Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(31)

“Deeper, Rhys,” she pants, eyes closed, bottom lip captive between her teeth. “Baby, don’t hold back. I can take it.”

Then I can give it. I push impossibly deeper, harder until she’s up on her tiptoes. My hand shoves the knotted t-shirt up her back. She reaches behind her, hurriedly unhooking the bra, and my hand slips under her to squeeze one plump nipple.

She groans, slamming one palm to the piano, pulling it into a fist and banging until she’s matching the rhythm of my thrusts, mixing with our erratic breaths and the guttural sounds of our pleasure, an erotic symphony with just our bodies and our love as instruments.

“Damn, this is good, Pep.” I bend my knees, sinking into her more, painting her back with the sweat falling from my face and shoulders.

“Yes, don’t stop. I’m almost . . .” The words strangle in her throat.

“Touch yourself, baby.”

Her hand disappears between her legs, and the sight of her touching herself, the sound of her release wrenched from her lips, the clench of her body around me when she comes, sets me off so hard my body jerks rough and rapid until I’m coming, jetting into her body. And for the first time, it’s so intense it’s the same as my synesthesia, colors overtaking my mind, red wrapping around green, pink fusing with yellow, purple interspersing with blue. Vibrant hues coalescing into an aurora borealis that takes my breath, revealing to me the color of love.





SO MUCH FOR SLOW.

The pull between Rhyson and me at the studio was locomotive, and we rode it all night. My lofty intentions of taking things slow, of not letting sex cloud our issues, crashed and burned after what we shared while I was singing in the booth. I’ve never felt anything like that before. The words to his song burned my tongue, caressed my lips and slid down my throat, searching out my deepest places. I thought I could just say goodnight, but as soon as I walked into that piano room, the pull was too strong. Inescapable. I knew we wouldn’t be going our separate ways.

And now it’s morning. For the first time in two months, I’m waking up with Rhyson warm and solid behind me. He doesn’t feel like a mistake. Not with his arm a heavy, welcome claim draped over my stomach. Not with the comfort of each deeply drawn breath in his sleep rustling my hair.

I turn over slowly so I won’t wake him. On the road, Malcolm made sure I experienced so many things I never thought I would. Expensive suites. Champagne. Gorgeous clothes I’d never buy for myself. But this is the luxury no tour or check could ever provide. The luxury of waking up with Rhyson. Him on the pillow beside me, his broad chest, lean naked body inked with the music he loves. The long lashes softening his rugged, handsome profile. The dark hair, dusted with autumn, wild, spilling over his closed eyes. Waking up with Rhyson is absolutely decadent.

I don’t know how long I study him before he sleepily blinks back at me. A smile tugs the edges of his lips, his hands wandering under the sheets to pull me flush against him, my breasts pressed into his bare chest.

“G’morning,” he says, voice still husky with sleep. “It’s kind of creepy to wake up with you staring at me like that.”

He drops a kiss on my forehead and pushes the hair out of my eyes.

“I could get used to it, though.”

I fold my arms against his chest between us, pressing my lips to his throat where his pulse drums beneath the warm, tanned skin.

“Sorry to be a creeper.” My laugh is scratchy in my throat. My voice was already a little ragged. Last night’s session didn’t help. “I guess I missed waking up with you.”

I flick a glance up at him, taking in the line of his scruffy jaw.

“You’re beautiful, Rhys.”

Something melts in his eyes before they start smiling at me.

“I think that’s the pot calling the kettle beautiful.”

The smile teasing his lips disappears.

“Are you . . .” Rhyson lets the words hang for a second, clears his throat and starts again. “I know you wanted to go slow with this and make sure we get things fixed. I don’t want you to think we can’t still do that. Work on things, I mean. Do you, well, regret last night?”

I scoot back just enough so he can see me and I can see him clearly, eyes to eyes.

“Not regret, no. It was too perfect to regret.” I place two fingers over the smile that instantly sprouts on his face. “But my concerns still stand. We can’t just jump back in like nothing happened. You really hurt me. We hurt each other.”

“I know.” His hand drifts down my back under the sheet, fingers spreading over the curve of my butt. “If I could go back and do it differently, I would.”

I wiggle away a few inches, dislodging his hand. There’s no way I’ll get through this conversation with his hand on my ass.

“You’ll get plenty of chances, Rhys.” I firm the line of my lips. “Over and over again we’ll disagree about my career, about the steps I should take and what I should do. You’ll have a choice every time to manipulate and control, or to trust me.”

An annoying voice whispers in my head that maybe I should trust him about the sex tape, but it sounds too much like San for me to pay it any mind. This is different. It has to be.

“What can I do to prove I’m serious about this?” His hand moves again under the sheet to grip my hip.