable. James squeezed her ass, refraining from giving it the sound smack it deserved. She seemed to like that, so he continued groping her as she impaled herself over and over onto his cock.

"Yes, James! Yes! More."

James thrust into her hard, and she choked back a scream. Her unbridled lust and hedonistic movements were starting to get to him. She worked herself senseless over his cock, and James was breathing deeply to hold back his climax. Tasha enjoyed the freedom of these carnal motions and was jolted over the edge by one of James' thrusts. He hit just the right spot and she convulsed. The clenching tightness in Tasha's over-stimulated pussy tipped James over the edge. He groaned in relief.

She draped herself over James, purring in satisfaction. He stroked her heated flesh and enjoyed her involuntary shiver. "Are you hungry James? I'm starved."

James shook his head. "Go ahead and order something if you want."

Natasha ordered sushi, sashimi, some gyzoa and turned to James business-like.

"I don't like when you toy with me like that James."

"Like what?"

"Teasing me like that at the concert hall. Calling me 'little girl.'" James smiled at her childish complaints. "It's not funny, James. I don't like it."

"Alright. As you wish." He was dismayed. He'd sought to heighten her pleasure. She seemed to disagree. "I only wanted to make it more intense for you."

She had no response to that. He rose from the bed to pull on some clothes. His body was relaxed, but his mind was going a mile a minute. The knock on the door broke what was becoming an awkward silence. James took the tray and set the beautiful array of fish on a small table.

James found he wanted space now more than ever. Tasha wrapped a silky robe around her voluptuous curves, and picked up the chopsticks on the tray. "Are you sure you don't want any James?"

"I'm sure." He started pulling a shirt on. Maybe a walk would help him shake off this oppressive feeling.

"Where are you going James?" Natasha was surprised he was getting up to leave.

"I fancied a walk."

"What? I- I- thought we could have more fun after a little break."

James took a moment to be impressed with her stamina. Normally, he would have much preferred her plans, but something about this encounter left him cold. He couldn't get his head to focus on the woman he was with. He was distracted, and frankly, with a woman like Natasha, there was no reason to have his mind on anything—or anyone—else.

"I don't know Tasha, it's late and we have to perform tomorrow. Maybe I'll just take some air, and you can finish your dinner?"

"Is something wrong James? You're acting strange."

Yes, something was wrong. But the people who really knew him wouldn't have thought his behavior strange at all. Abe and Clara would have understood. Since he'd been with Tasha he felt like he'd been performing non-stop. Not just for concerts, but for her. She required all of his available attention, and right now, he didn't have the capacity.

"I'm not. It's just jet lag." Before she could answer his weak excuse, he left.

***

James let the cool night air assuage his anxiety. His pace was brisk and he had no idea where he was headed, but movement was welcome. He was emotionally drained and feeling claustrophobic to boot.

Something was wrong. James didn't want to think too closely on it. He knew if he did that he wouldn't like the conclusions he would draw. He kept walking, thankful that there was no one to accost his thoughts, frustrated now that he was alone with them again.

He was still a bit sweaty, and the brisk air chilled him pleasantly. James tried to take in the exotic surroundings, to enjoy the frenetic energy of Japan's capitol. He recalled Abraham's stories of his visits to Asia while he'd been in the Marines. There was no stigma or taboo to the lifestyle here the way there was in the UK.

James sighed. This thought depressed him. He could easily make his way to a club and find countless women with his proclivities. But he didn't want random strangers. He wanted...

Cecilia.

There was the rub. Even his ability to connect so powerfully Natasha back in Berlin had been predicated on Cecilia. He'd swallowed the truth of that for so long it was like a repressed memory. It was a bitter thought, and now that he acknowledged it he knew that his relationship with Natasha was a fool's attempt at recovery. He'd made her a surrogate for his infatuation with Cecilia.

She'd responded to his natural dominance truly only once, when they played in Berlin. Everything after that was a variation on a farce and an advantageous arrangement.

