Page 86 of Love You Like That (Excess All Areas 4)

“Okay. You stop. My marimba is not sick. She’s wet. Which you could be in about five seconds if you decide to get naked with me.”

Zoe grinned then looked at the door. “Give me five minutes. Ten tops. I’m just going to get some extra towels and things because we used the ones in there to dry her off. And then I’ll come and join you.”

“Ten minutes tops. Or I’m taking care of this myself.”

“Urgh. That sounds so hot.”

He lowered his hand down the waistband of his pants and stroked. “Better get a move on then.”

“Don’t start without me,” she tossed over her shoulder as she opened the door.

And he wouldn’t. Because she’d brightened his mood. Because it was more fun with her than without her. And because whether she liked it or not, her passion for ensuring his equipment was okay, pun intended, was as beautiful as she was.

Instead, he stripped his clothes and lay down on the bed, lazily palming his length… just enough to enjoy the sensation of it, not enough to get off. He closed his eyes and thought about Zoe. Maybe they should make out here on the bed then move to the shower.

Six minutes later, she burst back into the room. “I got the towels, and they were so help—Jesus Christ on a cracker. There are people in the hallway.” The towels spilled out of her hands and onto the floor as she slammed the door shut.

He carried on stroking. “I warned you…take too long and I’m doing it myself.”

Zoe stared at the ceiling for a moment, then unbuttoned the simple blue shirt she wore. “Why can I not say no to you?”

“Because you like my dick?”

Zoe started to laugh.

“Not the reaction I was expecting when talking about my dick.”

“No. It wasn’t that. I just…look.” She gestured to her own body, to the room, to the wet marimba, to him, to the ceiling fan. “All of this is sometimes a bit of an out of body experience.”

“If you get naked, we can make this more of a me in your body experience.”

“I give in.” She stripped her clothes, and he tugged her over his thighs.

“Good. Now just kiss me.”

Zoe stepped out of the bathtub and wrapped the towel around her, tucking the edge in over her breasts. The bath had done little to take the edge off her mood, her nerves all jangled. One of her authors was hosting an online party for their books but had a family emergency.

So, Zoe had been posting and pretending to be the author for two straight hours. And she’d missed the show.

Despite the twinge of envy she felt, she loved watching Alex play. The others tended to become musicians, like it was a persona they tugged on before they walked onstage. Raw and rugged drummer, Luke, was a softie who loved his baby momma. Jase, the resident asshole lead singer, wanted Cerys to live with him more than his next breath. But Alex was simply…Alex. What you saw on stage was who he was off it.

And she was falling fast.

Wiping the mirror with the hand towel, she studied her own reflection. She wasn’t so lacking in confidence that she’d describe herself as ugly. Her greenish-grey eyes were perhaps her best feature. She paid a great waxer in Didsbury village to make sure her eyebrows framed them properly. Her lips were full, her chin a little pointed. Perhaps her hair needed a trim, but the natural waves were cute.

Dropping the bath towel to the ground, she checked out her torso. Bigger boobs would have been appreciated. A flat stomach was good. An equally flat ass was not.

She’d seen the people Alex hooked up with.

For some reason, she still felt she wasn’t quite good enough for him. Like she’d always be punching above her weight to keep his attention. Because he was the most beautiful human being she’d ever met, and she was simply…her.

She looked over to the marimba in the corner of the room where Alex had left it. Pulling on the bathrobe, she wandered over to it. The tone plates were cool to her touch. Tapping them with the tip of her fingernails, she could feel the vibration through her fingers.

The mallets were there in her reach. Rubber. She preferred the more muffled sound of yarn wrapped ones.

Playing had always brought her comfort. Allowed her to escape everything in her mind.

Letting out a sigh, she picked them up, letting them sit, balanced on each of her index fingers. When she’d first wanted to learn the glockenspiel, her teacher had set her an easy piece. “Jingle Bells.” The first time she stumbled over the notes. The second time, she didn’t need the sheet music. The third, she’d improvised.

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