Page 20 of Kneeling for Them

It’s great.

I couldn’t be happier.

Ella’s here.She’s curled up against my shoulder, her lips slightly parted while she sleeps, her eyelids fluttering as she dreams.On the other side of her, Kingston’s asleep, his breathing slow and even.

We spanked our little girl, denied her orgasms for two full hours, teasing, licking, kissing, sucking.She was begging at the end.Tears rolled down her cheeks as she promised to be good for us, always.

And then we’d taken turns fucking her, giving her all the orgasms we had previously been dangling out of her reach.

“I’ve never come so many times in one night,” she whispered as she nestled against me for sleep.

I brush my thumb over her temple, moving hair back from her cheek.She’s so fucking perfect for us, it makes my chest hurt.

I can’t make myself stay in bed, though.Carefully, I ease myself out from underneath Ella.She gives a cute little moan and reaches for me, so I gently turn her over to face Kingston.She grips his arm and snuggles close to him.

She’s so cute it should be illegal.

I tear my gaze away and find my jeans and boxer briefs.I pull on the boxers, then fish my phone from my jeans pocket.

Trina has sent me four texts in the last day, and called twice.I haven’t responded.What do I say?The songs I’ve been working on are good, but not good enough.The ones that I like most are about Ella, and I’m not interested in sharing her with the world.Not yet.Maybe not ever.I’ll let that be her decision.

I scroll through Trina’s messages.She wants updates.She wants samples.She wants to see the lyrics, hear the chords.She wants to know if the song is a ballad or if it’s fast and poppy.

I just want some fucking peace.

I keep a guitar in one of King’s guest room closets, so I retrieve it and pull it out of its case.It’s out of tune because I haven’t played it in several weeks, but I’m in no rush.I sit on the floor at the foot of the guest bed and turn the pins, strumming and correcting until I get the best possible sound.

Moonlight filters through the large window, bathing the room in a silvery blue glow.I strum a few chords, hum the beginnings of a melody as I go.Sometimes a tune will just pop into my head, fully formed.Other times, I have to work at it like a sculptor chipping away at a block of stone to reveal the statue within.

This song is more like a meandering ride down a slow river, leisurely, melodic.I reach the end of what might become the chorus and play it a second time, committing it to memory.And then again, and once more, adjusting a couple of chords for better sound.

My eyes don’t want to stay open.I should get back in bed, maybe wake Ella with my face between her legs, see if I can get her off without waking Kingston.

“Your song is beautiful,” her voice is throaty and low, blending with the dim light of the room.

I look up to see her standing in the bedroom doorway, a throw blanket wrapped around her naked body.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Play it again for me?”

“Sure, princess.”I play the song again, humming the melody, adding words occasionally.I build the lyrics I wrote last night into the song, ending with, “But baby, the fight was fixed.”

When I finish, Ella walks over and sits down on the floor in front of me.

“I have a question,” she says.

Oh, fuck.Here it comes.Why did I leave music?Why did I walk away from that successful career?I’ll give her the answer—or at least the alcoholism part of it—and she could sell it to the tabloids for a good sum of money, probably.

In a fatigued voice, I say, “What do you want to know?”

I’ll tell her.I’ll tell her why I left.And I’ll just pray she doesn’t betray me.

Leaning forward, she kisses my fingers, which are resting on the strings and frets of the guitar.“What drew you to music?”

Surprised, I don’t know how to answer at first.All anyone has wanted to know for the past seven years is why I left.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too personal,” she says.