“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough. I laugh softly, brushing my fingertips over the stubble on his jaw. “You said that yesterday.”
He grins, a lazy curve that makes my pulse stumble. “Then I’ll say it every day until you believe it.”
The warmth in his words seeps through me. His hand finds my hip, thumb drawing slow circles that send little sparks skittering up my spine.
“Have you been up long?” I ask, glancing toward the notebook on the stand beside the amp.
“Couple hours.” His voice drops low. “Couldn’t sleep. Had something in my head I needed to get out before it disappeared.”
My gaze flicks to the guitar.
“A song?”
He nods once, looking at me from under his lashes, that sinful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You could say that.” I step closer until our bodies almost touch.
“Play it for me?”
He tilts his head, eyes sliding down my body and back up again.
“You sure you wanna hear it, baby? It’s…kinda about you.”
“Then definitely.”
That earns me a smile—the kind that could ruin me with just one look. He reaches for the guitar, sliding the strap over his shoulder. The motion makes the muscles in his back shift beneath his skin, and I swear I forget how to breathe.
“Not finished,” he says quietly, fingers brushing the strings.
“I don’t care,” I whisper. “I just want to hear you.”
He sits back on the stool, spreading his knees, and nods for me to come closer.
“Then sit with me, baby.”
I move between his legs, his hand catching mine and guiding me onto his lap. The warmth of him seeps through me instantly. His free hand slips to my thigh, the rough pad of his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles through the denim. Then he moves his hands and starts to play. The melody is low, unguarded—a confession set to chords. Every note feels like it’s meant for me. His voice joins softly, husky, rough at the edges.
“They said desire was a sin,
but I’m craving every piece of it.
If falling’s wrong, then let me drown,
in the fire you bring around.
Heaven never felt this near,
hell could take me, I don’t care.
You’re the prayer I shouldn’t say,
but, baby, I’ll say it anyway.”
My throat tightens. I can’t look away from him—from the way his lashes lower, the way his mouth shapes every word. When the last note fades, I whisper,
“It’s beautiful, Trey.”
He looks at me then, eyes burning.
