“Give me your mouth, Eme.”
Even if I could have found words, he stole them away as his lips lowered over mine. His kiss was slow and hard, yet sweet and lingering. Our mouths moved together in harmony, and the throbbing ache between my legs intensified.
I wanted him.
Needed him.
He groaned as he pulled back, and my body went with him until I caught myself and sat back in my seat, breathing hard, feeling as if my thirst hadn’t been satisfied. And it scared the crap out of me. I had a feeling being thirsty would be the worst sort of torture anyone could experience.
“I . . . Sculpt you’re . . .” What was the word? “Overwhelming and—”
“Quiet, Eme.” He quickly kissed me on the lips before I could protest. “Buckle up.” He shut the door, and I leaned back in the seat and sighed.
As I watched him walk around the front of the truck I realized there were so many reasons why I was attracted to him. There was no bullshit with him. He was real, and even though sometimes it threw me off balance, it was refreshing. What I respected most was how he was determined and focused. He’d told me his dream was to make it with his band, Torn. He did the fighting in order to make that happen, and even though he hated it, he did it with everything he had in order to make his dream happen. There was no half-ass with Sculpt.
What I found adorable was his addiction to vanilla ice cream, and when he ate it . . . It was like his entire body completely submitted to it.
His playful smile, when he rarely let me see it, left my knees quaking, and when he looked at me . . . when he really looked at me . . . his eyes lit up like fireflies. It made me feel special, and I hadn’t had that since my dad passed.
Sculpt drove us to the park, and I sat leaning against a large oak tree while he lounged beside me with his guitar in his lap. He hadn’t even strummed or sang a note, and I was feeling like my insides were melting under a firestorm of heat.
His head tilted to the right as he picked at the strings one by one. I was mesmerized, and each second I waited for him to sing was perpetual agony. This guy had me kidnapped and strung up in him without even trying, and it terrified me.
He looked at me, his hands quiet on his guitar. He was frowning, and for some reason it was hot. Super-hot. I wanted to kiss him so badly that it actually hurt and that right there is why it terrified me.
He looked at me. “You have that look. Like you did when you asked me to teach you how to fight . . . scared as a fuckin’ mouse. What’s up?”
His scent trickled into me as his hand reached up and stroked the side of my face.
I looked down at my fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. “What’s happening between us . . . I don’t know what it is. It . . . scares me.” Sculpt has such big plans. Would I get in his way? I wouldn’t be a burden to anyone anymore. I wanted to make it on my own, and in a way Sculpt had given me more confidence to pursue my independence by teaching me how to fight.
He frowned, and I tried to lean back, but his hand cupped the back of my neck stopping me. “Sculpt, I don’t even know your real name. It’s just that—”
“Stop.”
I shut my mouth, because I rambled when I got nervous, and Sculpt was catching onto that.
“My past isn’t important. There’s nothing to talk about. I want you. That’s it, Eme. That’s what’s important.”
Only my dad had ever wanted me and having Sculpt tell me he wanted me . . . made my insides light up. I really didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t, and neither did he. It wasn’t awkward; it never was between us. Silence with him was a gift, and I think we both got that.
When Sculpt began to play, his voice completely knocked me flat on my ass, captivated me from the second he started singing. It was deep. It was graveled and raw. And it was sexy as hell. His eyes closed while the music pulled him in, soft bedroom hair drifting across his forehead as he lost himself in the words.
God, it was stunning. It was beautiful. And he held me hostage with his voice. It was like the wind was carrying me on his words, and I floated in a realm of captive magnificence.
If he could do this to me, I could only imagine what happened when he got on stage with his band.
He stopped, and my mind was still replaying the sound over and over again. I was lost within his voice, the beautiful way his fingers skimmed over the guitar strings with ease. It was so natural and raw.
His hand lay flat against the guitar, and his eyes were on me. I licked my lips then moved in close until I was a breath away from his mouth. We were both breathing heavy as we stared at one another. I felt like I was sucking him into my lungs, tasting him on my tongue.
“You’re the reason music exists,” I whispered. I pressed my lips against his and heard him groan against them. It vibrated into me, and the butterflies in my stomach did a drunken dance.
I couldn’t get close enough with the guitar between us, but at that moment it didn’t matter as long as Sculpt kissed me. His mouth swept me up into him like his voice had, bringing me to a place of no return. I was lost to him even if I thought I could stop it. I knew this was it. If he hurt me, I’d be shattered crystal. He could do that to me, and yet, I didn’t care. It was worth the risk. He was worth the risk.
“Mouse,” he moaned pulling back. “You wet? Is your pussy throbbing?”
I felt the heat in my cheeks inflame, and I lowered my gaze from his. He knew exactly what was happening to me, and yet it was still embarrassing to hear it aloud.
