I wrap both my hands around his neck, lift up on my toes, and kiss him once more.
He pets my cheek. “Live the life you are meant to live.”
Live the life you’re meant to live.
He’s said this before, but it’s never been so prevalent and important. There’s no reason why I can’t get up there and sing. No reason to be afraid of what people are going to think, because only two people matter. Nick and me. Monet and Dr. Batchelor have been urging me to take more chances, put myself out there. This could be one of those times. Nothing can hurt me here. Nick would never allow it.
“Where are you going to be?” I ask frantically, needing to know he’ll be close.
“Wherever you want me.” His fingers dig into the back of my neck, massaging, centering, grounding.
“Right below the stage where I can see you. Then if I get scared…” I trail off.
“I’ll be there to catch you. Always. Now sing me a song, Dove.”
I smile softly and nod.
He leads me over to the table, and I scour through the list and find the perfect song. If my man wants to test my limits, I’m going to test his.
The song…“Fever.”
For a couple of minutes, I breathe in and out, using the yoga-style breathing I’ve learned in my study with Nick and Grace. The performer before me finishes, and the DJ hands me the microphone. I walk slowly to the single stool and mic stand at the center of the stage. A blue-tinted light shines down from above, casting everything in an ethereal glow.
The lights change, turning into a more golden hue, making me feel more spotlighted. Nick’s large form becomes visible below, standing right where he said he’d be. He’s a wall of muscle and man. Sharp, edgy, Italian features that ooze sexuality from every pore. His tight black dress shirt shimmers when the light catches it. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares. Those pale-green eyes, haloed by sculpted eyebrows, would look menacing if I didn’t know him better. Only I do, and I can see in his stance that he’s in full command, using his sex appeal and stunning features to pull me out of a place of anxiety and fear to one of sex and sin. He knows exactly how to push every single one of my buttons, but right now, I’m going to turn the tables on him. Show him the kind of woman I want to be for a man like him. A woman he can be proud to have on his arm, in his bed, sharing his life.
The first base notes of the music plunk out through the loudspeakers, and I start by swaying my shoulders and then pair each beat to a kick of my hips. While singing the first breathy lines, I trail one hand behind my head and run it down the back of my neck toward my front, over the side of my breast, easing it down my ribcage and lengthwise along my hip and thigh. I squeeze my legs, swiveling them left and right, the power of the song making me hot and bothered—or it could be the man I’m singing to who is doing that to me. As I belt out the words about loving my man and the feeling I get when he’s holding me, my voice comes out a cross between a Peggy Lee version and a younger, more unique sound.
Nick’s eyes have not left me for a single second. Everywhere I put my hands, his gaze follows. He licks his lips, bites them, and curls one inside his mouth as if he’s barely able to contain his own hunger.
I get into the lyrics, losing myself in the sensual nature of the song, the man in front of me, and the heady beat until I’ve sung the last word. I’m breathless, my head to the sky, the lights coating me in warmth, and for a moment, I don’t hear anything. All sound is lost. A stillness, a peace and quiet settles over me in a rowdy bar in downtown San Francisco. It’s that same essence of tranquility I get after I’ve cut myself or Nick has spanked me into oblivion. Here in this place, there’s nothing but freedom.
All too soon, it’s gone, and I’m bum rushed by an explosion of applause. It feels like my eardrums are going to implode with the strength of the response from the audience below. I can barely take it in because I feel as though I’m flying, soaring above everyone, including myself. For the first time in forever…I’m proud of myself.
I look everywhere, not believing what I’m seeing and hearing.
“Uh…thank you. Thank you,” I sputter into the mic before walking it over to the DJ.
“Lady, you’re the shit!” he says. “Anytime you want to sing, I’ll move your ass up to first spot. Anytime. Multiple times. Whatever. Damn, that was good.”
I shyly thank him and head toward the stairs. My guy is there at the bottom, waiting for me.
He holds his arms out, and I rush down the stairs and fly into them. He spins me around and holds me so tightly, I can’t breathe. I don’t even care because he’s laughing in my ear and swinging me. Nick sets me on my feet, cups my cheeks, and kisses me one, two, three times. He loves doing things in threes.
“So damn proud of you, babe. My God. You’re a star!” He kisses me again, and I loop my arms around his back, enjoying the powerful excitement rushing between the two of us.
I did it! I finally did it, and for the first time in my life, I’m proud of myself.
“Come on. After that, you need a fresh drink! Damn, my woman is a songbird.” He chuckles and leads me over
