The question isn’t whether I want Lyric by my side. And there isn’t a speck of doubt that she would be here if I asked. The problem is the self-consuming hole of darkness I tumbled into the moment Lyric said she wanted to meet my mother. It sent me down a mental path I've avoided for so long. Four years, to be exact. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to unleash that on her, but after her comment, there was no stopping the volcano of emotions that rose in my chest. And then she had to watch me physically fall apart in the bathroom. I cried like a fucking baby, and she saw every single teardrop.

Then she held me.

Besides my sister, I’ve loved one woman and one woman only. My mother. When she was dying, we spoke of my future. I made promises to her, some I’ve been able to fulfill, others I haven’t. Have I respected every woman I’ve encountered? Not in a way that my mother would be proud of. Have I worked hard and stayed true to my dreams? Without a doubt. Have I met someone who makes every other flower wilt in comparison? Hell yes. Do I have any intention of pursuing the connection? That’s where shit gets complicated.

I didn’t think my heart was capable of beating this way for anyone, not even someone as beautiful and smart and sexy as Lyric. My mother’s death suffocated a part of me until it grew cold and died. Letting someone in means letting them see all of me—the damage, the hurt, the pain, the bitterness I have toward life beyond the music. I’ve always thought there's no way in hell I would open myself up to anyone if it meant being vulnerable like that. I’d always been the strong one. As my mother was fading away, I squeezed her hand, letting her know I would be okay when she was gone and could no longer look after me. But even as I made those promises, I knew they were all sugarcoated lies to mask my pain and make her death as peaceful as possible.

The lies hurt like hell. They still do.

While I promised my mother one thing, I silently promised myself something different. Falling in love was never the plan.

When Lyric said she wanted to meet my mother, it all came crashing down. My first thought was that my mother would have adored her. She’d have given me that knowing smile, like when I’d made a decision she was proud of but she expected no differently because she believed in me. And then the realization hit like a boulder slowly rolling over me and crushing my chest; I let my attraction for someone completely obliterate my vow—a vow I made for a damn good reason. Because loving someone hurts like hell when it ends.

So how do I explain this story to the one person who needs to hear it in order to understand me? How do I trust someone enough to have that kind of control over the one thing that’s ever made me vulnerable?

There’s a tap at my door, but I ignore it. Then comes another before it opens, and Lyric lets herself in. I watch her beautiful body as she quietly closes the door and leans against it, a mixture of pain and sorrow painted on her face.

I caused this. I led her on. For a second, I believed I could do this—be with her in a way that was more than sex and an ego boost.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she says. It’s then that I see her songbook clutched to her chest. “I wrote something. Will you read it?”

I can almost feel her heart pounding. The way she’s letting her vulnerability bleed into my room, she’s asking me to trust her without asking anything at all. If I had to name the thing I love most about Lyric, it just might be the emotions and stories she’s able to express on paper. It’s my ultimate weakness, which is why, despite my intention to let her go, I nod.

Her steps are slow. Her eyes are everywhere but on mine. And then she sits on my bed, handing me her open book. I take it and then I pull her down so that she’s lying by my side. Her free arm wraps around my waist and her cheek rests on my chest. I’m sure she can feel my heart racing at our nearness.

The title, “Taste,” catches my attention. My eyes drag across the words slowly, allowing every single one to sink in until I can feel the emotions compounding in my chest.

 

Taste

 

You’ve stolen a piece without asking for consent

Not in my plans to fall to my knees

It’s simply meant to be

Tell me, how does it feel?

 

Tasting flesh so hungrily

That smile on your face aches in me

My lust for you is shaking

I’m yours for the taking

Tell me, how does it feel?

 

Give me another taste

You know you’re craving me

Let me have another taste

As I lose myself to you

Give me another taste

While you steal more of me

 

Not sure how this will end

Stealing pieces of me till you win

Silent war between heart and mind

Heart wins out every time

 

I wish it were that easy.

Lyric takes the book from my hands and sets it on the floor before facing me again. When she plants her soft lips on mine, her lyrics run through my mind again, blinding me. My response to her words is revealed in my response to her kiss. I take over, gently moving her so that she’s beneath me. My tongue dives in to explore her mouth and all its warmth. I keep my movements achingly slow as I let my passion pour into her.

