They bubble up, and I can’t stop them. There’s no holding them back.
“I love you, Crey.”
His eyes, already soft, go even softer. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for you to say that.”
“And I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for you, period. I should say there are so many things I’d do differently in my life, but I really wouldn’t change a thing and run the risk of not ending up right here, right now, with you.”
“You’ve changed everything for me, Holly. Every fucking thing.”
I thread my hands through his hair, pull his mouth back down to mine, and kiss the ever-loving hell out of my man. Because he is mine. For the first time since we said “I do” in Vegas on New Year’s Day, I feel like Creighton Karas is really mine. Body and mind. Heart and soul.
And I love him.
Our kiss seems to go on forever, each of us consuming the other. When Crey finally lifts his head, his cock is long and hard against my belly, and I’m reminded of exactly why we’re here to begin with.
“I want you,” I whisper.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Crey pushes up to his knees and stares down at me. “Your heart and your virgin ass in one night. Jesus, Holly, I really am the luckiest fucking bastard on the planet.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Seriously. Some of your lines tonight—not even a little bit smooth.”
“I don’t need to try to be smooth with you anymore,” he says with a lopsided smile. “I can just be me.”
Something pangs in the vicinity of the heart Crey just claimed as his, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a beat. I’ve officially been slayed. The player has dropped his game, and I’ve melted into a puddle on his bed.
“Let’s get you out of those clothes, sweetheart.”
I lift up my butt and let him peel my jeans, panties, and socks off me. My arms go over my head, and he tugs my sweater, long-sleeved shirt, and tank top off.
“I see you took me seriously when I told you to dress warm,” Crey says, his tone wry.
“I’m starting to take everything you say seriously, I guess.”
“Good.” The single word carries a wealth of meaning.
I’m totally naked except for my bra, which I move to unhook, but Crey’s hand stops me.
“Let me.”
He strips me completely bare, which is probably an appropriate metaphor for what he’s done all along. A lyric hits me at the worst possible moment, and I freeze.
Shit.
It’s a good one. I can hear it.
Crey stills. “What’s wrong?”
I bite my lip and look at him with his dick popping out of his jeans, rock hard. I’m completely naked, a butt plug up my ass.
Wow, Holly, marks for inconvenient timing.
“Holly, what the hell?”
“How pissed are you going to be if I call a time-out?”
Crey’s eyes go wide. “A time-out?” The words come out slow and unsure. “What does that mean?”
I worry my lip between my teeth. “I need to write something down quick before I forget it.”
I’m not sure what I expect, but it’s not a brilliant smile, belly laugh, and Crey’s head shaking.
“This is what I get for falling in love with a creative genius.” He leans across the bed to grab the journal he bought me and holds it out.
I’m still reeling over the falling in love with a creative genius comment when he flips open the cover to reveal the pen clipped inside. I sit up, take the journal, and tug the pen out. Balancing it on my knee, I pause before I start writing. It almost seems like a crime to write in a journal so beautiful.
Crey doesn’t miss my hesitation and correctly guesses the cause for it. “Sweetheart, she’s making you another half dozen of them, so don’t worry about it. Just write your lyrics.”
Another rush of love sweeps through me, and I scribble for all I’m worth. Word after word, line after line. A song takes shape faster than one ever has before. I shut out the fact that I’m naked, but I don’t shut out the fact that Crey is watching me. I pull creative energy from his presence, and it fuels me on.
I don’t know if it’s been five or fifteen or fifty minutes when I look up, but I suspect it’s somewhere closer to my middle guess. If I’m right, I’ve never written a complete song so fast in my life. And it’s a damn good song too.
The sight that greets me when I look up is also a complete shock—Crey, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly, his eyes intent on me.
“Wha—what are you doing?” I stumble over my words, not because I’m the type to stutter, but because I’m so freaking shocked to see him jacking off to the sight of my naked songwriting.
“That was one of the hottest fucking things I’ve ever seen,” he says.