“You should probably hear me sing before you start making plans,” I tell her, but she just stares at me expectantly. “I’m not going to sing for you.” I lean over the armrest to prop my guitar against the wall. “I’m not a singer.”

“Have you ever tried?” She inches nearer, and strands of her hair tickle my cheek.

The feel of her warm breath and nearness sends a shiver through my body. Images of laying her down on the sofa and kissing her passionately flood my mind and make it almost impossible to breathe steadily, let alone reply to her question.

Swallowing hard, I shake my head.

“But you write lyrics.”

My lips part in surprise. “How do you know?”

She chews on her lip, looking guilty. “Don’t be mad at me, but there was this one time when you left your notebook open on your bed. I honestly thought it was just schoolwork and was going to shove it out of the way. Then I saw what was written on the opened page.”

“Did you read the entire book?”

She places her hands on the armrest behind me, pinning me between her arms as if she’s afraid I’m going to run. “I would never do that. I just read the one page then set it aside. It was good, though, what I read. Sad, but really, really moving. You have a hidden talent, Shy Boy. One I’ll admit I’m a little jealous of.” She wets her lips with her tongue.

I’m uncertain exactly what she’s attempting to do—if she’s unintentionally trying to turn me on or not. Regardless, my cock is getting hard inside my jeans. My body only gets more muddled when she moves near enough that her chest brushes mine.

“Which one was it?” I struggle to concentrate on the conversation as her body heat clouds my thoughts.

“Huh...” She’s as equally as distracted as I am.

“Which song was it that you read?”

“I think it was called ‘You Devour Me.’” She stretches her arms farther toward the armrest, arching her back and aligning her chest, hips, and legs with mine.

I can’t fucking breathe.

Focus.

Focus on something else.

Focus on the song.

“You Devour Me,” is a song I wrote about her not too long after we shared our first kiss, when I was confused about what was going on inside me and thought I was going to lose my mind. So damn confused all the time all I could do was write to free myself from the confusion. I ended up writing a lot. About Lyric. A lot.

You seep into my skin, devour me whole.

Beg me to cave in, give in to what I fear.

You make my body burn. Make my heart bleed.

Make me feel alive. Make it so fucking hard to breathe.

Nothing feels right whenever you’re near.

Everything feels wrong whenever you disappear.

Fuck, I can’t figure out what you’re doing to me.

What you make me feel. Was never supposed to be.

“We should sing it,” she breathes against my mouth. “I could play guitar for one set, and you could sing.” She sucks her lip between her teeth as her gaze zeroes in on my lips.

“I’m pretty sure I’m tone deaf.” I fight an internal tug-of-war with my mind and body.

Take and devour her.

Deal with the consequences later.

Or push her away.

And drift farther away from having her.

“Then I could sing it,” she says in a raspy voice I’ve never heard come out of her mouth before. It’s like we’re talking dirty without actually talking about anything dirty. “Unless that’s weird.”

“Weird?” I have no idea what we’re talking about anymore.

“Yeah. I mean, it seemed like you wrote the song about someone. Maybe it’s personal.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to sing it aloud. Maybe one day I’d be okay with you singing it, though.” Maybe one day I’ll be okay enough to admit the lyrics are about my true feelings for her. Maybe one day I’ll actually be able to fully admit them myself.

She hooks her arms around me. “I’m so glad you said that. It’s such a good song.” She squeezes me, crushing the air from my lungs.

My arms enclose around her waist and I nuzzle my face into the curve of her neck. She sighs contently as my fingers travel down her back and sketch a delicate path along the patch of skin peeking out from the hem of her shirt. I bite my lip to restrain a moan when she shudders. “The Window” by Mars Volta fills up the silence between us as she nips at my earlobe with her teeth, and my body quivers uncontrollably.

“I know we never actually fully reached a conclusion to what was okay between us,” she whispers with another nick of her teeth, “and what was not, but—”

I cut her off, turn my head, and press my lips to hers so roughly our teeth clank together. Probably the least sexiest kiss ever. Add that to the fact that I can’t figure out what to do with my hands—never seem to be able to—and she should leave me high and dry. Instead she presses closer, rolling her hips against mine as she nips at my lip and tugs at my hair.

“You feel so good,” she moans breathlessly as she rocks her hips again. “Is this okay? You’re not feeling anxious, are you?”

Not this time. This time, I am way less stressed out. I feel way more in control over my head, at least for the moment anyway.

Another mind-blowing movement of her hips and I damn near explode. Something possesses me—an urge I don’t understand—and I’m suddenly flipping us over.