She looks up when I step up to the edge of the bed, and a smile hovers over her lips. “I missed my guitar,” she says.

She left her guitar with me when she went back home three months ago. “It missed you too,” I say.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and take her in. Her hair is shoved back behind her ears, and her legs are splayed open. I can see the strip of her pink panties between her legs, and I lick my lips. I lean forward and pull her toward me, my hand cupping the back of her neck. I kiss her quickly. “Sorry about Paul,” I say.

She shrugs. “He cares about you. I think it’s kind of sweet.” Her face puckers. “Intrusive,” she says. “But still sweet.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow that you called him sweet. He was worried you’d be angry at him.” There was a time before she left when she walked up behind him just as he told me I should f**k her and get it over with. And now this mistake.

I take off my jeans, lie down on the bed on my side facing her, and prop my head on my upturned hand, my elbow pointed toward the wall. “What were you playing?” I ask.

“Nothing yet,” she says with a smile. “I can take requests.”

I shake my head. This is one area where I can’t bond with her. “I don’t know anything at all about music,” I say. “Sorry.” I know it’s important to her. Kind of like a mainstay in her life.

“You can’t hear this at all?” she asks. Her fingers strum across the strings again. “That?”

I shake my head. I wish I could hear it, but I can’t.

“Can you hear any music?” She’s curious. I like that.

I nod. “I can hear the rock bands at the club. Or rather, I can feel the beat and the rhythm of the song when rock and roll is playing.”

“Can you dance?”

I roll my eyes. “Can I dance? You have to be kidding me.” I motion to my body. “I have rhythm.”

Her face colors. That’s not quite the rhythm I meant, but I’ll take it. “Someone is thinking naughty thoughts,” I tease.

I reach for her toe, but she jerks it back before I can tug on it. “I’m sorry I can’t enjoy your music,” I confess. “There’s nothing I would like more than to hear you play. I want to experience everything that makes you happy.” I shake my head. I don’t usually feel left out of anything, but I do now.

She sets her guitar on the floor. “Thanks for hanging onto my guitar for me,” she says, leaning toward me. She gets up on her hands and knees and crawls over.

“Why did you leave it?” I ask as she rolls herself into my arms.

“I knew I’d be back. I just didn’t know when,” she says. “I wanted to be sure you knew, too.”

“I knew. The minute you made your big announcement on TV, I knew.” When she went back home, there was a press conference and everything. She announced that she would be coming back to New York. Back to me.

I slide my hand under her shirt to rest on her waist, and I draw little circles above her panties. I lift her arm and kiss my way up her tattoo that has my name in it. “The tattoo helped.”

“You can thank Paul for that,” she says, giggling as I tickle her lightly across her stomach. I slide my hand into the edge of her panties, and she stills in my arms. “This okay?” I ask.

She nods, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. “You want to try out one of those cherry-flavored condoms?” she asks.

“I don’t particularly care if my junk smells like pie,” I say. She laughs.

I hook my fingers in the sides of her panties and pull them down her legs slowly. Her exhale brushes against my forehead as she lets out a deep breath. She kicks her feet when I get to her ankles, and her panties go flying.

I inch her shirt up her belly, placing quick kisses to all the skin I uncover. Her belly quivers when I lick the underside of her breast. With a quick jerk, she reaches down and pulls the shirt over her head. She’s naked. Completely, delightfully, wonderfully naked.

“Damn, that’s pretty,” I say. She giggles, and her stomach ripples.

I’ve been with a lot of women, but I’ve never been with one who works so hard to communicate with me. She knows I can’t hear her cries or moans or even startled gasps, but I never feel disconnected from her.

“Do you want me to use a condom?” I ask, lifting my lips from hers long enough to watch her face.

She shakes her head.

“You sure?”

Her eyes meet mine. “If you need one, I’m fine with that. But don’t do it for me.”

I grin. Thank God. I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t care to have anything between us.

Emily shoves my shoulder, rolls me onto my back, and climbs up to straddle me, her legs spread on top of me. It seems like hours later that we’re both satisfied, and I don’t want to withdraw from her.

I still on top of her and start to roll to the side, but her arms wrap around me and hold me close. I rest on my elbows, so f**king spent that I can barely move. I lean more heavily onto her and brush her hair back from her face. She’s sweaty and beautiful and mine.

She complains when I move, trying to clutch me closer to her, but I just need to pull the covers back. Then I move her up to the head of the bed and slide in beside her. I cover us both and wrap my arms around her. She reaches over and turns off the lamp. I have a night-light on so that we can have pillow talk, and she doesn’t seem to mind it. She’s facing me so I can see her lips.