Page 127 of Composed
You’re beautiful…
I follow the dip in her neck when she swallows.
I clear my throat. “What’s your favourite?”
She lays back down, her stare locking on the ceiling. “Maybe I’ll show you one day.”
“Not today?”
“Not today, Rock Star.” She practically purrs as my hand drifts higher up her leg. “You know, if you keep going, I’m not gonna be awake long enough to play you my song.”
“Is that so?” I smirk. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Still, I don’t stop.
I explore the tattoos on her lower leg, my fingers tingling as they graze over her. Truth is the song was just an excuse—I do want to hear it, I want to hear everything Hendrix has to say in her music. But more than that, I just want to hear her.
A soft purring snore fills the air.
Air lodges in my lungs when I look at her.
Her cheeks are flushed, mouth parted. A smile lingers on her face. My fingers still as my pulse leaps. Music swills in my mind, an unwritten song spilling from the depths.
I lift Hendrix’s legs off me, and ease them onto the cushion, before sliding off the couch. I grab a blanket from the basket Carter keeps down here for when the girls nap and drape it over her legs.
“If you’re still wondering…" My thumb grazes her cheek when I brush her hair behind her ear.
Her chest flutters as she rolls onto her side.
I press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve always missed you, Rixie Moore.”
So play me your song or just breathe slow
I don’t care where we’re headed, as long as you don’t let go
Hendrix stirs when I push the door open.
Her lashes flicker, a yawn escaping her before she slams a cushion over her face and groans. “It’s too early.”
I chuckle as I place two take-out mugs on the table, along with a brown paper bag. “It’s twelve.”
“Shit!” She shoots upwards, wincing. Her face contorts when she leans forward and pushes her fingers into her lower back. “Why did you let me sleep on the couch so long? I’m too old for this shit.”
“I didn’t let you do anything.” I amble around the room. “I tried waking you up earlier. You told me, and I quote,‘Go fuck yourself with a rusty spoon.’”
Her face falls. “Did I actually?”
“Yeahhh.” I hiss playfully.
She cracks one eye open, her lips twisting. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be, it keeps the ego from getting too big.” I nudge her forward on the couch, and nestle in behind her.
“What are you doing?” she asks slowly as my legs frame hers.
“The thing about playing piano, it makes you real good with your hands.” I dig my thumbs into the dimples framing the bottom of her spine and she whimpers. The corner of my mouth kicks up. I lower my voice. “But then, if anyone already knows that, it’s you.”
She tenses.
