“Really?” I ask excitedly.
He nods, excited himself. “I’m a little nervous about . . . well”—he gestures at his side where the tattoo is hidden beneath his shirt—“the whole process.”
I offer him an encouraging smile. “You’ll do fine. I know it. And, if you want, I can go with you and hold your hand.”
“Actually, I was kind of hoping you’d sketch the cover up tattoo for me.” He skims his finger along the inside of my wrist, causing me to shiver. “It’d be nice if you’d go with me, too, though.”
“Of course.” I puff out a stressed breath. “Man, I’m feeling a little bit nervous.”
“About what?”
“About creating something that will permanently be on your body. Just think, every time you look at it, you’ll think of me.”
His brow arches questioningly. “And that’s a bad thing?”
I shrug. “That all depends on stuff.”
“Stuff like what?”
“I don’t know, like if we break up one day or something.”
He studies me with his dark eyes, and my skin starts to heat; not with a blush, but with lust. My heart pumps fast, dances in my chest, creates a rhythm of its own, a beat that would make a fantastic song.
“I think I’m okay with something you draw being on my body forever.” Without warning, his lips come down on mine hard, giving me barely any time to process more than a single thought about what he’s said.
I have zero time to suck in a breath as his tongue slips into my mouth. He kisses me fiercely, passion burning, scorching through my body, silk spilling through my veins. It’s the kind of kiss with zero planning, the kind of kiss that means so much. The kind of kiss I’ll hold onto forever. The kind of kiss everyone should experience at least once in their lifetime.
My hands find his shoulders, my fingertips delving into the fabric of his shirt as I try to keep my legs from giving out. As if he senses my inability to stay on my feet, his hands travel down my body, trembling the entire way, and he grips onto my thighs. With a deep inhale, he holds onto me tightly and picks me up.
When his body begins to quiver, I start to lower my feet to the ground, but he constricts his grasp on me, holding me in place. He counts to five under his breath then presses me closer until so much heat is coursing through me I can barely breathe. So, so much heat. I feel like I’m drowning in heat, yet I want to sink farther, let the warmth take me down and hold me there forever.
“Where are we going?” I whisper against his lips as he starts to move somewhere.
Pressing me even closer to him, he slides a hand underneath my butt. “To my room.” His voice is uneven, off-pitch, gravelly.
I link my feet behind his back as he stumbles blindly down the hallway and kicks open his bedroom door. I get lost in the kiss, the feel of his hands, the beat of his heart slamming through his chest and against mine. I get so lost I barely notice anything around me until we’re falling onto the mattress.
His solid body lands on top of me, but his arms brace the weight of his fall. He pulls back to look down at me, breathing heavily, and panic flashes in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask, cupping his cheek. “We can slow down if we need to. We always can.”
“I’m fine.” He gasps for air, battling to calm down. Once he’s settled, he stares at me with strands of his hair in his eyes. “I know we can always stop, but I . . . I think I want to keep going.”
I sweep his hair out of his eyes and let my hand linger on his scruffy cheek. I’m not sure what he means. Keep going? How far? More kissing? More touching? More . . . ?
My thoughts dissipate as his lips return to mine, and he gives me a deliberate, sensual, soul-stealing kiss. His hand wanders up the bottom of my skirt, slowly, slowly, slowly. Every brush of his fingers, every caress of his tongue is deliberate, which makes every second that much more erotic. His fingers stop moving the moment they reach the hem of my panties. He never takes it farther than this, and I haven’t asked him to, even though I want to. Badly.
I gasp and wiggle below him, desperate for him to touch me more. For me to be able to touch him. Touch, touch, touch him all over. I want to touch him like he touches me.
Knowing he’ll more than likely stop me, I dare to slide my fingers down his back and fiddle with the hem of his shirt, stealing a touch. When he doesn’t budge, I test him further, delving my fingers under the fabric and caressing his bare flesh. I hold my breath, waiting for him to panic, which makes the kiss instantly turn awkward because I eventually have to suck in a huge breath.
“One . . . two . . . three,” he whispers under his breath then kisses me deeper, kisses me through the awkwardness and back into the intensity of the moment.
I’m not sure what’s up with the counting, and I don’t really care. He’s letting me touch him more than I ever have. I grasp onto the moment, inching my hands up his back and tracing a soft path up his spine. He either shakes or shivers from my touch—maybe a little bit of both.
“I can stop,” I tell him when his breathing shifts to erratic.
He takes a few measured breaths. “No . . . You’re okay. I can do this.”
I sketch a line up and down his back. “So, are you . . . ? I mean, you can touch me.” I actually blush. Yeah, I, Lyric Scott, blush. It’s something I thought would never happen, and it feels so freaking weird.