The worst thing is that they could be very happy and successful together, assuming James continued to bury and compromise his sense of self away. Already, he was irritated with her attitudes. Her publicity stunt in Minsk still bothered him.

It was well that their performances together would be done after tomorrow.

***

James wandered back to the hotel, and wanted to be sure Natasha was asleep. He ordered a chilled bottle of sake at the bar, and figured that once he reached the bottom there was no way she could still be awake. Now that he knew how foolish he'd been he couldn't bear to deal with Natasha.

He was tired when he entered their room as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake her, and decided to sleep on the couch in the suite, rather than share the bed with her.

***

"I tried to wait up for you." Natasha sounded accusatory several hours later as they roused for the day.

"I just needed to get some air, Natasha." James wasn't used to explaining himself over little things like that.

"Something's distracting you." James didn't want to have this conversation now. They needed to get through their performance first. Just a few more hours.

"I'm fine, Natasha. Really."

"Well, you better not be distracted at rehearsal. We have to go soon."

"It's just down the street. I'll meet you there. I'm going to get some breakfast and tea."

"You're trying to get rid of me."

"No. I'm not. I just need to refocus, like you said." James hoped the concession would buy him some time.

"You should have done that last night when you were off wherever you were."

James ran a hand through his hair. "You're right. But I didn't. I'll meet you there." James' sentences were clipped. For the first time Natasha regarded him as a man who would stand his ground with her. She swallowed, not liking this change in him at all. "Don't be late then." She sounded immature and little.

James couldn't remember dreading a performance more than this. In his heart and head it was already over. To play the Rachmaninoff, he had to open himself up to Natasha one last time. He didn't want to.

In the papers and reviews that flooded the music world, critics wrote about their performance of this piece as if it was their "song", the way couples choose a song for their wedding. They wrote about the intimacy that spilled between himself and Natasha. But they were wrong. It was a ménage à trois between himself, Tasha, and Cecilia.

He was cheating on Natasha and Cecilia at the same time: The very first time he laid eyes on Cecilia she had been tied up and teased, flexing and undulating her perfect body in a lustful frenzy, listening to the third movement of the Rachmaninoff Cello Sonata. The recording Lace used was an old one of him and Natasha playing some seven years ago. He'd been playing that piece with Natasha before ever meeting his Cecilia. He'd actually been wooing Josephine at that point.

But, the piece had only reached its zenithnow. It was written as a duet, but Cecilia made it a trio. She had been the unseen and unheard presence that allowed James to temporarily engage Tasha. Itwasintimate. Too intimate. He no longer wanted Natasha to share that space, space that in his mind, belonged to Cecilia.

He was performing with Mae first though. She was a quiet and contemplative soul. She minded interpretation less, and James often wished for more opportunities to perform with her. (It wasn't often that two pianists could share the same stage, after all.) The Shubert Fantasie for four hands in F minor presented that opportunity.

James was late to rehearsal with Natasha, and they had to forego any extra preparation. This irritated the cellist to no end, but James shrugged it off. "We know it so well already, I'm not concerned. It will be fine." Natasha fumed, and he could feel her anger. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek to reassure her, but his whole body grew rigid at contact with her. Without saying anything further, he moved to sit at the piano next to Mae. Natasha huffed away seeing his eagerness to rehearse with the Japanese pianist.

Mae was delicately boned and the picture of understated elegance. Her black gown alluded to a traditional kimono while being starkly modern. Mae was also intuitive where Natasha was not. She'd sensed a tension in James a few months ago when she'd been in London and practiced with him at his home studio. Anger was coming off Natasha in palpable waves now. When Natasha was out of earshot, Mae looked to James who was ready to begin their piece. She touched his outstretched wrist. "Are you alright James?" Her voice was uncertain and soft, barely above a whisper. James didn't look at her as he responded. "I'm fine. I've just been running behind. Jet lag... you know how that is..." he breathed deeply. That excuse wasn't going to last much longer.

