Page 75 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

She glanced back, and the heat in his gaze burned brighter.

Lyric had never felt more like prey leading the predator to her den.

Emerson let his fingers fall from the strings as Nohen squealed out the last riff on his guitar, signaling the end of the show.

His chest rose and fell with each breath, sweat coating his skin, dampening his shirt. Pure, electric, addicting energy coursed through him, and he couldn’t help the direction his gaze went.

He first sought out Lyric, who was shouting her thank you to the crowd amongst the screams. Her slim legs and that tiny top they called a shirt just begging for his touch. He could still feel the rough lace of the bralette under his palms, and the electricity in his body rolled down his spine to settle in his lower back, his dick twitching at the memory.

Tearing his gaze away was a physical challenge, and it danced over Nohen before landing on Odd.

His dark gaze, illuminated by the glowing keys on all his equipment, was directed at his own. They clashed, and the overstimulation from performing made gooseflesh ripple across his skin, his hair standing on end as if his body knew by now what the routine was. Pine after Lyric, fight his instincts to drag her to the nearest corner, and finally let Odd fuck or suck all the pent-up frustration out of him.

Each night it grew just a little harder to ignore her, to turn his back on her scent, potent from the fresh exertion of performing. To ignore the energy that practically called out to him, to avert his gaze as hers raked over his body, head to toe, daring him to chase her down after she retreated to the bus.

But he recognized resolve when he saw it, and Lyric had been full of it when they’d walked off stage the second night. And the third night. Even the fourth night. He wouldn’t make it harder on her.

Emerson tipped his chin down at Odd, his skin prickling with awareness as if his body knew what was coming.

Mainly him. And Odd. Preferably together.

He flicked his guitar pick into the crowd, mimicking Nohen and waving. Desi tossed her sticks into the crowd, and Lyric balled up the set list before throwing it to the greedy hands stretched to the rafters.

Then they walked toward the stage exit, Lyric first, as usual, so she could turn in her monitors and escape to the bus. Everyone else usually returned to the green room for down time, whereas he and Odd preferred to let out their frustrations somewhere else.

But when he stepped down from the stairs into the darkness of the backstage, a slim, soft hand grabbed his and pulled him away. His heart jumped in his chest and he shot Adra a surprised look, who was grinning ear to ear and waved him off.

“What’s going on?” he asked, and Lyric shushed him.

Her hand was gripped so tightly around his he almost feared for his circulation, but his body caught up with Lyric’s intentions long before his mind did. His feet quickened their pace and he gripped her hand back just as tightly.

Their racing steps trailed through the venue and past the four supply closets he and Odd had scoped out when they’d arrived.

But it wasn’t until Lyric drug him to the bus area that he realized where they were headed.

Aw, fuck.

Emerson tucked his excitement back into his pants and swallowed. Hard. “What’s going on?”

Lyric wouldn’t be dragging him onto the bus to work out their… tension, right? That was one of Henry’s rules.

She didn’t answer, pulling her key fob from her pants pocket and holding it up to the door. After it beeped, she pulled the door open and took the steps, refusing to release his hand even after they were inside. He barely had time to make sure the lock engaged automatically before she tugged him forward.

The shower door loomed closer.

“Uh… Lyric?” he choked out.

“Shut up. The shower doesn’t count.”

The excitement he hadn’t been doing a very good job of tamping down rose to life again. But even with his cock thickening in his pants, he had half a mind.

“Lyric… hold on,” he said softly, tugging on her hand to face him.

Her cheeks were flushed, and not just from dancing around on stage. Her ocean eyes were dilated and they raked over his chest as if he was already bare.

“No. Don’t make me overthink this,” she replied. He would have even used the word pleaded, but… this was Lyric he was talking about. “I overthink enough as it is. I feel like I’m… buzzing in place.”

She squeezed his hand, and he studied her a little closer. She did seem abnormally tense, her shoulders tight, and while on stage she performed fluidly, he had noticed she’d been spending a lot of time in her nest.