Sweet Ache

Play me. Beg me. Take me. Make me.

Be the one to make me fall.

Be the one to take it all.

The music ends, the house falling to silence. Hawkin and I just sit there until he glances over to his bandmates. The three of them all get similar smiles spreading across their faces, and then simultaneously they let out a whoop in celebration that startles me. They start giving one another high fives and slaps on the back.

“What? What did I miss?” A voice shouts from down the hall followed by the appearance of a tall, athletic blond guy, one arm sleeved, gauges in his ears, confused look on his face.

“Were you recording that?” Hawkin asks as the guys all stand still and stare at him, anticipation on their faces.

“Yeah, why?”

The guys start their celebration again, including the newcomer this time around. Finally and it’s about fucking time is murmured between them as I stand there and put the pieces in place.

Gizmo looks over and lifts his chin. “Been working on that song for four months. Couldn’t get it right. We were ready to scrap it from the album—and who the fuck knew that it would come together like that from Rocket fiddling around by himself in the studio.”

“Ha. He’s used to fiddling by himself, just not with a guitar,” Vince quips.

I raise my eyebrows, excited to be a part of what they’re creating here, the lyrics on repeat through my head for more reasons than how perfectly they complete the song. I feel like Hawke was talking to me, asking me, and I settle into the feelings they invoke within me.

Before I realize it, Hawkin’s at my side, hand on my elbow as he leads me from the kitchen. His touch on my skin is intoxicating, his murmur in my ear telling me “Let’s go,” even more so.

We clear the doorway and he tugs on my arm so that our bodies crash into each other’s the same time our mouths do. And hell yes the kiss on the porch was hotter than hell but this one is scorching. I don’t know if it’s the euphoric adrenaline of figuring out the song but Hawkin is a man taking what he wants and thank God he wants me.

His hands fist in my clothing and the kiss turns close to bruising as our bodies remain pressed and grinding into each other. I know we’re at risk of being caught by the rest of the band, but Hawkin is kissing me like he sings … with a little bit of roughness to his smooth and fuck if I don’t love the hard edge.

“Upstairs,” he pants, hand in my hair, mouth moving down the line of my neck.

“Yes.” There is no other response to his command. No concern that he’s a player because all I can think about is him and me. Naked. Moving. Entangled. Breathless.

My body responds to his body’s nonverbal commands. An intimate reaction to his every action, wanting more, needing more of everything he’s giving me.

My back bumps into the banister of the staircase as we move clumsily up the stairs. We both laugh at our impeded progress between urgent kisses and desperate gropes. I pull back and open my eyes to look at where we are going, and I gasp in shock when I lock eyes with Hunter.

“Ahhh!” The sound bursts out of me and Hawkin jolts in reaction. He whirls around as a slow, smarmy smirk curls up the corner of his brother’s mouth.

“What the fuck dude?” Hawkin’s hands are off me in a flash as he whirls around to face him, the desire raging between us moments ago converting to disappointed anger. And I know Hawke’s mad, I just can’t figure out if he’s pissed because his brother interrupted us or because he lied and took off with his car. Pride has me wanting to think one thing but reason has me knowing it’s another.

Hunter lifts his hands up in front of him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, really.” His mouth says the words but his eyes say something different. “I was just bringing your keys to you.”

“What’s going on?” Vince comes through the kitchen door and stops when he sees Hunter. The look that passes between the two of them is less than friendly.

Hunter ignores Vince’s question and lifts his chin my direction. “So this is more than just you being hot for teacher, huh Trixie? Got a thing for musicians too?”

It’s impossible to miss the derision that laces his tone and wonder why it’s directed at me. I’m not quite sure how to answer him, what to say, because while he may be the spitting image of Hawkin, he makes me uneasy.

“Who the hell is this Trixie?” It’s Gizmo now coming into the foyer, and I’m thankful for him unknowingly breaking up the tension. Although I don’t see Hawkin’s shoulders ease at all. I wish I could see his face, try to read his expression.

Vince’s chuckle and shake of his head pulls me from my thoughts. He slaps Gizmo on the chest. “Always late to the party dude and a few brews short of a six-pack.”

“Huh?” I hear him say as Vince pushes him back into the kitchen but doesn’t follow. He turns and leans his shoulder against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows raised as if to say continue to the two brothers.

“Where were you? And don’t say with Mom,” Hawkin grits the words out.

“Yeah, sorry about that, I got sidetracked. Didn’t make it—”

“No shit,” Hawkin says stepping toward him, agitation in his voice and anger reflected in his posture. “Hard to show up when they didn’t call you in the first place. After everything …” He rolls his shoulders as he tries to rein in his temper. “Can’t you just follow through with a promise one fucking time, Hunter?” His voice is low and threatening. Vince’s eyes toggle back and forth between the two of them as he assesses the situation.