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“Please?” I lower my tone to make it more conciliatory, hoping it will coax him to open the door.

“No. Go away.”

“Your grandmother sent me to talk to you. Don’t make me look bad in front of your halmeoni,” I plead.

Silence.

“Lyric.” I lean my forehead against the door. “If you want me to leave, I will, but not before we talk honestly.”

The door abruptly swings wide open and I nearly fall forward, but I catch myself right as Lyric’s hands land on my pecs. Our eyes lock into place and before I realize it, he yanks me inside the room, closes and locks the door, then slams his mouth over mine.

Chapter Twelve

Lyric

Ican’t hold back my frustration and the yearning for Rafe that’s been building from the moment I left Black Rock, Nevada. My heart and my head have been in constant battle about whether to give in to or fight off the attraction I have for Rafe.

Now, however? It’s senseless to deny that I have feelings for the lead guitarist, since I’m kissing the man like he’s the air I need to survive.

I’ve told Rafe repeatedly that I felt nothing for him, but it was a lie. To him and to myself. My heart has been slowly growing fonder of him since the beginning, since that first day I saw him in the hospital, when he angrily stomped from Callum’s room after I scolded the band for upsetting my patient and ordered them to get out. Agreeing to hooking up with the man was supposed to be a one-time thing, a way to get him out of my system. But it backfired on me.

I should just admit that I have feelings for him. I give a silent huff. That word seems inadequate to describe the way I truly feel.

I love Rafe. That admission sneaks in and startles me so much that I quickly pull away from him, covering my mouth with my hand. “No.”

“No, what?” Rafe asks, stepping toward me like a panther, ready to pounce. “You started this, Lyric.”

I retreat backwards, my legs hit the mattress and I fall onto my back. Rafe doesn’t hesitate. He climbs on to the bed and straddles my hips. He slides his hands up my sides, under my t-shirt, and keeps going until he’s slipped my t-shirt from my arms. I wiggle my chin and head to get it the rest of the way off, then he grabs both of my wrists and holds them over my head. “Gotcha where I want you.”

My pulse spikes, but not in a bad way. “Let go.” I say that, but I make no effort to actually try to break free from his hold. Especially when Rafe leans forward and grinds his rigid cock against my own hard on.

I push my groin upwards, grinding against him, needing to feel the friction down to my balls. Even through our pants, the sensation has me groaning.

Rafe dips his face close to mine, his dark blue eyes stormy with want. “What do you need, brat?”

My head wants to deny my need for him, say that I don’t need anything from him, but my heart says otherwise. And wins. “I… I—want your mouth.”

“Then?” His left brow hikes up.

“Then what?” I ask, grinding upward again.

“What do I get, brat?”

“Will you stop calling me that?” That’s what I say, but I secretly like it when he calls me that. It’s a hell of a lot better than him calling me “K-pop.”

“No, I won’t. Now tell me,” he persists, before he leans close to my neck and licks up my throat.

Another moan leaves my lips before I utter, “I’ll blow you back.”

“That’s right.” Rafe whispers the words into my ear, releases my hands and slowly worms his down my body while his mouth trails kisses along my exposed skin. Right as he lifts his hips and is about to take my pants down, someone starts banging on my bedroom door.

“Yeong, are you in there?”

“What the fuck,” Rafe growls as we turn our heads toward the door. “Who the fuck is that?”

I return my gaze to Rafe’s angry face. “Eun.”

“Did you know he was coming here?”