Page 93 of Forbidden Lyrics

“I think you should make it a duet.”

He quirks his brow. “Oh, really?”

“Mm-hmm. I think after the second bridge, you should hear the girl’s side of the story.”

Smirking, he goes back to the beginning of the song and strums the intro before challenging, “Let’s see whatcha got.”

I close my eyes and try to ignore the butterflies that swell in my stomach as I feel his gaze on the side of my face before he dives into the first verse. His voice is a little stronger and more confident as every note passes before he plucks out the second riff and lets me take the lead.

I stumble over the first few lines but find my rhythm by the end of it. And when his voice harmonizes with mine by the third chorus, I open my eyes and turn into a puddle on the floor.

Curse those hazel eyes.

And that voice.

And those lips.

He strokes the last few chords and leans into me, pressing his mouth to mine. The stubble along his cheek tickles my fingertips as I cup his face and open up to him in a way that I never thought possible. Sex is one thing. But the emotional connection I feel after singing with him is almost too much, yet not nearly enough.

I scoot onto my knees as he sets his guitar on the ground next to us before tugging me into his lap. With my legs on both sides of his thighs, I tangle my fingers in his hair and breathe him in. Like he’s my air. My oxygen. My everything. His calloused hands brush along my lower back beneath my shirt, causing tingles to race along my spine. But I love it. The slight tremble in his hands. The staggered breathing. The little details that hint he’s nervous. Not because he hasn’t done this a hundred times, but because he hasn’t done this with me. And that makes all the difference.

Slowly, he inches up my back, palming my sides and rib cage like I’m a ghost and might disappear at any instant, but it only spurs me on.

I want this.

I want him.

Even if he’s willing to take it slow. Even if he doesn’t want to pressure me. I refuse to waste a single moment with him because I don’t know when it’ll be my last.

Tearing my mouth from his, I order, “Take off your shirt.”

“Dove––”

“Stop talking.”

“I didn’t invite you over here for sex, Dove––”

I shut him up with my mouth and tug at the hem of his shirt, but it gets stuck beneath his armpits.

“Slow down,” he whispers.

“I don’t want to slow down.” I reach for his shirt again, but he stops me.

“I don’t want you to feel guilty for anything that happens between us.”

“Why would I feel guilty?”

“Because I broke down and called Reese after the other night,” he admits, looking guiltier than a sinner in church.

I flinch back a few inches, my confident mask slipping away to reveal my embarrassment and vulnerability. “What do you mean?”

“I knew you were a virgin, but I didn’t know the why behind it. I figured you hadn’t had the chance to…explore things sexually and figured I could be the lucky bastard to help you.”

Kill me now.

Ignoring the heat in my cheeks, I mutter, “Gibbs––”

“I know about your parents, Dove. I know about your past. I know what sex means to you.”

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