Thankfully, Ayden’s face is too close to mine to notice.
He nods, either to himself or to me, before he slips a finger into my panties. Nerves bubble in my stomach, about to burst. I try to prepare myself, but the instant he slides a finger inside me, I’m lost.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
Lost inside you.
Lost inside me.
Lost inside us.
I feel so alive.
Breathing, heart beating,
Needing, needing, needing.
I can hardly breathe,
Can hardly think
Past the pleading, pleading, pleading.
By the time I return to reality, I’m out of breath, and my pulse is soaring. Ayden is staring down at me with so much desire blazing in his eyes I barely recognize him.
“Was that okay? I mean, you don’t regret it, right?” He smooths strands of my blonde hair out of my eyes.
“No regrets at all,” I assure him breathlessly, fighting back a grin, but eventually, a smile plasters across my face.
His fingers splay across my cheek and he traces a line below my eye. “You’re so beautiful. I just . . .” He sighs and rolls off me.
“What are you doing?” I pout, rotating on my side.
He stares up at the ceiling with his arm draped across his forehead. “I just worry about you all the time. I mean, you’re so happy and outgoing, and I worry I’m going to ruin it.”
“You don’t ruin anything, and you need to stop saying that.”
“Not even when you can’t touch me?”
I roll over to him and swing my leg across him, pushing myself up and straddling him. “I can’t touch you, huh?”
His hands mold to my waist as he grasps on to me. “You know what I mean. We can’t even take our relationship further.” His cheeks redden as he looks away.
“We can’t?” I challenge, reaching for the bottom of my shirt. I lift it up and tug it over my head, shaking out my hair. “I think we take it further every day.”
His breathing speeds up as his grey eyes drink me in. “I’ve been working on some stuff to help calm me down when I’m panicking,” he whispers. “I want to get better for you.”
“Is that what the counting is about?”
He nods. “My therapists taught me some breathing exercises and stuff.”
“While I love that you’re trying, I still need you to know that it doesn’t matter to me. I want to be with you, no matter what.”
He leans up and kisses me, his hand sliding around my back. I shiver from the graze of his fingers against my flesh as he fumbles with the clasp of
my bra. Once he gets it unfastened, the straps fall from my shoulders, and the cool air nips at my skin. Even though I’m pretending to be as cool as a freaking cucumber, my heart slams against my chest.
“Tell me if I need to slow down,” he whispers against my lips.
Instead of telling him to go further, I grab his hands and place them on me. He groans from the touch, seeming in pain. But he has to be enjoying this since I can feel his happiness pressing between my thighs.
“Your skin’s so soft,” he murmurs, caressing the sensitive spot of flesh to the side of my breast.
I softly sketch his jawline with my fingertip. “So’s yours. And, one day when you’re ready, I’ll be able to touch you like you touch me.”
His hands continue to explore my body, his fingers scorching hot against my flesh. “What if I’m never ready?”
“You will be, Ayden. You’ve come a long way already.”
He sucks in an inhale through his nose then pushes up and slams his lips to mine while his hand glides to my breast, his thumb grazing my nipple.
“You taste like cookies,” he breathes softly through kisses.
“You taste like . . .” I trail off at the sound of a startled gasp from behind us.
“Oh, shit.” I scramble off Ayden, grab my shirt, and press it to my chest.
“I’m sorry,” Lila says from the doorway with her hand over her eyes. “I should have knocked first.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Ayden sputters, bolting upright in the bed. “I mean, you shouldn’t have had to, because we shouldn’t have been in here, doing this . . . doing stuff.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’m so sorry.”
Lila remains quiet with her hands over her eyes. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to give you guys exactly one minute to get dressed and meet me downstairs. Then we’re going to have a talk. And, Lyric, I’m calling your parents and having them come over, as well.”
I pull a face. Great. This is going to be so awkward. “Okay.”
“Good.” She hurries away, leaving the door wide open.
I quickly put my bra on then yank my shirt over my head. “Well, looks like the cat’s out of the bag now,” I say as I hop off the bed.
“This is so bad.” Ayden stands up, wrapping his arms around his head, freaking out.
“Yeah, but we were going to tell them eventually.” I adjust my shirt into place.
He paces the floor in front of his bed. “But not like this . . . not after she saw me. And I need to prepare myself for how disappointed your parents are going to be.”
“Disappointed?” Confused, I step in front of him, forcing him to stop moving. “Why would they be disappointed? A little angry, sure, but they’ll get over it.”
He gulps. “Not over what happened. With me. I doubt they’re going to be happy that you’re with me.”
