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The electricity. The need.
The pulse between her legs.
“You walked toward me, your body full of grace,
The wind in your hair, the sun on your face,
Your lips full of promises you never meant to keep
Your eyes empty of the tears you would later weep,”
She loved how gritty his voice was. How he stared at her like she was that woman. The one he couldn’t stop loving. The one who betrayed him but he’d take back anyway.
“I danced to your tune, in your delicate embrace
You were lost in the moment, in your time and space
Your words always felt like petals, fragile and sweet
Yet in the silence, it felt like my final defeat…”
They’d got to the bridge. Marley’s drum’s kicked in, a thud of a heartbeat that added to the pain of the music. Pres was strumming louder now. Alex was, too. She felt the rush of blood thumping through her veins as they reached the crescendo.
“You told me that you loved me,
Your lips knew it was a lie,
You said you’d never leave me,
Then every touch was a goodbye,
You ripped my heart and crushed it,
And you laughed at all my pain,
So don’t come around here asking for more
Because I won’t let you in again…”
Their voices meshed so perfectly it was like a shiver down her spine. This was what she loved about singing with him. It wasn’t just about their voices, or the lyrics. It was about feeling it, living it. Right now, they were lovers who tore each other apart again and again.
And damn, they’d have good make up sex. So good it made her skin heat up.
Pres walked out from behind his mic, toward her, his fingers still strumming. He was so close she could feel the heat of his skin, smell the heady mix of his cologne and sweat, as he leaned in to sing with her into her mic.
Calling her baby. Telling her she was the only one who knew how to cut his heart out with her bare hands. And his eyes were still on her. She couldn’t look away.
She sang that he’d broken her. Left her lying on the floor. That she was a dead woman without his love.
And then the music slowed again. Into his final vocals. She stepped back to give him space, but he nodded at the mic, the smallest of smiles playing at his lips.
He wanted her to sing the last lines, too. Which wasn’t what they’d rehearsed. But the audience was captured by them, swaying, singing along even though they didn’t know the words. She moistened her lip with her tongue and gave him a slight nod before they moved in together, their voices meshing, dancing.
Making the kind of music that made her heart throb.
This was better than dancing. It might even be better than sex, though she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that singing with Presley Hartson felt like she was riding a permanent wave. One that made her muscles clench and desire rush through her body.
And she wasn’t sure she’d survive the rest of the set.