I peel the layers of clothes from our bodies and get to work placing my mouth on all her most sensitive places. Then I beg her to look at me. I’m positioned above her, her legs spread wide to accommodate me. The condom is hugging me, unwelcome but necessary, and I’m ready to finally enter her. But I can’t be inside her unless I’m staring into her eyes. I can see every emotion in them as if their depths could carry me straight to her heart. When our eyes lock, I let out a sigh and remove my finger from her core, exchanging it for the tip of my shaft.

“You’re beautiful, Lyric.”

I already know that with Lyric, it will be more than just a release. Once I have her, I’m not sure I’ll be able to toss her aside like I do the others. I may want seconds, and thirds, and who the fuck knows how long that will last.

Her breath catches when I push into her. So I go slow, letting her get used to me first, and then I sink deeply, as far as our bodies will allow. For a moment, I just kiss her while her tightness hugs me enough to make me forget to breathe. Her high-pitched sigh causes me to thicken inside her, and then I’m moving, pushing into her with slow strokes, our eyes never breaking their hold.

I’m completely lost in her—in us—the pleasure becoming too much. But she’s there with me, our heated breaths colliding.

When her fingertips dig into my shoulders and her movements take over, controlling every thrust, I feel my own build intensify.

“Lyric,” I warn.

She releases a stuttered breath. “Wolf,” she whimpers.

The tone behind my name is my undoing, and I take control back, rocking my hips into hers with more demanding thrusts. I bury my face in her neck, tasting the sweat rolling down her skin before biting into it as she shakes with her release. Her tightness clenches around me over and over as I pound into her again and again.

With a grunt, my own orgasm erupts into the condom, into her. When the final ounce of me is released, I’m still shaking. My tense muscles relax and I collapse, holding my weight but never wanting to leave her warmth. Not that she’d let me. Lyric’s arms and legs are wrapped tightly around me, her breaths fighting against my chest.

“Holy shit,” I say with a rush of air. “What the fuck was that?” I look down at her.

She bites her lip and releases it quickly before smiling. “I think you liked my song.”

I feel my entire body soften at her words. It forces me to remember what brought us to this point—to the aftermath of the best sex in the world.

“I loved it,” I reply honestly.

When I return to the bed after disposing of the condom, Lyric is still lying naked, staring out the window with a thoughtful expression. She said we didn’t need to talk about it, but how can I hold back after that? After she poured her heart out to me in the form of lyrics and after we shared the most intense sex I’ve ever had?

I climb onto the bed, wrap my arms around her, and kiss her cheek. Sliding my hand down, I circle the dark peaks of her breasts with my finger, all the while still looking into her eyes. “You’re beautiful,” I breathe. “If I say it too much, I’m sorry, but you’re the most beautiful fucking thing.”

When Lyric smiles, it’s always genuine and always starts from her eyes. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

For this next part, I need to look away. I rest my cheek on her chest and tell her the story of my mother.

“My mom was diagnosed with cervical cancer when I was sixteen. I was still in high school, and I didn’t cope well. I was terrified I would lose my mom, fighting with anyone who ever gave me shit about anything. Suspensions were frequent, and music was my only outlet. Even as sick as she was, she swore she’d beat the living shit out of me if I didn’t smart up.” I chuckle over the tightness in my chest.

“I listened to her, graduated from high school, and then spent every free moment trying to take care of her. Still made time for my music because it was the only thing that kept me from feeling like drowning. My sister helped as much as she could between work and school, and she’d take over when I’d have gigs. But my mom kept getting worse.

“Chemo made her miserable, and the cancer was spreading. So I stayed at home and took some online classes, but I knew I didn’t want to go the college route. I was cooking, cleaning, taking her to doctor appointments. To the hospital when she’d…” My voice catches.

Lyric turns to wrap an arm around me. She rests her cheek on my chest and my breathing slows again, enough to continue.

“My father was on the road a lot, and when she started to get worse, he just disappeared. I’d follow his tour online and would know when his time off was, but he never came home. Never even called. I’d see pictures of him all over the internet with half-naked groupies slung over each arm. I died inside thinking my mother might see the same things. My mom was a fucking angel. She never wanted me to feel bad, so she didn’t say a word. But I know she was so hurt, Lyric.”

