Page 12 of Dark

2) Especially not your boss.

3) There was no safe place short of the center of the sun for lyrics that were not so subtly about a guy the artist was crushing on with hazel eyes. #facepalm

But that was the problem with writing. Lyrics came to me at the oddest times, like when I was idling in the drive-thru of the local Whataburger waiting on my weekly cheeseburger fix, which was why I always kept a cheap school notebook from the sale bin at the local grocery store in my secondhand hobo bag. Its cover was taped over in swag from every band I’d seen play live, its pages cluttered with stickers and old guitar picks. I was pretty much your local serial killer collecting trophies.

And so yeah, sometimes I had to sneak a lyric or two in between orders. Sue me.

When Ethan and I decided we needed a safe word to avoid any more coffee-throwing, lyric-spying calamities, Ethan voted for G-String. I suggested Delilah, which was the name of Freddie Mercury’s cat. We settled on cluster pluck.

The one word neither one of us had said.

Ethan gripped my wrists, stopping me before I could peel his shirt all the way off. “We can’t. Not like this.”

“You said if we hooked up it would—”

“Yeah, I was explaining how it worked. Wasn’t suggesting a quickie up against the window for everyone out on Main to see.”

“I won’t turn into that thing again. Are you going to help me or not?”

His gaze dipped to my mouth. The thing about chemistry? Two people either had it or they didn’t. That flutter in your ribcage when their fingers slid through your hair. A look that could make your knees go weak. The way your heart exploded from something so simple as a text with that shaky, delicious feeling of knowing things were definitely not in the friend zone.

I moved lower, past his navel, skimming the dark trail of hair leading down into his jeans.

Ethan bit my ear. “Worst. Idea. Ever.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” I said, the words coming out high and breathy. Freaking chemistry.

I reached up to straighten his glasses, fingers grazing the line of raw red bites trailing up the side of his neck. His breathing hitched.

“You’re in no shape to be fooling around.”

I licked the stubbly underside of his jaw. “I’m talking sound checks, not the full set list. You do me and I’ll do you.”

With a growl, Ethan boosted me up onto the counter. I threaded my fingers through his hair, nipping at his bottom lip. He gripped the back of my neck, lips covering mine. I shuddered as he pushed me back onto the counter, feeling a low pulse start between my legs. Our tongues warred. His hands ghosted beneath the strap of my bra, tracing my spine until I was arched like a freshly strung bow beneath him, fingertips slowly devouring me like they’d never tasted skin.

He released a low grunt of pleasure, eyes flaring amber. “Tell me to stop, Hays.”

I deepened the kiss, sucking his tongue piercing. The buttons of his fly strained in their holes, his cock all but begging to be released. Ethan groaned when I freed him, wrapping my fingers around his length.

I licked his throat. “Hell, yeah. And yes, please.”

He leaned down to bite my lip ring in a kiss that tasted like cinnamon and espresso, darkness and spice, and as his tongue invaded every last corner of my mouth, that familiar sensation returned, the one I’d only ever felt with him, where I wondered if it was possible to willingly drown.

Fisting my hair, he tilted my head back. Rough bites trailed down my throat.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes. Yes—”

“God, Hayden.” And then his lips closed over the tingling mark still pulsing at the juncture of my shoulder and neck, the original place he’d bitten me only minutes before.

Stars exploded before my eyes, the world going supernova. Distantly, I felt him begin to suck.

“Ethan.” I was suddenly keenly aware of the hot, hard ache pulsing in his blood, a sharp, carnal thrum capable of being silenced by one thing alone. My fingers tightened, bringing a cruel symphony of ecstasy and torment, every pounding heartbeat, every shared breath driving us inexorably towards a fast-approaching precipice.

Arms flexed where he hovered over me, Ethan bent to nip my throat. Pleasure fused with pain, dark and succulent. I arched to meet it, chest thrust out, desperately needing relief. Tugging down the straps of my tank and bra, he exposed the pale pink tips of my breasts, pebbled so tightly they ached in the cold air. A whimper escaped me. His tongue traced a slow circle around my areola, warm breath ghosting over my skin.

And suddenly, I was so hollow, so empty, aching with need.

Ethan stared down at me, eyes dark. “God. You’re beautiful.”