Page 37 of From Us, Forever

I fished out his notebook from the mass of papers and read the lyrics he had already written.

My cheeks felt like they were being licked by the flames with each word I read. “Wait, is this a song about oral sex? Withme?” I shrieked, looking over my shoulder at the smirk on his beautiful face. God, I love the way his blue eyes shined in the sun. That was the only thing I loved about summers.

“Yes.” His lips brushed the tips of my ear, emitting a shiver out of me.

“I really don’t think this should be out in the world,” I mumbled, embarrassed as I read through them more and shoved the note back to him. “Here, I want no part in this.”

He squeezed me tight. “But you could be credited as my co-writer and that would make you famous and earn you some extra cash.”

My eyes widened as I switched my shocked gaze to him. “You mean I just have to dot the i’s and cross the t’s and earn probably thousands of dollars?”

“Yep.” He rolled the ‘p’ between his lips.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” I joked, playfully marking the punctuation on his lyrics, and handed it back to him. “Here, now you can name me as your co-writer, though I would need a pen name.” I tapped the edge of the pen on my chin.

“And what would that be, Ms. Evelyn May?” he asked, his face buried in my neck.

“Shush, I’m thinking.” I playfully drummed his exploring hands.

“Fine with me.” His hands moved over the curve of my body, holding me hostage in his lap as he felt me up, his lips tracing over the length of my neck.

“Oh, I know,” I rasped through a moan under his strong hands. “It’s going to be Pink Empress.” I grinned widely at my childish name.

His head snapped from my neck, and he eyed me with bright eyes before he burst out laughing. “Of course it is.”

A pout formed its way up my lips as I watched that ass laugh like it was the funniest thing that he had heard in a while. “Stop laughing. I liked the name,” I said, scurrying out of his lap and landing next to his guitar. The deep red glittered in the morning sun as my finger traced over the initials I had etched on the fretboard. A faint sound hit the air as the bumps of the different strings shook under my touch.

“Whoa.” He stopped laughing and turned his full attention to me. “Careful, she’s precious,” he said, lifting it to him. His soft eyes dragged over Firebird, hispreciousguitar that I brought him.

I eyed him with a narrowed gaze. His obsession with that guitar was getting out of hand.

As if feeling my heavy stare on him, he looked up with soft eyes, yet somehow, they softened more when they peered at me.

“I could teach you,” he said, still looking at me with those molten eyes that somehow made my heart skip a beat.

It took me a moment to register what he was saying, and my eyes widened. Hmm, maybe I could learn to play the guitar and keep myself occupied while I sit at home with nothing to do. Perhaps it would spark my desire to write again.

“Okay,” I mumbled, an excited smile coating my face.

“Then come back here.” He gestured to his lap.

I rolled my eyes as I situated myself in my previous spot, feeling a hard, smooth ridge of his body against mine. “I didn’t realize that guitar teachers expected you to be in their lap when they taught you a lesson.” I sneakily wiggled my ass over his hardness, knowing it would get him.

And just as I thought, a low groan rumbled out of him. “Stop wiggling,” he said in a low whisper before he brought his guitar over.

The exposed skin of my dress caressed the heat of his skin peeking from the tank he wore as the weight of his guitar settled on my lap.

A soft pinch formed between his brows as he went ahead in full concentration to explain the basic parts of the guitar. His words were a jumble as they flowed through my ears. I could hardly pay any attention because I couldn’t stop looking at him.He was so fucking gorgeous.

“Now here.” He raised the index and middle finger of my left hand to the strings he called A and D. “Press these strings through the tips of your fingers. A soft curve but a firm pressure.”

The strings bit hard on my tips, but I held tight.

“Good, and now.” He folded a pick between my thumb and my index finger. “You strum.” The pick smoothed over the strings. A wonky sound emitted from the guitar, sounding nothing like the way when he did it.

“That is an E minor. The sound must be clear. Try pressing harder.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. Was a guitar lesson from a rock star supposed to make you this wet and horny?

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