Page 23 of Erik

Yet my heart knows, my soul weeps

His voice flows through me, setting an alluring tempo. I swing back and forth without meaning to, eyes glued to his frame. My flesh vibrates to his tune, heart hammers my chest. Like a caged bird, it flaps about trying to break free, and fly to nestle in Erik’s hands.

His music has always had this effect on me. It erases my worries, fears, and shortcomings. It sets me free. It takes me to higher planes where I can be whoever I want to be.

When the melody swells, he closes his eyes, and sways to the rhythm. He transmutes singing into a full-body experience. A brawny one at that.

I shut my eyes as the haunting ballad stirs my imagination. Behind my closed eyelids, Erik guides me through dark tunnels. He whispers into my ear, inviting me to give in to my darkest desires. I grip his outstretched hand, follow his tall frame until we reach the steep margin of an underground pond. Mists swirl above its black surface, enticing and mysterious.

That’s insane, I give myself a mental scolding, popping my eyes open.

Erik glides his baritone up into the tenor register like a swan on a placid lake.

This sinner can’t be saved

Outcast, shunned, and depraved

In the darkness I’ve embraced

I’ve found purpose and solace

He climbs to impossible high notes, then cascades back, vocalizing into a visceral undertone. Dimples hollow his cheeks under stylish scruff, and my heart shudders. I fight a sudden lack of self-control as my lower body tingles, repeating the pattern of the last notes of the song. I rein in the scattered sensations. I’ve worked so hard to get this one scene in the biopic. I won’t blow it now. With a sigh, I mentally kick myself to jumpstart my numb brain.

As blocked during rehearsal, I lean forward, kneeling between his legs. I splay my fingers on his knees, inching my palms toward his crotch.

Pausing for a heartbeat, I focus my stare on his nose. The swarm of butterflies in my stomach stoop and soar. They’d keel me over if I focused on his eyes.

In a steady voice, which doesn’t reflect the chaos inside, I deliver my one-line. “It should be illegal for a man as breathtaking as you to sing like an angel.”

When I utter the last word, I do a little inner happy dance. After all, despite my dazzled mind, I did it. I finished the damn scene with the original singer of Muse of Darkness, nonetheless. Who’s cool as a cucumber now? Yes, that would be me, the queen of badass.

With the confidence the thought imbues me, and expecting the director to shut down this departure from his schedule soon, I get adventurous. I snap my head up, jut my chin out, and arch my eyebrow at Mr. Erik Crawford.

Big mistake. I won’t back down now, though. I hold his stare, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat.

Shit.

Predatory intentions ooze out of every pore of his body, short-circuiting my brain cells, scorching my skin, and electrifying my muscles.

He whispers under his breath for my ears only, “Yesterday, you thought you could escape me? Think again.”

His tongue glides over his lower lip, attracting my gaze like a moth to a flame. I can’t look away as my heart beats in my ears. Black spots fog my vision, and I chew at the inside of my mouth to avoid doing something stupid in front of the whole movie crew.

He exudes self-control, but a telltale muscle ticks on his jaw. He leans forward until his uneven breathing fans my cheeks. Panicking, I dart my eyes to where the second unit director stands, on the other side of the bed. I frown at him begging for his orders for us to move on to the actual shooting with the hired actor for the damn scene. Jim never hollers any commands to his crew.

Yet high-pitched screams pierce everyone’s ears, when Erik hoists a shrieking me onto his lap, crushes me against his heaving chest, and blasts the script into oblivion.

10

Erik

After weeks watching Christine from the shadows, after days tutoring her talent, I’ve got the temptress where I want her. On my lap, rubbing her gorgeous curves on my cock. It pokes the ass cheeks the cut-offs expose, and blood rushes down my body.

I raise a hand, which trembles as I draw its back close to her cheek, without touching her soft skin. I wave it round her face, studying her ethereal beauty like a painter bent on creating a masterpiece.

Her heart-shaped face beams under luscious red curls. My hard-on twitches against her, when she sinks her teeth into her lower lip in a gesture I’m becoming too familiar with.

I thumb her lip free, murmuring, “This, right here, always drives me wild.” I take in a sharp breath, eyeing the bright red lipstick smeared on her pearly teeth.

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