But is this something that could last? I’m not sure.
I grunt, frustrated, sinking back into the sofa cushions. If we end up sleeping together, it will change everything. Am I ready for that? I’m not interested in adding her to the list of fleeting encounters in my phone, and I definitely don’t want to start something that might not last if Atlas Veil ends up touring.
But I can’t stop myself, no matter how hard I try.
I’ve thrown everything I have into my music, but she’s always there, tucked away in the recesses of my mind.
Late nights are just part of the gig routine, and I’m used to them now. When I’m unable to sleep, I either tinker with writing music or settle in with a book until sleep claims me. I fix myself some tea and toast, taking a hearty bite, and head back to the sofa, ready to settle in with my book. I’ve just made myself comfortable when the jarring buzz of the doorbell blares through the quiet of my flat, making me jump.
“What the fuck?” I mutter as I walk over to the window and peer out, wondering who would be ringing my buzzer this early in the morning.
And there she is, standing on the stoop, her fingers twisting together nervously. My pulse quickens, and my eyes dart around the flat to ensure it looks halfway decent before I let her in. I hear the dull thud of footsteps as she approaches my door. I swing it open just as her hand is raised, ready to knock.
We both freeze, eyes locked.
Neither of us says a word, but we both know exactly what this means. The air between us thrums with tension.
I clear my throat. “Hey, April,” I say with a low voice.
She hesitates momentarily. “Hey, James,” she replies, quietly.
I step aside and gesture for her to come in. As she moves past me, her eyes sweep the room, as if she’s searching for something. She’s been here before, though only briefly, when Lucas needed to pick something up, so she’s already seen my flat.
“I just boiled the kettle. Can I get you something?” I ask.
She’s standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around herself like a protective shield.
“April?”
“You feel this, right?” she asks, whirling to face me, gesturing between us. “I’m not going crazy, am I?”
I blink because I’m caught off guard by her directness. Clenching my jaw, I take a careful, tentative step toward her, as if one wrong move might frighten her off.
“Right?” she repeats, her tone uncertain now.
I hold her eyes. “No, April. You’re not going crazy.”
“Good.” She nods in affirmation, more to herself than me. “Good.”
“April.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?”
“What?” She asks, distracted by thoughts.
“Why. Are. You. Here?” I repeat, closing the distance between us.
I take her in as she stands before me. She glows without a hint of makeup, her porcelain skin flawless. Her auburn hair is pulled into a high ponytail, exposing the soft curves of her heart-shaped face and the delicate columns of her throat. In this light, her blue eyes shimmer, catching a silvery fleck I hadn’t noticed before, and her dark, thick lashes flutter, kissing the tops of her cheekbones. My gaze lingers on her plush lips, desperate to taste them.
And before I can stop myself, images flash through my mind—those lips wrapped around my dick, her hair twisted in my fistas she takes me deep into her mouth. I really hope she’s here for the reason I think she is.
“I …,” she starts, then falters.
“You?” I ask, an eyebrow kicking up.
“I want—” She hesitates, breath shaky.
