Page 91 of Forbidden Lyrics

Swallowing thickly, I sit cross-legged on the floor instead. “Touché. I’m glad to see you’ve nailed down your moves without needing to pull out the big guns.”

“I’ve never needed or wanted to pull out the big guns before,” he counters. “Not until you.”

My face heats. I’m hoping he doesn’t notice as he sits down next to me and rests his back against the side of the bed, cradling the guitar in his lap.

“So…” I drag out the word. “About that song.”

His chuckle is deep and throaty before he glances at me and murmurs, “You’ll have to cut me some slack if I miss any notes, all right?”

“And why would you miss any notes?”

“Maybe you make me nervous,” he quips, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

I lick my lips. “Maybe the feeling’s mutual.”

“Then I think we can both cut each other some slack, huh?”

I laugh. “I guess so. Now, start playing, or I might walk right out of here.”

That same warm chuckle rolls over me before he starts plucking at the strings. Hyper-focused, he twists the tuning keys, tries again, and nods when the strings vibrate in the correct key.

“Here we go,” he breathes out.

“Cool, dark nights.

Me lost between your thighs.

Feels like a dream.

Like maybe you’re all I need.

But I don’t do this.

Not usually.

I don’t want this.

Not usually.

But you make me

Make me

Want you.

Just you.”

His voice is low and raspy but hits me in all the right places as he takes another breath, picks at the strings for a few counts, and goes back to strumming chords. The rhythm seems familiar, though I’m sure I’ve never heard it before. Like he knows how to tap into my soul. Like he knows what I want––what his fans want––before they even realize it.

I close my eyes and rest my head on his shoulder as he dives into the next verse.

“Lost in the memory.

Of you and me.

Always just out of reach.

And I’m not one to preach.

---