I gape at him. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“I know who I am.” He refuses to look at me, staring at a poster on the wall. “I have so many problems . . . My life is so fucked up. You’re so perfect, and they’re not going to want me ruining that for you.”
“First of all, I’m not perfect, and my parents definitely don’t think I am. There’ve been many lectures and punishments proving how imperfect I am, just like everyone else in the world. And, second of all, I honestly think they’ve been expecting this to happen between us.”
He shakes his head, his jaw set tight. “I highly doubt that.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous right now, and I’m going to prove it.”
I grab his hand and march for the door, ready to face the music. Ready to prove him wrong.
He is good for me.
Everyone knows it.
Everyone knows just as much as I do that we’re meant to be together.
Chapter 7
Ayden
I’m a nervous wreck going downstairs. Even though I knew our relationship would eventually be discovered, I expected it to happen later on and definitely not under such embarrassing circumstances. Now they’re really going to start keeping an eye on me.
“Dude, breathe¸” Lyric mutters under her breath as we reach the bottom of the stairway. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
I wish that were true. Tonight was so amazing—touching her like that, watching her fall apart underneath me. She tastes and feels so good that, if I had my way, I’d spend every hour of my life feeling her skin and kissing her.
Life would be so much easier if that were possible, but that’s hardly plausible. The reality of the situation is ugly and brutal and is about to become a whole lot more so.
My heart is hammering in my chest as we walk into the living room. Our hands are linked together, but the moment I catch sight of Ethan and Lila, I wrench away.
Lyric sighs at my movement then plops down on the sofa, appearing completely comfortable.
“So, what’s the punishment?” she asks, crossing her legs and relaxing back in the sofa.
“That’s for your parents to decide,” Lila replies with aggravation written all over her face. “But I’m just going to say that you are way too comfortable about the situation, young lady.”
“I’m not too comfortable. Not really,” Lyric protests. “I just know that this shouldn’t be as big as deal as you guys are going to make it. I mean, from the stories I’ve heard you guys and my parents tell each other when you guys drink too much wine, you all had sex by the time you were our age.”
Lila’s lips part in shock. “You’re having sex?”
“No, we’re not,” I interrupt, my voice higher than normal. “We were just . . .” I trail off, my cheeks warming with my mortification.
Ethan offers me a sympathetic look, seeming about as uneasy as I am.
“Whether we are or aren’t having sex is beside the point.” Lyric shoots me a dirty look from over her shoulder. “The point is that we’re legally adults, and if we were having sex, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
I press her with a stressing look. You’re making this worse, I mouth.
She carries my gaze with determination, but then sighs. “Fine, I’ll let us get our lecture. I was just trying to prove a point.”
Lila and Ethan sit with their mouths hanging open, at a loss for words. The room goes so silent everyone can probably hear the thunderous beat of my heart.
After a minute passes, I sink down on the opposite side of the sofa from Lyric. When the front door swings open, though, I spring up from the sofa and decide to sit on the chair across the room, way, way far away from Lyric.
“So, what’d they do now?” Mr. Scott asks, rubbing his hands together as he enters the room.
Beside him, Mrs. Scott doesn’t look as relaxed. I almost wonder if she already knows what’s going on.
“I . . .” Lila starts, but stops herself. “Well, I guess there’s no easy way to put it other than I caught them, um, messing around in the bedroom.”
Mr. Scott’s expression instantly plummets. “You caught them doing what?”
I slouch lower in the chair with my head ducked and fix my attention on the floor.
“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Lyric intervenes. “It’s not like we were having sex or anything.”
“Not that big of a deal.” Mr. Scott seems irritated, which kind of surprises me.
Out of the two of them, he has always been more laid back than Lyric’s mother.
“Oh, don’t seem so shocked,” Mrs. Scott says, sounding calmer than all of them. “She’s eighteen, and her best friend’s a guy she spends every waking hour with. Sounds a little bit familiar, doesn’t it?”
“You were nineteen,” Mr. Scott argues. “And that was different. We were both more mature than her.”
“Hey,” Lyric argues, offended, “I’m mature.”
“Yeah, okay. We were so mature,” Mrs. Scott talks over Lyric, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “We never did anything reckless at all.”
&nbs
p; “Well, okay, I get your point, but still . . . You and I aren’t like our parents,” Mr. Scott replies defensively. “We have rules. We need to put those rules into play and ground her or something.”
I still haven’t looked up, my eyes trained on the floor as I wait for one of them to say something negative about Lyric being with me. But they continue on about their pasts as if they’ve forgotten about the problem and the other people in the room, listening to their every word.