The Concert

Shadowplay Bonus Scene

Shortly before Hunter meets with Blair for their engagement photoshoot, he reminisces about his past few weeks of courting Winter. In one memory, he recalls finding a concert and attending it with Winter. This is that story…

© 2024 Angel M. Shaw

Winter

I wipe my sweaty palms on my faux leather skirt before grasping Hunter’s hand again. We’re not too far from my apartment, and U Street buzzes with energy despite the university being out for winter break. I’m grateful for the brisk walk to the club as Hunter and I stroll hand in hand down the street.

The feeling of his palm in mine is all I can focus on.

But now that we’re staring down the short line of people looking to get into the club, I’m second-guessing everything—from my choice to leave Kitty behind, to my desire to see the singer I’ve been following for a year and a half, to my decision to try jumping into the deep end with my excursions.

This all reeks of bad ideas, and I feel my inner Genevieve shaking her head at me and saying, You think?

I take a deep breath to fortify myself as we slide into the line.

After a failed date at Tavalia, where the pretentious server nearly openly mocked me for asking if there were menus, Hunter and I left the restaurant and headed to get dim sum.

It’s a shame that the first part of the night went how it did. The dress that Hunter bought for me looked bomb on my body. Like, it’s an objective fact.

He showed up at my apartment with an expensive-looking garment bag and more roses. I love receiving roses, but not as much as Hunter seems to enjoy giving them to me.

Inside the bag was a long-sleeved, crushed velvet dress, and the rich, dark navy looked amazing against my skin. I felt like a prized sculpture when I added shimmer lotion to my chest and arms, taking special care to show off the long stretch of my thigh exposed by the high slit.

The neckline was deceptively modest. If one looked at me from the front, it looked conservatively daring. But it became clear to me that from Hunter’s vantage point, he could see down the corseted bodice and enjoy the sight of my pushed-up breasts.

The look Hunter gave me when I exited the bathroom of my apartment after changing had me feeling like a vixen.

After returning to my apartment after the Tavalia disaster and dressing in more comfortable clothes, we both agreed that the night was too young to waste.

And, at least, being out of my apartment and doing something, anything, keeps my mind off the prospect of sleeping with Hunter.

…Which is something I think I’ll be ready for very soon, but I’m not there yet today, no matter how much I yearn to take that next step with him.

Nonetheless, as we ate dim sum at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that was so good it should be illegal, I spied a flyer on the restaurant’s community news poster board. Thalia, an alternative soul singer, is in town for the weekend and happens to be performing tonight right down the street.

When I ripped the flyer from the wall for a closer look and started bouncing up and down on my heels like the Energizer bunny, Hunter insisted we go.

Now, I’m completely second-guessing my excitement.

Hunter squeezes my hand, and I look up to him. His hair is wind-swept, and the tip of his nose is a little pink against the December chill. It’s in the forties tonight, and even though the temperature is certain to drop by the time we leave, he opted for a super casual look—a leather jacket, dark jeans, and a crisp white T-shirt beneath.

He looks fucking delicious, and I allow myself to sink into this moment as the words he told me just a few weeks ago ring in my consciousness. 

You want to get wild. 

And I do want to get wild. 

Feeling daring, I opted for a leather skirt and tightly woven fishnet leggings. On top, I wear a chunky white oversized sweater, and I swapped out the diamond necklace Hunter gave me to wear to Tavalia for a leather choker with a silver snowflake at the center. I’d straightened my hair for dinner, so I plopped a black beret on my head.

Cute and daring.

And fucking cold.

A chilly breeze sweeps past the crowd, amplifying my anxiety, and I struggle not to have my teeth chatter uncontrollably.

“Come here,” Hunter says, opening his jacket. I don’t protest attaching myself to him. Facing him, I snake my arms around his torso beneath the warm leather and nearly sigh at his warmth.

“Thank you. I didn’t really think this outfit through,” I say, tilting my head back to look up at him. He grins.

“Your outfit is perfect, Winter,” he says, then he kisses the tip of my nose.

Gratefully, the line moves rather quickly, but instead of letting me go, I allow Hunter to guide me as I walk backward, and he makes sure we don’t trip over any obstacles.

After paying the doorman the entry fee, we’re in the blessed warmth of the venue.

It’s less of a club and more of a speakeasy. The atmosphere is hazy, even though no smoking is allowed indoors, and the dim lighting allows the stage centered on the far end of the room to stand out.

It’s standing room only, though, and I’m grateful when Hunter positions us against a wall and near an exit without me having to ask.

