A Stolen Melody Duet: A Summer Romance Boxset

by K. K. Allen

  This time I smile and brush my lips against his as I tilt my pelvis up. “Then what are you waiting for, rock star?”

  He groans again. “I want to so bad, but A—condoms are on the bus. B—shit, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s do this right. As much as I want to bury myself in you for the foreseeable future, you deserve more than this. You’ve already blown my plan to one-night stand you.” He grins to let me know he’s kidding. I think. “Our first time shouldn’t be morning sex, and it definitely shouldn’t happen before I take you out on a proper date.”

  “A proper date?” I stifle a giggle. Who is this man and what did he do with Wolf?

  “Yes.” His tone is defensive. “I may have had an idiot for a father, but I had an angel for a mother, and she taught me a few things about how to treat a woman. I just haven’t found one that brings that out in me, I guess. You, sweet Lyric, are worthy of everything my mother taught me.”

  “I think I need to meet your mom.” I’m trying to hide my grin, but it’s impossible.

  Something changes in Wolf’s eyes. His expression grows dim, and the hardness digging into my core softens. I can feel him slipping away before he rolls away to lie on his back. I feel a painful squeeze in my stomach. Alarms go off in my head. I’ve said something wrong.

  I’m afraid to open my mouth again, and all is silent for a few moments while I wait for Wolf to speak. Nothing comes. Minutes pass, and I can’t even look at him. His mind seems to be churning, debating something, and I’m so afraid I've crossed some arbitrary line that brought back a dark memory from deep within him.

  After a while I feel a dip in the bed as he gets up and makes his way to the bathroom. Shit. I can only imagine the worst as I think about the topic of conversation. His mother. A shiver runs through me, and I wish I hadn’t said a word about meeting her.

  When the water in the shower starts, I frown and I launch myself off the bed. What I find in the bathroom knocks the wind out of me. Wolf’s face is red, his eyelids pinched tightly together, and tiny quivers rock his body. My heart seizes in my chest. He grips the edge of the counter, knuckles white. With his head cast down, his shoulders heave forward relentlessly, and a tear slips down his cheek.

  Oh, God. For a moment I’m frozen, just watching him, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. The tightness in my chest and pressure in my throat build as I witness his pain, telling me that my feelings for this man go beyond anything rational. These feelings weren’t planned. They weren’t even wanted or welcomed. But they’re here in this room and there’s no denying it anymore.

  I push the door all the way open, approach him, and place my arms around his waist with my face pressed against his back. He continues to let go, silent sobs of pain pulling from deep within him.

  I want to be strong for him. Hold him for as long as he wants or needs. And then a tear falls onto my arm, and it completely rips me apart. Now I’m crying with him. My hands move up his chest until one is directly above his heart, as if I can hold it in place for him. I don’t know why or how it happened, but Wolf’s pain is now my own.

  No words were spoken in the bathroom. After crying together for what felt like forever, both our phones began to ring like crazy. I finally took the call to hear Crawley scream at me on the other end. I lied. I told him I didn’t know where Wolf was, but I was on my way to his room and we’d be to the bus shortly. Once on the bus, Wolf went straight to his room, and I could tell by his swift departure that he wanted to be alone.

  I ignore Crawley’s heated stare the entire first hour back on the bus before giving up and taking refuge in my bunk. We have an eight-hour drive ahead of us to Wisconsin, which means one long pit stop to give Rory a break at the wheel. Tonight, we sleep on the bus.

  I nap for a few hours, and when I awake, I grab my laptop to do some work. There are over three hundred messages in my inbox, most of which are confirmations for upcoming accommodations, but it’s too much for my brain right now. I can’t get Wolf—and the confusion I feel after witnessing his tears—off my mind.

  I’m not confused by my feelings for him; those were solidified last night when he told me I’m the only one he sees, and then again this morning when he said it was like I was made for him. Those words were heavy for both of us. No, I’m confused by his reaction. What did I say that made him break down like that?

  Knowing getting through my emails is impossible, I close my laptop and reach for my songbook at the corner of my bed. I open it to find my latest unfinished piece and start writing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wolf

  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 d
eath 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