"Alright. If you're certain." Her voice was skeptical, but she smiled. "Will you count us off then?"

James nodded, tapped his heel on the floor and set them on course to rehearse the piece.

***

There was great applause as James and Mae concluded their four-handed performance. It had been a mix of tempestuous and gentle: the mystery inherent in Shubert's fantasie resonated particularly with James tonight. The performance veered towards conversational. Mae was gentle and easily followed James' minute interpretations. James and Mae always had a simpatico. He never fought with her musically and he was grateful for that. He smiled at the completion.

The easy part was over.

Mae took a last bow and exited to the left as Natasha strode on stage from the right. He hadn't seen her since he'd missed their rehearsal time. She changed into her concert attire since then: A strapless canary yellow gown with a ruffled hemline.

James took a moment to be amused by the contrast between Mae and Natasha. He was handing one brilliant musician off only to be presented with another. Tasha was begging for his attention with that ensemble. Mae's understated choice, on the other hand, was a better complement to James' more austere concert attire.

They sat to begin their piece. James looked to Natasha, tapped his heel, and set off to play the sonata one last time. It was a good thing they'd practiced this so much: James was distracted still. He no longer wanted to let Natasha into the part of his mind¬—or if he was honest with himself, his heart—that belonged to Cecilia. Withholding that emotional capital took a toll on the performance. Natasha's strains lost all of their expressiveness, and James' emotional playing didn't match Natasha's constant quest for precision. There were no wrong notes. Technically, it was correct, but it was as if Natasha and James' had learned the piece separately and only now were coming together to play it for the first time.

The performance was lackluster, especially the tender and sensitive third movement. The vigor and aggression of the last movement was a boon from Rachmaninoff, because that was about all James had left in him. Natasha was inflexible and now that he'd shut her out of the recesses of his passion, he was annoyed at her nit-picky performance.

Natasha noticed something was wrong. The electricity was gone. She'd gotten so used to it that it's absence changed the way everything sounded and felt. She'd never reached deeper to loose the emotion on which James' performances usually depended. She didn't have it within herself as a player. She didn't know that he was withholding from her intentionally, but she knew something had changed their musical interaction. On the surface, she thought missing their last rehearsal was contributing to this discord.

They ended their piece on a high note, James took full advantage of the fury he was channeling, but they both knew that the magic was gone. The difference was that James knew it was gone forever.

The audience applauded. They didn't catch the tension, hearing only what they were told they would hear. Natasha's smile was plastic and fixed. James couldn't look at her, and his face wore more of a sardonic smirk than a smile. After they took final bows and walked off-stage, Mae came to congratulate them on their joint last performance of the tour. Natasha did not like Mae's eagerness to speak with James. She cut her off rudely.

"I need a word with James now, if you please." She pulled at his wrist, steering him away from the other woman.

"What happened tonight?!"

James didn't want to do this here. There were too many people around. He shook his head.

"Not here, Natasha."

"Tell me!"

"I'm not doing this here."

James grabbed Natasha's cello case from the floor and started for the exit. "James! My cello!"

He sighed. "You never objected before..." He handed the bulky case back to her, and continued to walk away, not caring if she followed, hoping she wouldn't, but they shared a hotel room...

Sure enough, he heard Natasha's heels trailing behind him. He didn't slow down for her as he crossed the street and entered the hushed quiet of their hotel. She caught up to him at the elevator. "James,don'twalk away from me!"

He clenched his jaw and said nothing. He wasn't going to have a public scene, especially since she invited the entire international music community to hold opinions about their relationship.

The elevator arrived and he stepped inside without a word. "James! I won't—"

"Stop it Natasha." His voice was tight and sharp.

She was bewildered at being spoken to that way.

They walked in angry silence to their room. James prepared himself for the assault that would come once they were safely ensconced from prying eyes.

"JAMES! What'swrongwith you?"

He didn't want to answer that.

"What's upsettingyouNatasha?"

