Page 63 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

“Keyed up?” he supplied softly.

Lyric cocked her head to the side, hands dropping to her hips as she considered his words. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it! I feel like I could run ten miles or write an entirely new album or—what are you doing?” she questioned as he stepped forward.

Emerson didn’t stop until he was directly before her. She had to crank her neck back to look up at him, and something about his gaze made her want to squirm.

She was pinned in, those big metal boxes stacked to her right and behind Emerson, the only exit to her left, a gap between the wall and the next stack of packing equipment.

“Breathe,” he murmured softly, and her lungs inflated before she even knew she was following his order.

Oh no, bad idea.

With him so close, and his skin still damp with sweat from the show, his scent filled her lungs and fogged her brain in a way she hadn’t ever experienced. It was like a rainstorm full of danger and electricity, and she was afraid she was about to get shocked.

“Now tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

Her lips parted on demand, as if he had more control over her brain to body function than she did. “It’s my mom,” she began. And then it all came tumbling out. “Because of her, I never ever thought I’d be writing my own songs, let alone recording and releasing them. But I just stepped off that stage. After playing for thousands of people who came to see me. Who came to hear me sing and perform and play the songs they loved so much they had to come hear them live. I did that. Me. And I feel so fucking… powerful,” she explained, palms spreading wide to emphasize the word. Her eyes grew even wider at her admission, arms falling to her sides. A slow smile spread across her lips. “I, an omega, did th—”

Emerson threaded his arms beneath hers, wrapping them around her waist and pulling her up against him. He ate the smile and the words from her mouth as he tugged and sipped from her lips.

Oh, god.

The only two words she was capable of manifesting repeated in her mind like a mantra as she kissed him back. Lyric reached her hands up, framing his face before scratching lightly down his neck to knot themselves in his long hair.

His hand at her lower back was like a brand, and it burned hotter as he pressed her harder against him. Against her navel, she felt the solid length of his erection. Then she was moving—no, Emerson was moving her. The brick wall was a cool pressure against her back compared to the heat burning between her and Emerson. His hands framed her hips before they drifted over the strip of flesh bared between the band of her high waisted stage pants and the hem of her cropped shirt.

The top was built as a two-piece bralette with loose hanging fabric for the shirt, and it would be so easy for him to just slip his hands under the hem and—

She whimpered as he read her god damned mind and the heat of his palms slid under the fabric to cover her breasts. Pleasure sparked out from her nipples to throb between her legs as he teased them against his rough palms.

He groaned deep in his chest but swallowed the sound along with her own needy whine. His teeth nipped hard at her lower lip and dropped south, flicking the button on her pants and sliding the zipper down.

Against her body’s needy demand, she covered his hands with her own and tore her lips away.

“Henry said no sex,” she blurted, every cell in her body cursing her for stopping.

His harsh breaths puffed against her cheek and he pressed a soft kiss there. “Henry said no sex on the bus. Does this look like the bus to you?”

A giggle almost snuck past her lips, and she rolled her head to look up at him. “Well… no.”

His hair was long and wild from where her fingers had ruffled it. She felt wild, too.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” The answer tripped from her lips faster than she could catch it, and when his mouth slammed down onto hers again, she realized she didn’t want to catch it. No, she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to chase this goddamned high all the way to the finish line.

Emerson had her pants undone and his hand inside the waistband in moments, and Lyric couldn’t have done a damned thing to stop the needy, high-pitched cry that burst from her lips and into their kiss as he slid two fingers against her clit and rubbed.

A dark, delicious chuckle shook Emerson’s chest, and he reached one hand up to cover her mouth. He pressed just hard enough so she could feel the bite of the brick behind her.

“You should rest your vocal cords,” he murmured dangerously, lips trailing up the side of her neck. “Besides, we don’t want anyone to find us, right?”

Lyric nodded clumsily as best as she could, and when she couldn’t move enough to get her point across, she licked his palm sweetly. Emerson leaned away from her neck to stare down at her, and the smirky grin on his face turned her into a puddle in his arms.

Her hips rolled into his touch, signaling for more when she realized he’d only bound her voice, not her hands.

She dropped her hands to his waistband, drifting her fingertips over his abs, memorizing the softer hills and valleys. But then the pressure on her clit shifted as he forged his touch even lower, his fingers nudging at her core.

Oh god, oh god.