Spotlight: Lament by Lynsey M. Stewart
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“…an emotionally charged love story about navigating through life while grief is right by your side.”
Title: Lament
Author: Lynsey M. Stewart
Release Date: March 22, 2019
Dear Grief Fairy,
I’ve met a man who encompasses grief. Alexander Blayren, a brooding cellist with a body I crave and a soul I ache to know better. He’s rude and bold, brash and sharp, but I see the lost soul underneath. Crying out. Surviving grief for the sake of his daughter. Just.
Before we met, Alexander didn’t believe you could survive grief. Loss had painted his life black, dimming the bright lights and quietening his music. But I didn’t agree with the man I heard play out his demons through his notes. The man I find myself infatuated by. I found my way through grief, because I had a channel for my pain. When I lost my mother and sister, dance was my therapy. Movement my recovery. Could music be his? Could the haunting melodies be his reprieve? The cry of a bow across the strings his lifeline? Or could his journey to survival begin through me? Through my body, the one he studies as I dance, through my cries of pleasure under his fingertips or his undeniable arousal at my willing restraint...
Grief Fairy, you understand me better than anyone. Please help me to relieve his lament.
Yours,
Nat
I’ve met a man who encompasses grief. Alexander Blayren, a brooding cellist with a body I crave and a soul I ache to know better. He’s rude and bold, brash and sharp, but I see the lost soul underneath. Crying out. Surviving grief for the sake of his daughter. Just.
Before we met, Alexander didn’t believe you could survive grief. Loss had painted his life black, dimming the bright lights and quietening his music. But I didn’t agree with the man I heard play out his demons through his notes. The man I find myself infatuated by. I found my way through grief, because I had a channel for my pain. When I lost my mother and sister, dance was my therapy. Movement my recovery. Could music be his? Could the haunting melodies be his reprieve? The cry of a bow across the strings his lifeline? Or could his journey to survival begin through me? Through my body, the one he studies as I dance, through my cries of pleasure under his fingertips or his undeniable arousal at my willing restraint...
Grief Fairy, you understand me better than anyone. Please help me to relieve his lament.
Yours,
Nat
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He was waiting for me in the lobby of the hotel.
He looked handsome, but disheveled, like he hadn’t slept for a week but was powering through like the musical juggernaut he was.
‘You look great,’ he said, dragging his hands through his hair. ‘My memory doesn’t do you justice.’
‘You told me not to wait for you.’
‘I’m glad you did,’ he replied, his voice laced with need. He took my hand and led me to the lifts, avoiding my eyes, stopping himself from touching me further, but as soon as the lift doors closed, it was a different matter. He turned me swiftly with his fingers to my waist, pushing me against the mirrored walls. He was controlled, but his eyes betrayed him, deep and stormy and ready to burst. My dancewear was backless. He kissed me right in the middle, shots of tingles danced where his lips had been as he pushed his hands through to my breasts.
‘I can’t wait,’ he said on ragged breaths, kneading me roughly. The lift bell chimed, and he pulled me towards him, turning my body and lifting me as he carried me along the corridor, kissing and panting, his hands squeezing my waist. I briefly remember him pulling a card from his pocket. I have a memory of the door to his room opening, but everything else was a blur of frantic touching and need.
I felt the soft cushion of the sofa behind me as he lowered me down. My legs were still wrapped around his waist, but he pulled them forwards, spreading me before him. His hands held me in place on either side of my breasts, a kiss to my throat made my body buzz. I loved the feel of him on top of me, his weight pressing down on my bones, trying to enter me through my skin. I could feel the power of him, passing through me like a blood transfusion. He came alive when we fit together like this, but would he fall apart at the end of the night? His guilt too much to bear because it was pressing down between his shoulder blades? I knew he wanted me more, though. I knew. I knew. His eyes told me it all.
He looked handsome, but disheveled, like he hadn’t slept for a week but was powering through like the musical juggernaut he was.
‘You look great,’ he said, dragging his hands through his hair. ‘My memory doesn’t do you justice.’
‘You told me not to wait for you.’
‘I’m glad you did,’ he replied, his voice laced with need. He took my hand and led me to the lifts, avoiding my eyes, stopping himself from touching me further, but as soon as the lift doors closed, it was a different matter. He turned me swiftly with his fingers to my waist, pushing me against the mirrored walls. He was controlled, but his eyes betrayed him, deep and stormy and ready to burst. My dancewear was backless. He kissed me right in the middle, shots of tingles danced where his lips had been as he pushed his hands through to my breasts.
‘I can’t wait,’ he said on ragged breaths, kneading me roughly. The lift bell chimed, and he pulled me towards him, turning my body and lifting me as he carried me along the corridor, kissing and panting, his hands squeezing my waist. I briefly remember him pulling a card from his pocket. I have a memory of the door to his room opening, but everything else was a blur of frantic touching and need.
I felt the soft cushion of the sofa behind me as he lowered me down. My legs were still wrapped around his waist, but he pulled them forwards, spreading me before him. His hands held me in place on either side of my breasts, a kiss to my throat made my body buzz. I loved the feel of him on top of me, his weight pressing down on my bones, trying to enter me through my skin. I could feel the power of him, passing through me like a blood transfusion. He came alive when we fit together like this, but would he fall apart at the end of the night? His guilt too much to bear because it was pressing down between his shoulder blades? I knew he wanted me more, though. I knew. I knew. His eyes told me it all.
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Lynsey M. Stewart enjoys writing stories about characters that experience a few bumps in the road before finding their happily ever after (also known as contemporary romance with plenty of heat.) She lives with her husband, her soulmate and muse, along with their gorgeous, precious, ridiculously independent little girl. Lynsey began writing after being inspired by great books, amazing writers and wonderful stories that she couldn't stop thinking about long after reading the last word. If she’s not writing, you can usually find her with her head in a book or singing along to music. She’s hopeless, but she enjoys pretending to be Adele every once in a while.
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