She hadn't expected him to counter her question. Her mouth gaped for a split second. "Well let's start with that performance. Why didn't you feel the need to rehearse?"

"Because we didn't need to Natasha, and I was tired." James sighed his answer.

"Wedidneed to! That wasnotup to our standard!"

"It was Natasha. That was exactly up toyour standard."

The insult stung. "What do you mean bythat?"

"I mean: that's exactly how you like to play isn't it? No interpretation? No passion. No interaction. That's how we performed tonight."

"That's—it's not—we've played better. When we played in Berlin and Minsk and back home—it was so much better than that! We didn't rehearse today! That's what I mean!"

"No. Rehearsing had nothing to do with it. When we played before it was better because you were willing to let me lead you."

"What are you talking about? It's acellosonata. I lead it."

"I don't want to argue with you." James was tired. Everything about tonight he'd been dreading spectacularly. He didn't think he had the energy for it.

"No! What do you mean by that?"

"I mean you submitted to my interpretation of the piece Natasha! You let go of your anxious perfectionism just long enough to share in music emotionally for once in your life! I led you and you followed me. We interacted."

"Oh! So why was tonight so different?"

"Because you won'tletme Natasha! I can't play a piece like that and fight you! That's not how it works!"

"You're not telling me the truth. I can tell you're lying James. You were thinking about someone else! You didn't have that trouble with Mae; I noticed." The jealousy dripped from her voice.

James laughed. "That's because she doesn't fight with me on every phrase because of some snobbish elitism about music. She actually enjoys playing. It's not about a perfect performance to show off how exact she can be."

"And I don't? I don't enjoy playing?"

Natasha wasn't hearing any of this. "Maybe you do. It's not my problem."

"And what isthatsupposed to mean?"

"I don't want this drama tonight Natasha."

"TELL ME!"

"This isn't going to work. Clearly."

"You're leaving me?"

"We're parting ways tomorrow. Our tour is over." James avoided answering the question, hoping to inject something more concrete into this argument.

"That's not what I mean. Who is it? Are you planning on fucking Mae now that I'm not touring with you?"

"Mae has nothing to do with this!"

"Bullshit James! You were too busy thinking about her! Were you with her last night after you were done with me?"

"I'm not doing this Natasha. I'll get another room for the night. You can stay here."

"James!" Natasha's voice was laced with panic. "Don't walk out of here. What does she have that I don't?"

"It's not about Mae." That much was true.

"If you walk out of here, we're over!"

"Natasha, can't you see we already are? I can't live my life like this. I won't. I've made too many compromises already." His voice was sad now that he'd released his initial anger.

No one had ever spoken to Natasha like James just did. "Compromise? Do you know how many men I could have?Ichose you James! I chose you out ofeveryone! And you're saying I'm acompromise?"

She was being melodramatic now. He wanted to just leave the room and her tantrum. "Natasha, you can't give me what I need. That's not your fault, but it's true."

"What?"

"It's just like the music Natasha. I need someone who will follow my lead. I need someone who'll receive all that emotion and feeling and who will give it to me in return. It's not for you. That's okay." His voice was quiet as he admitted his truth out loud.

He knew she wouldn't understand more than that. Her toppishness and inability to submit were novelties, but it wore on James quickly. She couldn't even play at being submissive. And he wouldn't play at being vanilla, let alone beta. It wasn't the first time he admitted it to himself, but he'd needed to remind himself again after burying the truth.

"I can't make you happy either, Natasha. I'm doing us both a favor by ending this now."

Angry tears were streaking Natasha's careful makeup. "Get out then!"

"I'm sorry. For what it's worth."

James ducked his head as she threw a book at him.

"GET OUT!"

He managed to close the door behind him before she threw his pocket metronome at his head. He heard it make impact behind him.

Down at the front desk, James was informed there were no other rooms available. It really was just his luck. "Nowhere? I don't care if it's not a suite. I just need a place to sleep."