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Maybe he’ll fucking learn that pranks where someone gets hurt aren’t funny.
“Out,” I repeat and narrow my eyes at him before I turn to the rest of the band, one by one.
They take a single look at the woman behind me, drag their focus down to our joined hands, and give me a knowing smirk.
But they don’t know shit.
They don’t know, nor do they understand, how crazy this woman drives me. How right and wrong I feel when I’m with her. That she’s the reason I was able to start writing a new song this morning—one I have a good feeling about, for once.
I often write what I think listeners want to hear. What the band or my manager might think will appeal to new fans. It doesn’t always mean I’m happy about it.
In fact, I’m usually not.
But this morning was different. I didn’t need a cigarette or imaginary phantoms of a muse. All I did was picture the way Pia moves through the apartment, a subtle bounce in her left step like one shoe is taller than the other.
It’s quirky and fucking adorable.
I pictured the way her nostrils had flared when I almost kissed her last night. Her shallow breathing. The rhythmic way her chest rose and fell, whispering against my own chest as I had leaned down to find something I never knew I was looking for.
Her. I found her.
The door clicks behind us, leaving no other sounds in this empty room but soft music filtering through the speakers.
Standing a foot apart, I narrow my gaze. “This isn’t more research, is it?”
She shakes her head slowly, her pink tongue darting out to sweep across her bottom lip.
I want to taste that tongue so fucking badly I can’t stand it.
“I don’t want anything fictional,” she whispers. “Tonight, I want real.”
She still seems confident and sure, but I don’t think she realizes what she’s asking for. Because if—and when—I give in, I won’t be able to stop. Not when it comes to her.
I thought I had turned her quiet, perfect world upside down when I showed up on her doorstep, a black suitcase in hand and a plea on my lips. But the truth is, this woman threw my own life and heart into chaos.
Yet, it feels right.
I cup Pia’s reddening cheek with my hand and guide her to meet me halfway until I fuse my mouth to hers.
Kissing her.
Devouring.
Taking.
I take what I’ve wanted all week.
Shit, the relief that seeps out of every pent-up muscle in my body is too great to be from this week alone. It makes me think I’ve wanted this since we met.
But I wasn’t ready then, and she wasn’t, either. We weren’t prepared for this.
The languid strokes of my tongue seek more. Deeper. Wetter.
“Are they, um…” she mumbles against my eager mouth. “They know what we’re doing, don’t they?”
I lean my forehead to hers, and the sweet, lingering taste of her tickles my lips, urging me to kiss her again. But the doubt in her question stops me.
“Don’t worry about them. There’s no room for anyone other than us in here tonight.”
