Page 44 of Fresh Tracks
“OK.” I’m certainly not going to argue with him. “Night, Tommy.”
That heart melting, boyish grin returns to his face, making my stomach do a weird, flippy thing.
He waves a hand down at the stool. “Don’t leave. Come over here.”
I don’t even have time to think about saying no before my body follows his command, stepping to the stool, and sitting in front of him.
“You came in at the perfect time,” he says, kneeling down in front of me. “I was stuck and about to call it for the night.”
I look down at him, finding it once again hard not to admire all of the details of him when he’s kneeling between my legs, smiling up at me. He’s breathtakingly masculine, but in that subtle way I crave. Suddenly my mouth feels dry and I’m at a loss for words.
“Have you ever played?”
Before I can process or much less answer that question, he’s reaching his arms around me, hanging the strap of his acoustic guitar around my neck. He rests the guitar in my lap before appraising me, his blue eyes looking over every inch of me. Like everything else about him, they’re so stunning. The blue is so deep and vibrant, contrasting the whites of his eyes. It’s like looking into a crystal clear lake, surrounded by snow. I follow those eyes and when he looks at my shoulder, a line creases his brows.
My eyes follow his, but he’s already reaching for where the guitar strap meets the straps of my overalls. He straightens it out,but I can feel the warm, callused tips of his fingers graze my pounding pulse point. My lips part at the contact on that oh so sensitive patch of skin just below my ear. Just like that though, he pulls them away, but that doesn’t stop my body from following him, craving more contact.
“There. That’s better,” he says, looking pleased with himself.
Suddenly, even breathing around him feels like a monumental task with the charged air between us. But he doesn’t even seem affected. He just keeps looking up at me with that pleased expression.
“Better how? And no, I’ve never played before,” I say, finally collecting myself enough to be a functional human.
I watch his nostrils flare when he snorts a laugh. “Well you look like a natural. Overalls and a flannel? You look like you would have fit right in with us in Seattle twenty years ago.”
I drop my chin, lowering my eyes on him. “I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment because I would have been seven years old.”
“Woof. There you go making me feel ancient again.” My eyes meet his and he winks at me. “But it’s the best compliment. Now give me your hands. Time for some lessons.”
I reach out to him, turning my palms up. He grabs me by the wrists, placing my hands on the guitar in the proper spots. I look at his hand, wrapped around mine over the neck of the guitar. I can see so many spots where the finish of the neck, the frets and everything else are worn. “Tommy, this looks old.”
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes fixed on our hands where his fingers are bending mine into the right position. “That’s because it is old. It’s the one I learned on, my first guitar.”
My eyes fly to his at the sudden realization of what I’m holding. “There’s no way you can let me play this. I’ll break it or something. You saw how clumsy I am literally minutes ago.”
He grips my hand tighter, looking back at me with nothingbut that pure conviction of his that makes me swallow hard. He leans forward, leaving just inches between us. “There’s no one else that I would rather have play with this old thing than you, Rainbow,” he says, voice dropping deeper with a gravelly rasp that hits me low in my stomach.
Those piercing, sparkling blue eyes stay fixed on mine. His delicious scent fills each of my breaths. His fingers stay woven between mine. I savor the warmth of his body kneeling so close between my thighs. All of it so, so overwhelming, fulfilling that craving to stimulate all of my senses.
Yes, I told myself I can separate my lust for him from the rest of our intertwined lives. But I don’t know if I want to anymore. Maybe this is a problem for future me. Maybe this is one I should take head-on — right now — and solve the way I usually do.
So I give into that spontaneous voice in the back of my head, doing what I always love to do. I live for moments like this that feel so right in every part of my body. I lean forward, closing the distance between us, planting one soft, slow kiss on those full lips.
In an instant, all of those overwhelming sensations take over in an electric blur. I let go of the guitar and let it hang on my neck so I can bring my hands to his face. I feel the tension in his body when I hold my lips to his, savoring the feeling of his stubble under my palms with our foreheads pressed together.
A second of charged silence passes, but it feels like an eternity.
Shit. Did I read this entirely wrong?
Another second passes before I feel his chest heave between us. Then his lips part and he lets out the hottest moan I’ve ever heard.
That sound wakes up every nerve in my body and makes my nipples peak. My piercings drag against my ribbed tank top under the straps of my overalls. With no bra on, it makes me crave even more contact.
“Rainbow,” he practically growls in a low, husky plea, making my thighs clench and hold him tighter between my knees.
He lets out another long, shaky breath before kissing me back. His tongue explores every bit of my waiting mouth. Everything about this kiss feels needy and desperate, like the curtain on whatever he’s been hiding has finally dropped.
And I love it.
