Page 61 of Hot Girl Summer

I look him square in the eye when I say it. Inside, I congratulate myself for maintaining a cool, calm demeanour, and in an attempt at being offhand, I look away, and wander towards the stage. Inside, I am the furthest thing from calmness.

I can sense him watching my every move as I run my fingers across the well-worn plastic of the snare drum. Stalling, I take the time to inspect every bump and ridge, before I step off the stage and approach the guitar-lined wall.

“Does this work?” I ask, pausing to admire a shiny black and gold Gibson Les Paul.

Within seconds, he’s beside me, and that scent of his completely captivates me while he carefully unhooks the vintage guitar from the bracket. He makes his way to the couch, sets the Les Paul against it and props the other one on a stand. Plugging it in, he leans across the leather arm and switches on the amp again.

“What shall I play?” he asks.

I assume he’s talking about song choice, but when I approach him, I ignore the question, and prise the plectrum from his hands.

Be bold.

I can hear Lauren’s well-meaning wise words in my head.

This is my attempt at being bold.

“Other than me,” I say, twirling the pick between my fingers.

I kneel in front of him with my legs tucked beneath me.

“I want to watch you play...whatever your heart wants.”

With a steady gaze, his eyes darken.

“And I want you to watch me.”

His gaze is pure, dark, addictive poison. If I could bottle the way he’s undressing me with his eyes, I would. I want more, and still, that would never be enough.

I’ve never felt so empowered in all my life. To have the freedom to ask for what I want, and to know I won’t be shamed for it.

Still, I can’t shake that question that’s been drumming around in my mind all day long. “I need to know something first. Is anybody going to get hurt?”

I know I could have asked him outright about the little girl who was with Belle earlier, but I want to avoid mentioning either of them at all costs. If he felt any guilt whatsoever, he would stop this.

He pauses, shakes his head and says, “no,” then he proceeds to tune the guitar.

It’s a good enough answer. Just like Lauren had said, there’s no shame in going after what I want.

Once the sound is pitch perfect, he picks up the melody once again. I rotate the plectrum, watching his fingers move along the fretboard, and with that visual in my mind, I close my eyes. Pressing it between my lips, I swirl my tongue around the tapered end, and slide it over my bottom lip, down my chin and neck, to the dip above my collarbone, leaving a glistening trail.

To the rhythm of his sound, I drag the pick south, and gently press the sharp end into the skin between my breasts. Opening my eyes, I glance at the superficial mark it leaves, then I meet Danny’s dark green gaze. I suck in my bottom lip, and the savage way he looks at me fuels my body with heat and want.

I’ve never wanted anybody so badly. Sure, lust and I are good friends, but this insatiable need, this infatuation with him I have is taking everything I have. Every part of me wants him, and wants him to have me in every way. Every nerve, every beat of my heart, every inch of skin and every hitched breath I take. This is all for him, and I give it to him freely.

It takes all my willpower to slow down, but the desire to tease him overrides my need for quick relief. I shift my position, rocking my centre back and forth on the heel of my foot to ease the pressure building inside of me.

I flick my tongue over the sharp edge of the plectrum to get it wet and press it against the fabric covering my nipples. They pinch under the pressure, and I’m grateful that the layer of cotton covering them is thin enough for me to feel them brush and harden against the plastic tool. Heat pools between my legs, and my breath quickens.

I use the sharper edge to switch up the sensation, making small circles on one nipple, then repeating the process on the other. When the rocking brings me close to the edge, I slide it down to my navel and into my yoga pants.

Raising my ass off the ground, I widen my knees, and steady myself. My heart races with the anticipation of what I’m about to do. A tiny dose of anxiety threatens to change my mind, but I have to keep telling myself that this time is different than the first time we were in this room. I’m in control now.

I look to Danny for reassurance, and the darkness in his gaze gives me the green light I need to continue.

With the plectrum held between my thumb and forefinger, I flatten the cool plastic against my clit and press down, making small circles. My breath hitches, and my low, guttural moan is drowned out by the sound of the guitar. Closing my eyes, I lose myself in the music, losing all self-control. And I don’t care who hears my moans.

My middle finger slips inside easily, and I mirror his rhythm. The tempo changes, becoming faster as he plays harder, and the music grows louder. I’m a puppet he controls through the strings of his guitar, but the way my body responds to the music has never made me feel so free. My ring finger slips inside, and by this point I’m gasping for release, but it’s not the pressure I need. In one swift movement, I discard the plectrum onto the floor, and push my hand into my yoga pants once again, alternating my fingers between my clit and fucking myself. I’m torn, because I never want this feeling to end, yet I’m so close to complete bliss and satisfaction that I can’t stop myself. I bring myself closer, until I'm moaning and gasping for air, and my entire body charges and shakes.

---