With You - Page 8/10

I reached up and ran my finger over the slight indent in his chin. “Can I hear it?”

He shook his head, and despite his lack of smile, because he rarely did smile, I saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “No, Eme. You’ll hear it with the band on stage, and me singing to you.” The amusement left his eyes, and I felt him stiffen. “Did you think about what I asked, Emily?”

I knew exactly what he was referring to. I had a perpetual war in my head for the last three days. I wasn’t ready to have my heart blasted with porcupine quills when Sculpt left me to go on tour, but I also wasn’t ready to go on the road with a group of guys I hadn’t even met yet, and have Sculpt responsible for me. I planned on starting college in a month. I had a life here with Kat and Matt, and even though I didn’t want Sculpt to leave, I couldn’t see myself leaving either.

“Eme.” His arms tightened around me. “Tell me.” He shifted, easily picking me up under the arms and bringing me around so I sat facing him, my legs bent on either side of him. It was intimate, and Christ, it was hard to resist him and not just say screw it and tell him how I felt and go with him. “Eme, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

He watched me carefully, eyes never once wavering. “You know what I’m asking, but this once I’ll indulge you. Tell me you don’t want more.”

Shit. He knew I was crazy about him. I’d been trying to keep my feelings . . . well hidden, somewhat. It obviously wasn’t working. I licked my lips and tried to look away, but he was ready for that and held my head between his hands.

“Eme.”

Fuck. I was so not good at this. The last person I expressed my feelings to was my dad while he lay in the hospital dying.

“Mouse.” He leaned in, and my hands went to his upper thighs feeling the flex of his muscles beneath my palms. “Look at me.” I did. “I want you with me. I’ll look after you.” His voice lowered. “I’m not happy leaving you here, baby.”

And that was the problem; I didn’t want to be “looked after.” I’d looked after myself all my life. My mom . . . I sometimes wondered if she even remembered she had a daughter.

“Emily. I don’t play games. I told you what I want, and I know you want me.”

I didn’t know whether to be pissed or laugh at his arrogance. What I did know was that I was turned on—big time. How could he do that? I mean, he was just looking at me, and yet . . . his eyes abducted me. “Sculpt . . . I . . .”

Sculpt tightened his legs around me. “Eme.” He gripped my chin and held me steady. He waited several seconds, and I finally inhaled a shaky breath. “I’ll never hurt you. I know you’re worried about the women.” I opened my mouth to speak, but his eyes narrowed, and I shut it again. “I’m a fighter. I’m in a band. The women will always be there, but I’m with you.”

And that was the issue. Why was he with me? I wasn’t pretty, had big hips, mousey, brown hair, and my thighs were my best feature. Most guys wouldn’t say so, because I was only five foot three, and they liked the tall, skinny fawn-like legs. I liked my thighs, because I rode horses, and they were the most muscular, lean part of my body.

He stiffened, and I recognized the russet in his eyes reflect in the moonlight. I laid my hands flat on his chest feeling his beating heart beneath my touch. “Jesus, Emily, you have to bury that shit your mother tells you. I swear if she wasn’t a woman, I’d kick her ass.”

I gasped. How did he know about my mother?

“Yeah, Mouse, I know it’s swimming around in your head like a shark eating all your confidence. Do you think I don’t pay attention? I’ve asked you about your mother, and I see what it does to you. You spent most of your childhood at Matt and Kat’s. A girl doesn’t do that if her mother is something special. I’m certain yours is not. She’s put toxic shit in your head.”

“Sculpt . . . I . . . my . . .” Yeah. I had no words. He was right. My mom was toxic, and that was why I never saw her, not that she’d remember if I did.

He tucked my hair behind my ear. It seemed so natural; I wondered if he even realized he was doing it. “We’re exploring this, Eme. I want you on tour with me.”

“I need more time, Sculpt. I can’t suddenly decide to change my life and go with you. I have school starting and Matt and Kat . . .” My voice trailed off.

Silence.

“You want to train horses. Why are you wasting your time going to college taking accounting?”

We’d been through this. “Sculpt, it’s a silly dream. I need to focus on what’s real, and that is finding a career and making money.”

“You’re wrong Eme. You should be chasing your dream.” He sighed. “I’m leaving. Next week.”

My breath hitched, and my heart felt like it had been pierced with quills, and he hadn’t even left yet. “But I thought—”

“Things have changed. We’re leaving sooner than we planned.”

I couldn’t go. God, I wanted to, but he needed to live his dream, and I had to make my own way. I never wanted him to regret being with me. Anything I wanted in life I had to reach for myself. I didn’t want someone else supporting me. One good thing I’d learned from my mother was that if I wanted anything, I had to get it myself, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to give it to me.

“Sculpt. I can’t.”

“Emily.” He lay back in the grass scowling. “You’re overthinking this.”

