Page 45 of Songbird: Black Kite
“Plucking awesome,” he said, and I laughed at his silly joke, appreciating that he broke some of the tension I was feeling. Hawk leaned back on the couch, his hand coming down in my back and stroking lightly up and down my spine. I loved that he couldn’t seem to stop touching me, like it was a compulsion or something. Closing my eyes at the sensation, and the swirling thoughts his touch caused in my mind, I pushed it all away and focused on the music.
I began to play, my fingers automatically starting the chords ofInter-dimensional, one of the first songs I’d learned. I had barely made it to the third bar when Hawk froze, his hand stalling on my back as he was suddenly tense.
“Stop.”
Looking over my shoulder, I met his eyes, his pupils huge, almost completely swallowing the beautiful blue of his irises.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted automatically, worried I’d somehow pissed him off.
“For what?” he asked lazily, slowly resuming his gentle strokes across my back.
“I’m...I’m not sure,” I shrugged, my cheeks heating. What a fucking idiot I was, trying to play the man’s own song back to him like I had any idea what I was doing. How humiliating. He probably thought I’d butchered it. Closing my eyes, I breathed deep, attempting to calm my racing heart. “Here,” I said, offering him back the guitar. “I’m sorry.”
“The fuck are you apologizing for?” he asked, sitting up. Suddenly, Hawk moved, shifting so he was sitting with one leg on either side of me, wedging himself between me and the back of the couch, the new position leaving him with his chest pressed tight to my back. “You’re fine. Keep playing, Bird. I just didn’t want to hear my own music anymore tonight. I have to play that song six nights a week, and I’m fucking sick of it.” Reaching forward, Hawk pulled my hair off my neck, tucking it over the opposite shoulder and exposing my throat to him. “Play me something you love that’s not one of mine.”
“Okay,” I breathed, my mouth suddenly dry as fuck. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” he said again, his fingers now running lightly over my collarbone, causing my whole body to tremble. “Never apologize.”
Hawk leaned forward, wrapping one arm around my middle, holding me to him, and when I felt his warm mouth press against the soft skin of my throat, I let out a low whimper. I could feel his lips stretch into a satisfied smile as he moved higher, dotting another feather-light kiss to my pulse point.
“Go on, Bird,” he whispered, his breath warm against my goosebump covered flesh. “Play for me.”
Closing my eyes again, I gave myself a moment to just appreciate what was happening: I was currently on a tour bus, and Hawk Jameson had me wrapped in his arms, kissing my neck as I held his most prised possession, his guitar.
My life was officially insane.
Sabrina was going to lose her fucking mind when I told her about this.
My brain was moving a million miles a minute, trying to both catalog this moment for all eternity and come up with the perfect song to play for the biggest rock star on the face of the planet. Almost without thought, I began to pluck the opening notes ofScar Tissueby theRed Hot Chili Peppers, my fingers skipping from one string to the other in the familiar pattern. I fumbled a little, my nerves getting to me, but it only took a few seconds for me to get comfortable.
“Yes,” he hissed quietly, the hand he had splayed against my stomach flexing as he held me tighter. “Fuck, yes.” When the words of the song would have started, neither of us spoke, but Hawk’s fingers danced along my middle, tapping out the rhythm in place of actually voicing the words.
It was completely surreal, and in that moment, I knew I’d never experience anything as amazing as this for the rest of my whole life.
Never.
I kept playing, and Hawk kept touching me, his kisses and fingers acting as the perfect counterpart to the delicate riff of the song. When I reached the second chorus Hawk lifted his mouth from my neck, his lips moving to hover next to my ear as he whispered the line to me, emphasizing the word “birds” in the lyric, as his hand slipped up my stomach and settled on my breast.
My fingers stalled, my heart in my throat as he paused, waiting for me to accept or protest. I turned my head, our eyes meeting as he looked at me, and I’d never felt more desired in my entire life.
“Are you lonely, Bird?” he asked, referencing the lyric.
“Yes,” I breathed, the word choked with emotion. “Are you?”
“Every day of my fucking life,” he replied, then crashed his lips to mine.
The kiss was everything. It was an epiphany and absolute confusion at the same time. He tasted like alcohol, clean and sharp, and I decided I liked it. His hair lay against his cheek, and with him sitting behind me, I could feel the strands as they tickled my face, the sensation thrilling.
Hawk kissed with the same passion he performed, and I was starting to believe he did everything in his life the same way, with his whole being. Our lips danced together, hungry and exploring, and when I dared to dart my tongue out just a little, Hawk let out a low growl that I could feel in my chest. Lifting one hand, he cupped my face, holding me to him as he continued to plunder my mouth, taking from me in a way that I couldn’t explain but never wanted to end.
“Bird,” he groaned, his arms tightening around me. “Bird, will you—”
The sound of the bus door opening stopped whatever it was he was about to ask, and I froze, pulling back as much as I could with his arms still locked around me.
“Fuck,” was all he said, shifting back behind me again and letting his forehead fall between my shoulder blades.
I tried to control my breathing, knowing that my flushed face would likely be enough of a give away for anyone who entered to know exactly what we had just been doing.