I love him.

Wait a fucking minute. What?

I finally unglue myself from him and shake my head.

“Do you know Thalia?” I ask.

“I know a few of her songs,” Hunter says with a cryptic smile as he looks around the space. “She’s drawn a good-sized crowd.”

Yes, she has. I tap my thigh with my index finger as I count.

Raising an eyebrow, I lean back against the wall that, for some reason, feels sweaty.

“What kind of music do you listen to?” I ask.

“I listen to pretty much everything. Rock, rap, acoustic, lo-fi…I went on a Post Malone kick for a while about a year ago.”

I chuckle, surprised. “You’re a Posty fan?”

He shrugs. “The man’s versatile as fuck.” I hum in response.

“I love Thalia,” I reply, and he smiles and says, “I know.”

“Oh?” I ask, eyebrow raised, questioning.

“If I couldn’t tell by your reaction at the restaurant, I scrolled through your Spotify account the other day while you were in the shower to find some mood music. You have six hours’ worth of music on your Thalia playlist.”

That makes me laugh again. “Mood music, H?”

He runs a finger across my hairline and down to my jaw.

“Yeah, but I don’t need much to set the mood whenever I’m with you,” he replies, and I flush for a completely new reason in the last hour.

I open my mouth to say something, but then the lights flicker, and music pipes into the space.

Here we go.

“Ladies and Gents! Theys and Thems! Are you ready to viiiiibe?” A man who looks a little like a skinny lumberjack drawls into the microphone. The crowd lets out a rumbling roar, and I watch, transfixed, as the revelers push toward the stage.

This is…a lot.

Hunter slides closer to me, and soon, I press into his body—his front to my back. I melt into him, and he quickly becomes an anchor for my body into space.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe.

The room is electrified, but the more I challenge myself to become grounded in the moment and not in the “what ifs,” the more I start to tune into the room’s energy.

“You okay, Sunbeam?” Hunter’s voice is so close to my ear that I feel the caress of his breath against my lobe.

I’m like a raw nerve—exposed and overly sensitive.

I nod, turning to face him and keeping up my breathing…which causes me to inhale his intoxicating scent.

Sandalwood and campfire smoke fill my lungs, encouraging me to relax.

The lights dim as the emcee exits the stage, and a sultry drum beat fills the space. I recognize the song from Thalia’s last album—it's about falling in lust but never wanting to fall in love.

I say your name, and you call mine,

Forbidden whispers in the night,

You give me heat but never your heart,

Boy, you’re tearing me, tearing me, tearing me apart.

I can’t see the singer as she croons offstage, but when a single spotlight shines on the pianist, I stare mesmerized as the haunting song plays on in a minor key.

“Are you happy, Sunbeam?” Hunter whispers in my ear, and the sensation of lust starts to replace the hum of anxiety beneath my skin. He stands behind me, his big hand spanning my stomach and pressing me into him.

“Yes, I am,” I say, turning my head until our lips are inches apart. Blue and red lights reflect off his face, shining from the stage.

“Good,” he says, and I feel the word in the vibrations against my lips rather than hear them.

I look away as the volume of the crowd rises, and Thalia saunters onto the stage in all white, a stark contrast to her deep brown skin. Her hair sticks out in a gravity-defying afro with faux butterflies pinned throughout, and her waist beads twinkle against the stage lights.

I turn back to Hunter. His smile grows slowly, but his gaze remains transfixed on my mouth while it does.

Thalia sings:

Shadows play on your face,

A fleeting touch, a stolen embrace,

Eyes that speak of hidden desire,

But love’s a game we never conspire.

“Body…touch my body, baby,” Hunter croons, and oh, my fucking god.

“You can sing?” I nearly shout, grinning wide. Hunter shrugs.

“Voice lessons were mandatory at St. Regis Prep,” he offers.

“Taking voice lessons doesn’t mean you can sing,” I shoot back. Hunter smiles again, bringing his lips to my forehead.

“I just need a taste of your sweet embrace,” he continues, moving his lips from the top of my head back to my ear. I’m stunned because Hunter Brigham can more than carry a tune. Thalia’s sultry alto blends with Hunter’s baritone, and I feel myself forgetting the crowd around me as he sways us from side to side.

Thalia begins to vocalize, her voice dancing from her lower register to a whistle tone she’s known for. The guitar and piano start to duel, weaving together with the singer’s voice in an almost corporeal way. The sounds merge and blend and take on shape and color.