I take a ragged breath, trying desperately not to get worked up.

“And then she was at the hospital again. Doctors said she was close to death. My dad still never showed up.

“My mom would always talk to me about the things she wished for me. She’d beg me to make her promises about how I would treat women . . . that I would choose the one carefully.” My eyes flicker to Lyric, who’s tracing light circles on my skin. “And that when I found her, she would be it for me. She never said it, but I know she didn’t want me to become my father.

“I made those promises to her. Every single one. But I’ve done a shit job of seeing them through. When she passed, I went straight to my music and buried myself in it. Let it consume me. That’s been my last four years. Sex, booze, and rock ’n’ roll. It was therapeutic in a sense. It helped me repress the excruciating pain of my mom leaving this world, but I know she’s probably rolling over in her grave with disappointment.”

“You make it sound like you’ve been living in sin for four years,” Lyric says gently. “You were mourning your mother’s death. It’s natural to not deal with death right away. I can’t imagine losing someone so close to me, but I don't think it’s something you ever fully heal from. You’re going to make mistakes, Wolf. It’s never too late to make better decisions.”

My sweet Lyric. So optimistic. I lean in to kiss her again. If anything can illuminate the darkness, it’s the feelings I have for this woman right here.

“I wrote something, too,” I confess.

Her eyes widen. “Can I read it?”

I take a deep breath and reach for my notebook under the bed. I flip it open in front of her until it lands on the last page I wrote in. My eyes are on her as my heart beats wildly in my chest, watching her reactions to my lyrics about my new favorite subject: her.

 

Free Me

 

My soul is dark, so dark and deadly

Twisted, angry, misunderstood

Don’t get too close, you’re not ready

It’s all-consuming and you’re too good

 

It’s deep, this well I’ve fallen into

I’m caught with dirt beneath my nails

I dug the hole myself

But I’m trying to climb, until I realize

You’re not mine

 

Free me, free me

Give me a reason to climb

I want to make you mine

You’re the only light

Free me, free me

 

Darkness is cold, so cold and lonely

Blanketing me with nothing

Except hollowed hopes and shattered dreams

Your light is all the reason to sing

 

There are tears in her eyes when she’s done reading, and she shifts so she’s above me, straddling my body and looking down at me with a wicked gleam. My dick grows at the sight—every curve illuminated with the light filtering in through the cracks in the blinds. Specks of dust float beneath the light, but they might as well be flecks of glitter. She’s a fucking angel. My angel.

I reach for her waist, but she shakes her head slowly. She places my hands near my head, her breasts dangling near my mouth. I taste one in passing, causing her to smile. I lift my head and place my folded hands behind it. “You’re up to something,” I say with a smile.

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she runs the tips of her fingers down my arms, chest, and stomach. Her eyes flicker to mine before she leans down and presses her lips directly above my heart. I swear when she does that it blooms in my chest. All my heart needed were the right ingredients to bring me back to life. Lyric is my light, my water, my soil, my sun. My eyes drink her in, appreciating her. I sigh. She’s my everything.

She reaches over to my drawer, grabs another condom, and rolls it over my cock. All the while, I’m consumed by the confidence and blinding beauty in her movements.

When she lifts onto her knees and rubs herself, I move my arms to help her out but put them back when she shoots me a look that’s playfully fierce. “Hands behind your head.”

I grin, happy to obey. She dips a finger into herself, causing a groan to escape from deep in my chest. I fucking love when she does that.

She positions her body above me and sinks down, her head falling back, sighing at the fullness. I'll need all my concentration if I’m going to last with this sight in front of me.

She begins to move, her hands pressing against my chest, her back arching at just the right moments, her breasts full and begging to be touched.

When the first bead of sweat rolls down her forehead, I don’t know what comes over me, but I have the distinct desire to tell her I love her. But since it's quite possibly motivated by her bouncing tits and come-face, I hold back. I do, however, begin to feel a voracious, mind-shattering force taking over my entire body before it numbs me helpless. It’s followed by a rush of adrenaline as we come together, moaning and silently screaming each other’s names.