“But Sculpt—”

“No buts, Emily. I can’t handle any buts. I’m pissed right now.”

“But—”

He sat up again, brows lowered. “No.”

“But you’ll like my but.” I leaned toward him and nipped his chin. That got him to ease up, and his muscles relaxed.

“I already like your butt.” His hand slid down the small of my back to my ass and squeezed. It was playful, but I could still see the darkness in his eyes, and his face was hard.

“Sculpt. My but is important.”

“Yeah Eme, it is.” I slapped him on the shoulder, and I was glad when he laughed. “Okay what’s your but?”

“I was going to say, but . . .” His brows rose. “Before you go, I want you to make love to me.” I paused, seeing his brows rise with surprise, then I pushed on quickly before I lost my nerve. “Like now, Sculpt. Right now. Here in this spot where we always hang out together. Our place. You with your guitar, and me with the horses.”

His hands that were slowly roaming stopped, squeezing my upper thighs, and he stared at me with such intensity that I was getting hot just watching him watch me. “That’s your but?”

I nodded.

“I knew I liked your butt.” He put his hands on either side of my face and met my eyes. “If you’re in my bed . . . you’re not in anyone else’s. You got that, Mouse? Even if I can’t convince you in the next week to come with me—no one else’s.”

“Okay. Same goes for you.” Surrounded by women night after night would be a lot harder for him than for me.

Sculpt stroked the side of my face. “Emily. You erase the bad in my life.”

I couldn’t imagine Sculpt having any bad. He was hot, had an incredible voice, had a body that was no doubt in the dictionary under the definition for muscle.

He may not laugh often, but when he did it was magical and made up for all the other times he didn’t. I sensed the hardness in him, the untouchable part that he refused to let me discover, but we’d only known one another for a couple months.

His thumb caressed my lips, and the ache between my legs intensified. My stomach wasn’t just pretty little butterflies; it was a flock of Egrets taking flight.

He picked me up and set me on the grass beside him then got on his knees in front of me. He tilted forward, and I leaned back until I was resting in the grass, and he was hovering above.

My nerves were sparking off in every direction while the twinge between my legs became a spasm of aching need. I was breathing so fast that it was like I’d run a marathon.

“Have you ever been touched, Emily?”

I shook my head, too breathless to respond verbally.

“If you’re not ready . . . tell me now. Be damn sure about this, Eme.”

He was dead serious, and it sent a strange thrill through me. I didn’t want to wait. I wanted him here and now with the wind against my skin, being in my favorite place in the world with Sculpt. “I don’t want to wait.”

His hand swept into my hair and weaved through the strands. His fingers tightened, and he pulled back, and my breath hitched. “I’m tasting your pussy. Then Emily, I’m going to fuck you until you scream. Does that make you nervous? Because you’re trembling all over.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Yeah, nervous? Or yeah you’re going to scream when I sink inside of you for the first time?”

“Yeah, to all of it.” I’d wanted Sculpt since the night I met him. Needed him. It was like I had been living with anticipation for this moment my entire life. It scared the hell out me. What if I sucked at it? What if we were incompatible? What if it was awkward?

“I want you screaming and quivering. And baby, you should be nervous . . . because I plan on changing your mind and having you begging me to take you on tour.” The corners of his lips twitched, and my insides lit up. I couldn’t help but think about what he could do to me, how I’d say goodbye when it was time for him to leave. “You’re Lego building, Emily. Rethinking your decision?”

I jerked and met his eyes. There it was—his eyes dancing with laughter and desire, a sexy combination that had me tightening my grip on his biceps.

He didn’t wait for my reply. “Too late, Mouse. You’re mine.”

He tilted his head like he always did before he kissed me, and claimed my lips. And he did claim, devour, and feed the hunger we both felt between us. Heat flowed over my skin as if the afternoon sun was beaming down on it. Little sparks tap-danced shivers through my body. There was no hesitation in what he was taking, what he wanted, and I fell into his kiss like melted butter.

His hands stroked up my sides then down again. “God, these curves.”

He groaned, and the vibration sent my heart rate spiking. My hands found their way into his hair, pulling him closer, harder. God, I needed him. It was like I was breathing for this man. It wasn’t normal. Was this normal? Did it matter?

“Sculpt.”

He took my hands and placed them above my head, locking them down with his own. “Logan. Call me Logan, Eme.”

Oh God. His name. He told me his real name. “Logan,” I said and heard him groan.

“Again.”

“Logan.”

His lips trailed succulent kisses down my throat, his teeth nipping, then his tongue licking to take away the bite. “I want you to call me that whenever we’re alone, Emily. Call me Logan.”

“Okay.” It was a whispered moan mixed with a sigh. Eyes closed, head thrown back, I edged my legs out from under him on either side and wrapped them around his hips. He grunted as I clenched, hoping to ease the ache, but all I did was make it more intense. More aware.