“God, you look sexy as hell shy and sweet. Now answer the question.”
I nodded.
He groaned then kissed me again, but this time it was quick and soft. “You ever had sex before baby?”
I shook my head and lowered my eyes from his. Why did that feel embarrassing? Probably because he’d had sex numerous times with girls who knew what they were doing.
“I like that, Mouse. I like that a lot. Means you’ll only ever be mine.”
Sculpt ended up playing me three more songs as I sat astride his legs and watched. He wasn’t nervous at me staring at him so closely; instead he seemed to thrive on it. I wondered if this was what he felt on stage. Did he love the fans, the screaming girls, all the attention? I really had no idea how popular he was, but Matt’s bar was well known in Toronto, and I suspected Torn did well enough.
When the sun started to sink behind the city buildings, Sculpt put his guitar away.
“So, you know Deck?” I wanted to know more about Sculpt, and since he never talked about his family then I figured I may get a glimpse of his past through his friends.
His hands stilled on the latch of the case then proceeded to lock it. “Yes.”
“And Georgie?”
“Yeah.”
I was getting the impression that expanding on the subject was going to be like pulling a horse from quicksand. “Why are you trying to get a hold of Deck?” Georgie said Deck had a company involved with tracking down not-so-savory men. I wasn’t sure what he did with them after he caught them, and Georgie was pretty close-lipped about it.
“It’s not something I’m talking about, Emily.”
“But Deck is—”
“No.” He cupped my chin, eyes delving into me. “I’m not talking about it.”
He looked really serious, and I knew Sculpt enough by now that if I pushed when his eyes were dark like that he’d shut down, and I hated when he did that. I felt locked out.
“When are you leaving? To go on tour?”
I knew he was saving money from fighting to pay for the band to go on tour, but I was uncertain how long before he’d have to leave. We really hadn’t discussed it past him telling me he’d be eventually leaving. But “eventually” could mean anything and I wanted a timeline. I needed to be prepared for the hurt that’d come with it.
“Soon.”
Oh God, I wasn’t ready to lose him when I just found him. “Soon when?”
“Not sure. Depends on how many fights I get.”
“But you have an idea?”
He nodded. “Couple months, maybe sooner.”
“Oh.” He put his hands on my hips and tugged me in closer. I tried to act nonchalant as I said, “Well, that’s good then.”
“Mouse.”
“No, really. That’s great. You should be out there. Your voice is . . . It’s truly stunning, Sculpt. You’ll be a huge hit one day.”
“Mouse.” His hands tightened.
I barely noticed his frown as my mind whirled with uncertainty. What was I doing? Sculpt was a fighter. A soon-to-be rock star. I was just plain Emily with a dream I couldn’t reach. I shouldn’t even be thinking about more than today with Sculpt, but I couldn’t help it. I was thinking what would happen in two months. Would he just leave and that would be the end?
“Emily.”
I jolted, and his hands were now cradling my head, and he was staring intently at me. “You need to get it in your head that you’re something special. I don’t know how you got this bullshit about being a nobody in your head in first place, but I’m tempted to hire a plane with a banner saying how special you are.”
“Sculpt! That’s ridiculous.”
“You thinking you’re not special is ridiculous.” Sculpt ran his thumb over my lower lip then leaned in and kissed the same spot. “I’m a fighter, Mouse. And I know what I want in life, and I’m not scared to take it. I want you. I’m not walking away from you. When I go on tour and you’re here, then you’re still mine and no one touches you. Okay?”
I nodded, because really when his voice got all low and scary, I wasn’t going to argue. Besides, I only wanted to be his.
“These lips are mine.” He leaned in and kissed me—hard. So hard it stole my breath and made my body tremble.
“Will you promise me something?” I asked when I caught my breath.
“You don’t need promises from me, Mouse. My word is always good.”
“If you’re leaving, don’t just leave . . . I mean will you come tell me? To, you know, say goodbye?”
“Eme.” He roughly took my chin in his hand and made me look at him. “You’re getting the plane with the trailing banner.”
I huffed.
“If a guy ever treated you like that, I’d kill him. Then I’d give you a piece of my mind for going out with a piece of shit.” His fingers tightened on my chin. “I’m not letting you go. Okay?”
I nodded.
“Good.”
When Sculpt dropped me off at home, I hadn’t expected Matt and Kat to be waiting up for me. And I knew as soon as I walked into the living room and saw Matt’s tense jaw, pursed mouth, and messed hair that he was upset.
Kat sat on the couch, her short blonde hair swaying forward to cover her brilliant sea-blue eyes as she watched me. She was a classic beauty; smooth and flawless skin, thin brows, and sharp features. But her classic look was opposite of her personality. Kat was spontaneous, reckless, and she’d had numerous men in the last two years, none of whom stayed longer than a few weeks.
