Kiss the Stars (Falling Stars #1)(41)

His kiss was like candy. Crystallized brown sugar. Sharp as a knife.

His tongue tangled with mine in some war I didn’t know either of us were fighting. He groaned louder at the contact, a dark rumble of lust in his chest, and we were an instant mess of desperate mouths and clashing teeth.

He pushed me up against the wall and pinned me with that strong body.

Desire spiraled through every cell. So fierce I whimpered, and my fingers drove into his hair and raked down the sides of his neck before they sank into his shoulders.

Frantic to get him closer.

To quench this feeling that had infected me since the moment I’d seen him sitting in that corner. His draw a virus that had invaded my blood.

“Leif,” I begged, trying to get my legs around his waist, needing to feel his hard length I could feel pulsing from his jeans. He pressed himself to me, to that achy place that throbbed and begged. “Please. Make it better. Can you make it better, just for tonight?”

I thought he might be the only one who could take it away.

He pressed himself against me, grinding his hard cock against my belly. “Fuck . . . Mia . . . what are you doing to me? What are you doing? I can’t . . .”

Both of his hands found my waist the second he said it, and he tucked me against him in a forceful rock of need.

Desire slammed me in a rush of dizziness that I felt from head to toe. I shifted, begging for more. For reprieve. For him to erase our barriers. For him to fill me up and elevate me above it all.

To lift me to the stars.

His hand moved to cup my breast.

Pleasure shimmered and streaked.

He circled his thumb around my nipple.

I whimpered. “Leif. Why does it feel like I have known you my entire life? Like you’re a piece that’s been missing, and now that you’re here, I’m whole?”

It was a stupid, stupid confession. I knew it. But I had never been about playing games.

He groaned. Only this time it was in restraint, his breaths short and rasping as he forced our mouths apart. His harsh pants scraped the vacant space between us, and our foreheads rocked together as we heaved for the nonexistent air.

“Leif.” It was a plea.

He gave a sharp shake of his head as he curled his hands around my shoulders to peel himself off of me. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to go.”

“Please . . . don’t leave.”

He didn’t meet my eye when he tore himself the rest of the way free and stumbled two feet back. “God damn it,” he spat toward the floor as he quickly turned to face the opposite direction.

“Leif.” I touched his back.

He jerked, shoving off my hand, and he whirled back around. The disgust that lanced through his expression did little to conceal the greed that blazed in his eyes.

A violent, sparking fire.

“We can’t fucking do this, Mia. This can’t happen.” He jabbed his finger toward the ground.

“Why not?”

He laughed a bitter sound. “I already told you, Mia. Don’t you fucking get it?” he bit out. “I don’t have what you need. I see you. See right through you, and I am not that guy.”

“You don’t have any idea what I need.” My voice quavered. God, I wanted to scream. Punch him. Beg him to stop playing this game.

“No. Maybe I don’t. But one thing I do know? What you don’t need is me.”

Without saying anything else, he turned and stalked across the room and out the door, leaving me standing in the exact spot he had left me before.

My chest palpitated with a frenzy of convoluted emotions that careened through my body.

Need and anger and confusion.

This insane attraction that I was pretty sure was going to ruin me.

I couldn’t be this reckless. Wrapped up in a man who didn’t even want me.

Our intensity fire.

But where there was fire, there was ash.

Dust and debris.

And he was right.

The last thing I could afford was to be consumed.





Thirteen





Leif





“Here, here, assholes. You better be ready to make some magic because this boy can already feel it bleeding from his pores. It’s about to go down.”

Ash Evans grinned all his damned dimples while he plucked at his bass where he sat on a stool in the middle of the recording studio practice room. We were all down in the basement of the mansion Baz had purchased out on Tybee Island, about thirty minutes outside of Savannah.

The house had belonged to their manager before they decided it would be better suited to host the bands that Stone Industries produced.

House boasted an expansive living space—kitchen and great room and offices—plus there were two master suites on the main floor and six on the top. Not to be forgotten was the killer studio on the basement floor.

But what really made the place unforgettable? It was the view of the ocean out back.

I doubted it took a whole ton of convincing to get bands to spend a couple months in this place.

“This coming from the asshole who we were waiting on for the last thirty minutes.” Lyrik tossed Ash a smirk as he hooked his guitar strap over his head and situated it on his shoulder. “Practice started at noon. Sharp.”