Dark red like the crushed velvet of roses: That’s what the music looks like right now, and within it, gossamer strands of gold.

Hunter’s hand slides from my stomach up over my heart and to my head. Tilting my face toward his, he looks into my eyes as he sings.

“I’ll burn for you, but we’ll never be through. I’ll burn for you if it’s what you need me to do.”

Fire. I’m on fire.

His lips are on mine. The kiss he gives me is obscene, given that we’re in public, but in the hidden shadows of the club, I can’t find it in myself to care. Around us, bodies sway and move and are taken away by the music.

We’re no different—but instead of being caught up in Thalia’s crooning, we’re caught up in each other.

I inhale sharply when Hunter spins us around, pressing me deeper into a hidden spot in the wall. To my left, a two-foot pillar sticks out from the wall, likely housing something like an air conditioning duct.

It’s an inconvenient spot for anyone who wants a good view of the stage, but as Hunter crowds me into the dark corner, I am grateful for it. His lips are on mine again, and we breathe each other in.

Hunter’s hand glides to the nape of my neck, tangling with my hair, and I whimper when his fist closes around some of the strands to give a light tug. Another hand goes to my waist, but this time, he lifts the hem of my sweater. I shiver.

“Winter, you have no idea what you do to me,” he says, breaking our kiss. We stare into each others’ eyes, both lost and found, both wanting and holding back.

“I think I have some idea,” I reply.

The music shifts into another song, the beat itself reminiscent of lovemaking. The title of the song is Meant for This, and it’s no mystery that the song is about being made for sex.

I wanna feel your soul with mine,

Tangled up in your truths and lies,

I wanna breathe the air you breathe,

But know that we can take our time,

Feeling bold, I start to sway my hips, and I suck in a breath when I feel Hunter’s hardness against my stomach. The inhalation turns into a choked moan when he runs his hand under my sweater, cupping my breast in his hot hand.

Thrumming my nipple into a stiff peak, he matches the rock of my hips as the beat takes over.

Can we make it last?

Can you make it last?

We’ll forget about the past,

If we can make it last,

‘Cause I was made for it,

Cause I was meant for it,

Meant to be all yours, yours, yours.

Holy fuck, Thalia is killing me softly like The Fugees.

The room starts to spin, and I feel a little high as Hunter lowers his head to mine again.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he sings along.

Mine. All mine.

It’s at this moment that I lose my mind because I grab his free hand and put it on my stomach, notching the tips of his fingers at the waistband of my skirt and tights.

“Mine, mine, mine,” I sing in a near whisper. Heat shoots through me as Hunter shudders and growls near my ear.

He looks around us to make sure no one is paying attention. No one is, so he doesn’t waste time. Instead, he removes the hand on my breast to place it behind my head, protecting me from the scratchy painted brick behind me. With his other, he pushes his fingers beneath my panties and finds my clit with sure movements.

“So wet, Winter. Always so ready for me,” he murmurs. The heat of his body, paired with the music and the energy flowing around the room, has me forgetting everything except exploding with this man.

“Hunter,” I say, breathless. The song starts to ramp up, heading toward the bridge. He breaches me, sliding one finger into me and then another. Rocking his hand in nearly imperceptible movements, Hunter grunts next to my ear before saying, “Let me make your pussy feel good, baby. Because you feel better than any drug on the planet, and goddamn, I think I’m getting addicted to you.”

Thalia belts out a long high note as I come on his fingers, clutching at him as he holds me close to his body, groaning in my ear.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me,” he says, and I squeak as I continue to break, grateful for his hand behind my head because I surely would have given myself a mild concussion with how tight my muscles are.

My hand flies to the nape of his neck, turning him to bring his lips to mine. We kiss for long moments as the song winds down and he gentles his movements. When the final note rings out, Hunter pulls back and removes his hand from my skirt.

Then, with deliberate movements, he sucks his fingers clean.

Applause sounds out as Thalia ends one song and begins to introduce the other musicians on the stage.

“For sure better than any drug, Sunbeam,” he says with a devilish smile.

I shiver with the eroticism of the moment. “Hunter,” I say, not knowing what else to say. I lift my hands, intending to touch him, but I stop an inch from his chest. He stoops down to catch my gaze, taking a hand in each of his.

“If that wasn’t okay—” he starts, but I cut him off by placing my palm on his mouth.

Removing it after three long beats, I lean into him, standing on my toes to reach his ear.

“Thanks for helping me be wild, H,” I say.

When I pull back, the smile he gives me cores out a spot in my soul.

© 2024 Angel M. Shaw