Before & After - Nazarea Andrews Page 0,19

around her waist and pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck. I inhale the scent of her and get a quick peek at the computer screen, the words blurring as she closes it quickly and turns in my arm, her lips lifting up and finding mine. I smile against her as her fingers dig into my scalp and she shivers a little as I lick across her lips before pulling back.

“What do monkeys wear when they cook?”

Her eyes brighten and one corner of her lips hooks up into a grin. “I don’t know. What?”

“An ape-ron.” I deadpan and she laughs.

I lean in and steal another kiss, desperate for the taste of her laugh.

Peyton always tastes sweet and light, almost addictive, but when she’s laughing, it’s more than that—it’s like drinking down sunshine, and I can’t resist that. She sighs a little and I swallow my groan as I pull away from her, licking my lips to catch the last bit of her taste.

“Are you staying for the whole set?” I ask huskily.

She shrugs, her shoulders bare and delicate above a little tank top that makes me itch to pull it off of her. “Depends on how adoring your fans get.”

I bite down on the acidic response that wants to rise. I haven’t touched a girl—haven’t even looked at one—since before that first night that I talked to her. It’s been hell to listen to Scott fucking girls at the loft while I sat with my hard-on and fantasies of her lips around me. But I hadn’t touched them and I hadn’t pushed her for the more I knew she’d willingly give. Because there were too many secrets between us still.

“What are you working on?” I ask abruptly and her eye widen. Shutter. Block me out, and even though I expect it, it still fucking hurts.

She sees it and reaches for me. “Jokes.”

I pull back and shake my head. “This won’t work if we refuse to trust each other,” I say and her eyes flare with hurt and denial. I hate seeing that look in her eyes. But I bite back the apology and step back, toward the stage.

I want her to stop me. To explain. She doesn’t, and with a sigh, I return to Scott. Slip behind my drum set and sprawl on the stool. “I need to get fucked,” I grit out.

His eyes widen, and I know what he’s thinking. That it’s a bad idea, that I’ll hate myself for it later, that I’m self-sabotaging.

But he doesn’t say any of those things. He just nods at me and kicks off the set, and I follow him on the drums.

And I know that a pretty girl who looks nothing like Peyton will fall asleep in my bed tonight, after my best friend and I fuck her for hours.

If I know him at all, he’s already picked her.

Chapter 10: After

I want to drown myself in you,

consume your soul,

until there is no you. no me.

only us.

(Rike’s poems to Peyton)

The phone is sitting on the table in front of me, and I twitch, smoothing my pants down. Again. I should have set this up for anywhere but here. It occurs to me now, when it’s too late to do anything to fix it.

I let out an unsteady breath and push my hair back. Stare at the phone. He hasn’t called to cancel, so I have to assume he’s coming.

I almost scream when the knock on the door comes, even though I’m expecting it. Waiting on it. It still startles me. I shift and wheel my chair to the door and pull it open.

Rike is standing there, and for just a moment we stare at each other. His eyes are desperate and alive with hunger, raking over me.

When Rike looks at me, it’s not just seeing. He devours me with his gaze, claiming every inch of me, a familiarity that hasn’t made sense. It does now, and I feel the press of his gaze on my bare toes, up over my legs and still healing body, lingering a moment on my breasts, and finally, coming to meet my own gaze. It’s invasive, like a touch, and I want to be bothered by it more than I am. I want to slap him into submission, want to remind him that I’m not his to look at that way. But instead, I flush, and almost purr, blossoming under the scrutiny.

“Come in,” I say, and he takes a step into the room. If I were