Page 97 of Forbidden Lyrics

“Sh,” he whispers against my lips before pushing his tongue into my mouth and matching the rhythm of his hips. Over and over again. Taking me. Claiming me. Owning me.

And I fall over the edge.

No, I crash over it and into oblivion.

A scream slips out of me, and he bites my neck as he follows suit, his cock pulsing inside of me, causing my sex to flutter with absolute bliss.

Holy. Freaking. Crap.

I had sex. No, I made love. Because that’s what it was. For me, at least. It was more than a penis entering a vagina. It was a connection of body and soul. It was the final barrier I’ve kept between us crumbling to the ground. Sure, he might still have a few standing, but not me. And even though it’s terrifying to think about, I’m okay with it. With him owning me for as long as he’ll have me. Because the truth is simple. I’ve fallen. Hard. And I’ll treasure this night for as long as I live.

His tongue darts out of his lips, and he licks at the love bite on my neck, soothing the slight ache before he pulls out of me and rolls onto his side. After tying a knot in the condom, he tosses it in the garbage and settles beside me.

There’s a comfortable silence in the room, and I don’t want to break it, so I close my eyes and simply savor the moment. The sweet ache from his touch. The slight beard burns along my skin from his scruff. The tired muscles I didn’t even know I had from holding myself up as he fingered me. It’s surreal. But I’m on cloud nine, and Gibson put me there.

He drags his fingers along my bare arm, causing goosebumps to spread across my skin before he murmurs, “Thank you.”

I peek up at him. “For what?”

“For giving me that piece of yourself.”

I burrow further against his chest, hiding my blush against his sweaty skin.

How does he still smell good? Aren’t guys supposed to smell gross?

But even sweaty from our activities, he smells like citrus and the forest. I love it.

“You should stay the night,” he suggests, his chest rumbling beneath my ear.

I yawn and close my eyes.

With a quiet laugh, he drops a kiss to the top of my head before settling back onto the mattress. “I’ll take that as a yes. Goodnight, Dovey.”

“Goodnight, Gibbs.”

In this moment––heck, this entire night––I realize that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. And I don’t want it to end.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dove

“Juice?” Gibson asks as he rummages through the fridge.

“Yes, please.” Legs swinging from the barstool tucked in his kitchen, I rest my chin in my hands with my elbows on the granite island and try to shake the surreal feeling from my bones. But it feels impossible. Like I’m still living in the dream from last night. By some miracle, it didn’t end when I woke up. Nope. Instead, he offered to cook me breakfast like a gentleman.

And he thinks he’s not Prince Charming.

Gibson’s phone vibrates against the counter, and a sick sense of déjà vu settles in my stomach. I hold my breath as I glance at the screen. When Fender’s name comes into view, my pulse steadies.

“Your brother’s calling,” I tell Gibson as he grabs two glasses from the cabinet and adds them to our delicious spread of breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Coffee. Blueberry pancakes. And juice. ‘Cause he’s trying to kill me with his sweetness.

And what a way to go.

“Will you answer it for me?” he asks.

My lips part as my attention darts from Gibson and back to his phone.

“Y-you want me to answer it?”

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