Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos Page 0,29
believe in
I’m the prayer unanswered
The song unremembered
A lyric rewritten and forgotten
I’m a prize for the masses, a hope that shatters
The hero who falls
Beyond the curtain call”
I’m exhausted after the song, but lighter at the same time. Oliver didn’t say anything when I finished, just lifted the guitar from my hands and returned it to the stand with a contented look on his face. Now, we lay on my bed, him on his back, his hands laced behind his head as he stares up at me. I’m on my side, pressed against him, watching my fingers trace lazy circles on his chest. I feel his muscles constrict beneath my touch, see the strain against the fabric of his shirt. Memories of his perfect body burn through my head, triggering an instinctive response that had been dormant over the last few days during my meltdown. Now though, newly freed and fueled by a fresh connection, the fire burns hot again, fierce like it had the first time I saw him in that weight room. He’s been so hesitant with me, though. Careful, as if he’s constantly fighting his own attraction. But something snapped between us just now. A wall fell down and flooded the space with warmth that’s quickly turning incendiary.
My fingers circle a button on his shirt, less innocent than their absent trail a moment ago. I watch them with a steadily increasing pulse, wondering if they’ll be brave. Oliver adjusts slightly, his gaze still locked on me, as if asking the same question. Does he want me to be brave? I want it. To touch him. Badly. His warm skin against my palm, sculpted muscle hardening in my grip. He’d be magnificent to experience.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as my path around the button intensifies. He doesn’t move, waiting. He must know what I want and he’s not stopping me this time. I let my gaze slide over his form stretched out on my bed. Even fully clothed, he’s a masterpiece. I slip open the button.
His chest lifts in a hoarded breath as I slide my fingers into the opening of his shirt. My palm runs over his skin, and my own nipples harden when I graze his. I skim across his left pectoral, down his side until the frustrating pull of fabric stops my progress. My breathing deepens as I unhook another button, and another, and another, until his shirt is only connected by a couple lone holdouts at the bottom. I’ve never had the urge to tear fabric before. Not like now. My hungry gaze studies the newly exposed work of art beneath my fingertips. His gorgeous heart seems to glow through his skin, brightening the tattoo above it. I run my finger over the intricate design, wondering, but too afraid to break the moment with words.
Brother. Friend. The sad, lonely tree.
My gaze tracks up to his eyes, and I almost flinch at the heat there. Passion I’ve seen before, but never unchecked like it is now. Passion I could have if I want it, and I want it so much it hurts.
I straighten enough to pull my top over my head, loving the way his eyes devour me. In this moment, I feel like more than enough. Like I’m everything to him, the gem he sees in the mirror. I lean forward and test his lips with my finger, soft and full, but most importantly, willing this time. The fire inside burns hotter.
His eyes still hold mine, curious and heated. Even as his body betrays him, he holds back, restraining his desire—his power—for me to direct. I see it in the expansion of his biceps with the clench of his fists, the contraction of his sculpted abs as he controls each breath. He’s a man with exquisite self-control and poise. I imagine him on the ice, staring down opponents with violent precision. He’s a predator trained as prey, and in that moment, I understand why he’s an elite goalie—and the tempering effect of sisters he adores. Yes, Oliver Levesque is an enigma, a complex blend of power and grace, brutality and softness, and right now in the chaos of my storm, my desire for him is the only certain thing in my life.
I lean down and brush his lips with mine, loving how it only sparks a more dangerous explosion. Because soon my hands are in his hair, my leg sliding over his body to straddle him for better access. He meets my kiss with