He devours my mouth like he just lit the fuse and wants to watch me burn from the inside out.Tongue deep, hands on my waist, his body flush against mine like he hasn’t already had me twice today.Like he won’t rest until I forget how to stand without him.
And I kiss him back like I’m starving.Like I’ll never get enough.His mouth tastes like Eddie now.I want more of both.When he finally breaks the kiss, his lips curve against mine.
Then—without a glance at Roderick, without looking back—Barret walks off.His thumb grazes the hinge of my jaw.And when he pulls away, my lips feel branded.
Like he didn’t just wreck the fucking air.
Like none of us are going to be the same after that.
Without another word, he brushes past Roderick—doesn’t even look at him.Just smacks him on the shoulder like he’s swatting away a fly and heads for the studio.
The others trail behind, falling into step with him as if drawn there by muscle memory.Their voices drop into something loose and familiar—old rhythms, low laughter, long history stitched between sarcasm and subtle affection.
The hallway fills with sound.The studio door shuts behind them with a soft click and everything quiets.I don’t move.
Eddie hasn’t either.
He stands across the room, arms folded across his chest, watching me.His face unreadable.His silence thick.I can’t tell if he’s calculating or deciding whether this—me and Barret, this new ache in my skin, the truth still clinging to the cotton shirt he fucked me in—is something he’s ready to accept.
“You want to go upstairs,” he asks, voice low and rough, “or do you prefer the office?”
That look in his eyes—raw and hungry, all restraint stretched thin.He watches me like he’s trying to see past my skin.It makes something curl deep inside me.
With that face and that heat simmering just beneath the surface, the bedroom is definitely the safer bet.
“The bedroom,” I whisper, pulse tripping over itself.“Definitely.”
He shrugs like he’s casual about it, but his throat bobs with the effort of keeping himself in check.“Only if you want to.You know?—”
I cut him off.
One step.Then another.
I press up on my toes, fingers grazing his jaw, and kiss him—fast, but not soft.My lips are insistent, almost clumsy with need.It's not polite.It's not shy.It's a promise.
“I don’t want to,” I murmur against his mouth, breath catching.“I need to.”
And that’s all it takes for him to take charge.
ChapterThirty-Four
Eddie
She kisses me like she’s starving.
Like I’m air and she’s forgotten how to breathe without me.
But my hunger runs deeper because all I can think about—when her lips press against mine, when her breath stutters between us—is him.
Barret.
Still on her skin.
I want to know where he touched her.
Where his mouth lingered.
Where his fingers curled, where his teeth scraped, where she came apart beneath him.
