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“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
He smiled and slowly rolled off me. I admired his beautiful body as he walked away, his stride confident, his high, round ass on display. I lay there, unable to move a muscle. Too fucked out.
When he returned with a warm washcloth and cleaned me off, I all but purred.
Throwing the cloth aside, he slipped back into bed and spooned me, our bodies touching from head to toe. He let out a deep hum of pleasure, and yeah, I agreed. I could get used to this.
What I couldn’t fathom with previous lovers, I wanted with him.
“You all right?” he whispered in my ear, giving it a quick kiss.
“Yes. I love being with you like this. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of the bickering, too,” I teased. “But this is better.”
“I love being with you, too,” he replied and hugged me tighter.
The serious tone of his voice and the possessive way he held me spoke volumes. It was as close to an admission of what was really going on between us as we were going to get. For now.
I drifted off to sleep, but not for long.
Inspiration struck—at four in the morning, no less.
I slowly extricated myself from Dawson’s hold and walked over to the chair in the corner of the room.
Taking my baby out of the case, I sat down and began to play the tune circling in my subconscious like an earworm.
As I played, I stared at Dawson’s sleeping form, and words began to float to the surface. Searching for a pad of paper, I grabbed a notebook and pen from the coffee table and scribbled down the basic notes of the riff. It was probably gibberish at this point, but I rolled with it.
Brodie and Van created most of our songs, but lately, I’d been inspired myself.
I didn’t believe in my song writing ability as much as Brodie did his. I considered myself a guitarist first and foremost. But hey, it was always good to try new things.
I was already doing that with Dawson. Why not songwriting?
Once I’d written all I could, I switched it up and started to play a familiar song that soothed me.
“I love that,” Dawson whispered.
I looked up, and he was lying on his side, staring at me with a smile.
“Shit, I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t be. I love watching you, remember?”
I continued playing “Sideline,” singing the words to Dawson, my audience of one.
It was funny because I started to sweat, nervous about how I sounded. Me, the guy who played concert halls and stadiums all over the world, was scared to sing for my…boyfriend? We were exclusive, so, yeah, boyfriend sounded right. I’d never had one before, so it would take some getting used to.
Then I thought about all the ways I could fuck this up. My hands trembled, and I missed a note.
“Come back to bed,” Dawson commanded when I finished the song. “I miss you.”
“I’ve only been gone for half an hour.”
“Why do you think I woke up?”
I held up my guitar in response.
“Nope,” Dawson replied. “As soon as you left my arms, I woke up.”
