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“Lydia.”
He groans, and I even know why.
There was an article years and years ago that blew up in a huge way, that calledLydia“Velvet Guillotine’sWonderwall”, as in the infamous Oasis rock ballad. I mean, theyareboth similar in terms of that softer, more ballad-esque feel, and are both about broken love and the attraction to the tragic.
But it become almost like a meme. Every interviewer after that would seem to slip in some asinine question to the band about their relationship to the Gallagher brothers of Oasis, or if they’d ever collaborate or something. It wasn’t even dumb questions insinuating thatLydiawas inspired byWonderwall—the songs musically sound nothing alike at all. But, as documented in other interviews, it apparently drove the members of Guillotine, and Jackson especially, crazy.
I know all this, and I’mstillmaking it my request. Because—sorry, not sorry—it’s anamazingsong, and one of my favorites.
I smile as wide and as cutely as I can.
“Pleeeease?”
He sighs, hiding a grin as he shakes his head.
“Fuck it, fine. But after this, I’m ripping those fucking panties off, and you’re planting that pussy right on my fucking tongue. Got it?”
I shiver at the demanding tone and the wicked promise.
“Got it,” I murmur, swallowing.
He rolls his shoulders, drops his hands to the strings, and starts to play. And I’m smiling ear to ear through the whole thing. Every verse, every soaring chorus. Every way his voice breaks so perfectly, and the way the guitar lines blend like aural paint. The way one single song—one three-minute piece of music—can make your soul leap out of your body.
When it’s over, and the last lines melt into the air around us, I’ve got my eyes half closed, my heart still racing.
“That was…beautiful,” I whisper.
Jackson nods, putting the guitar to the side as he stands. His eyes cut into me dangerously, hungrily, making me shiver. But as my eyes slip to the side, I frown as they land on the control board for the studio, which is half covered in scraps of paper, scribbled notes, and jotted down chords.
My brow knits.
“What is all this?”
He grunts.
“Nothing, trust me. Just shit I’ve been writing and working on.”
My jaw drops as I whirl to him.
“Are you really working on new songs?”
His eyes roll.
“I’m working on pure piss and garbage. Trust me, there’s nothing there. It’s shit.”
“Can I read it?”
“Melody, I’m not trying to be modest. It’s fucking garbage.”
I turn to reach for one of the scraps of paper.
“Can I be the judge of that?”
“Only if you drop those panties while you do.”
My face heats violently, my core quivering as desire pools between my legs.
“I…think that’s a fair arrangement.”
