Page 137 of Forever To Me

I lick my lips, nodding. “Okay.”

He picks his guitar back up, strumming something slow and sultry, something that curls heat low in my stomach.

I close my eyes, letting the rhythm settle. Letting the words come. And then, softly, I start to hum. Walker stills, watching me. The moment stretches, thick and charged.

Then, quietly, he starts playing along.

My breath catches. Because it fits. It’s natural, easy, like we’ve been doing this forever.

I tilt my head, eyes locked on his hands. The way his fingers move over the strings, the easy confidence in his touch. The way he’s looking at me now, like he’s playing just for me.

And suddenly, writing a song doesn’t feel like just writing a song.

It feels like undressing. Like laying every part of yourself bare. And Walker is letting me see him. I shift closer, our knees touching. He doesn’t move away.

His voice is low, raspy. “Any lyrics come to you, yet?”

I bite my lip. “Something’s coming.”

He smirks. “Good.”

I start singing, soft, hesitant at first.

And Walker? He watches like I’m the only thing in the world.

I feel his eyes on my mouth. The way he leans a little closer every time I hit a note just right. The way he lets his fingers brush against mine if we accidentally touch. My whole bodytightens.

This is more than music now.

I strum, mimicking his rhythm, our hands moving in tandem. Walker watches, expression dark and unreadable. Then, he sings too. And holy hell. His voice knocks the air right out of my lungs.

It’s rough, low and deep, a little gravelly, and stupidly, unfairly hot.

I forget my own lyrics. Forget how to function as a human being. Because Walker singing right next to me is a full-body experience. And right now?

I want him in every damn way possible. This is the hottest foreplay I’ve ever experienced.

We hit the last note, the sound lingering thick between us. I’m breathless. Walker hasn’t moved.

We’re too close now. His fingers skim my wrist. I swear, my pulse stutters and I suck in my breath. He looks at me like he’s thinking about kissing me. And damn I want him to kiss me so badly. I lean in, and before I know it, I’m kissing him. And he kisses me back, and I never want to stop.

But before I can do something irresponsible, like climb him like a tree, he shifts back, exhaling hard.

I blink. Walker clears his throat. “That was good.”

I nod, still dizzy. “Yeah.”

Silence. Then, a smirk.

“You wanna write some more?”

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “Walker.”

He chuckles.

And me? I know I’m in way too deep. Walker is still watching me. The cabin is too quiet, the air too thick, my body too wired. We just wrote a song together—or maybe we just undressed each other with lyrics and guitars and long, lingering stares—and I do not know how to come back from that.

I need a second. Or several.

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