“These mics are hot as fuck, so they’ll pick up on the faintest of sounds,” Creed explains, gesturing to the various microphones positioned around the room. “Just be careful not to make noise, or it could wind up in the track.”
I nod in understanding. I had a feeling we could be on borrowed time with Riley’s hands today, and the risk of fucking up a track would be higher than usual. That he’d only have so many takes to work with—Riley’s words, not mine.
“I’ll be quiet, I promise,” I whisper, crossing my legs and tucking my hands beneath them.
I look to Riley and offer him an encouraging smile.
“Better?” Creed teases as he turns his attention to Riley, who rolls his eyes, his foot bouncing, splashing the high hat cymbals.
“Much.” Riley chuckles as he adjusts his posture. His eyes and his tone convey his sweet sincerity, though. “Thank you.” His eyes volley between us, letting us know he’s talking to both of us.
A pair of headphones materializes before me. I take them from Creed’s outstretched hand and slip them over my ears. He blows a kiss to each of us before taking two steps back.
“Here we go!” Creed cheers as he opens the door, and the sound of Blair joining him briefly greets us before the door softly swings shut.
I can’t hear anything except for my own breathing with these headphones on, but when I turn back to face Riley, I’m not surprised to find his eyes already trained on me. I don’t dare to try to hide the swell of pride in my chest over how much more comfortable and confident he looks with my presence in the room. I know it won't always be this way, and eventually, he won't need me in here at all, but I can’t deny how much I love that he needs me now.
“Ready?” Creed’s voice crackles into our headsets, and I watch as Riley stretches himself out in preparation. My cheeks heat a little when his shirt rises, and I get a little peek of Riley’s softly sculpted abs.
He gives a single nod before a soft metronome series of beeps and clicks clues him in to the rhythm, even though he’s been listening intently the entire time. I sit in awe, watching Riley transform into someone new. I’ve seen him drum before, and even got to be a part of it not long ago, but this feels different. He’s let go of the fear, and it’s a beautiful thing to watch his body move on autopilot as he navigates the song. He’s fucking incredible. His knowledge of how to manipulate the energy of the song with every rhythmic beat against the drums is unparalleled.
I have no idea how much time passes, but I couldn’t care less. I’m content to sit here all day if it means I get to watch Riley create literal magic with his beautiful hands. Yes, there are pauses and stops, but for the most part, it's so that he can bounce ideas back and forth as each of the men takes turns speaking to him through the headset. They give Riley total creative freedom, so their words are more encouragement than suggestion.
I watch as he plays out the last chorus before he rolls his lips while focusing on the outro of the song. Sweat glistens on his face and neck, and I feel this overwhelming urge to launch myself at him to clean it up with my tongue. Witnessing Riley become one with what he loves, unfortunately, is a turn on, and the last thing I want to do is keep my hands to myself.
It should be shameful with just how aroused I get when I watch him and Creed sing and play. Not only is itthem, but it’s the energy they create. It’s the way they pour themselves into every word, every beat, every note…and that part of themselves happens to be sex.
By the time the final notes fade out, I’m so far beyond turned on that I hardly register all the cheers ringing around the studio on the other side of the glass. My sighs are locked on one person, and he’s currently panting behind his drum set with his pupils blown so wide that they nearly look black as they bore so deeply into me that I feel his stare caress my soul.
Riley’s throat bobs several times, and he starts to fidget in his seat. It’s not nervousness, but something else. It’s barely contained, and his lack of smile tells me that it’s deeper than joy and that he’s about to snap.
Creed must read it, too, because through the headset I hear, “That’s a wrap!” More cheers ring out, but he continues, “Let’s get the fuck out of here and find a place to eat. I’ll ride with Bear—Ri, I’ll text you the address for when you…wrap up.” I can hear the hidden meaning of his words without even looking at him. It’s quiet for a moment when Riley doesn’t answer, but then Creed says softly, “I’m proud of you, Riley. You fucking killed it, baby.”
I know exactly what he’s doing. I turn around in time to see Creed throw me a wink as he throws an arm around Nate’s neck and ushers him from the studio, following everyone else’s quickexit. Should I be embarrassed? Probably. But right now I can’t bring myself to care.
The moment the door clicks shut, I’m out of my chair. I spin to face Riley just in time to see the seat of his stool spinning just as he materializes before me.
Sure, steady hands tangle in my hair as Riley’s lips crash against mine.
Chapter 33
Riley
“GOOD FUCKING BOY.”
Ifeel like a man possessed. Not entirely in control of my own body. It feels like a high that I’m riding as the cymbals ring out the final notes of the song.
I did it.
I want to scream out the words.
I fucking did it.
And I know exactly how I got through it. My eyes flick up and immediately settle on the entire reason for my success. Collins’ lips are parted, and her eyes are glassy as cheers erupt just on the other side of the glass that separates us from the rest of the studio.
My chest heaves, and I swallow thickly as Creed says something that doesn’t quite register in my ears at first. But then I hear, “I’m proud of you, Riley. You fucking killed it, baby.”
Fuck.
