Time slowed. Was it just in my mind or did his tone change when he said my name? Almost like a bit of a Scottish burr came through and he rolled the r just a little and lingered over the s. As if he was caressing my name with his tongue. Or was that just wishful thinking?
I blew out my breath, trying to slow my runaway pulse. I wanted to look at him so bad, but at the same time, I was scared of what I might see in his eyes. That there might be too much there and the others would notice. Or worse… indifference.
Arms wrapped around my shoulder and lips smacked against my temple, knocking me back to reality. “We did it!” Smith’s jubilant shout nearly took out my left eardrum.
I grinned at his contagious enthusiasm and returned his hug, pushing thoughts of Laird aside and allowing the news to sink in fully. I’d done it. I’d fucking done it. “I told you we would on the first day. Never a doubt.” My feet barely touched the ground the rest of practice, I was floating so high. A female snare would march in Rodner Stadium in two days, under the floodlights and with forty-thousand Shark fans watching.
I didn’t let Willa’s whining at being paired with me instead of Laird for the second song faze me. Not even when she let the cymbal drop too low for the third time in a dozen measures. For the next two hours, my cloud of happiness was impenetrable.
As I put up my drum after practice while solidifying plans for celebratory pizza with Smith, the sudden weight of Laird’s presence behind me, heavy and unmistakable, hijacked my train of thought, and I dropped my stick bag twice. My lungs struggled to suck in enough air.
“She’ll catch up with you in a few minutes, Smith. I need to talk with her about her timing during the first song before she leaves.”
My spine snapped straight and twin spots of fury darkened my cheeks. There was nothing wrong with my playing and being called out like that in front of everyone? Oh, hell no.
I whirled around to defend myself but stopped short when I saw his eyes. So many things flickered through his green irises. Confusion, hurt, desire, impatience. His fingers pulled at the hem of the Rodner Sharks shirt he’d put back on, and he stole a look at the time on his phone as if annoyed that it was taking everyone more than eight minutes to pack away their equipment.
My stomach churned with twenty-foot waves of turmoil as Charlie, Cade, and Smith headed toward the door, the last ones to leave.
Silence fell.
Unsure of where we stood on a personal level, I shifted my weight and twirled a drumstick in my right hand, letting the polished hickory tumble through my fingers in a practiced blur.
He took a step forward, halving the distance between us.
“There was nothing wrong with my stick work today.” I couldn’t hold that in any longer.
“No, there wasn’t.”
His easy agreement gave me pause and the drumstick fell to the floor when my fingers lost the rhythm. I bent over to pick it up, and he groaned behind me.
“I’ve missed you, Reese.” His voice was rough and deep, quieter than before. “And I want to apologize again for fucking up last Saturday.”
I straightened cautiously, knowing I needed to choose my words with care. He’d moved again, so close I could touch him or he could touch me if one of us reached out the slightest bit. “Look, Laird, maybe it’s a good thing we’ve been busy. That we’ve been forced to slow down the last few days. Because the way things were headed…”
I trailed off at the blazing heat in his gaze as it slid down my body. It screamed the opposite of slow.
“Yeah. About that.” And then his lips covered mine in a hungry swoop, one palm cradling my neck while the other supported the small of my back. I responded immediately, no pretense, no trying to push him away. My mouth clung to his as he tasted me urgently, his lips searching for the best angle to claim me.
I sighed into his mouth, and he took swift advantage of the opportunity, his tongue slipping in to tangle hotly with mine. My hands, still holding the drumsticks, fisted the cotton of his shirt for balance as the force of his kiss arched my back over his arm. Because of my height, most guys in my past hadn’t been able to manipulate my body this easily, but with Laird, I felt small and delicate in the best way possible. Like there was no safer place than his arms because he’d never let me fall. I melted against him, answering each slide of his lips, each parry of his tongue with one of my own.
He moved us deeper into the room as he devoured my mouth, until we were tucked away behind the large floor to ceiling cabinets in the far corner, my back against the cool, painted concrete-block wall. His hand slid around the front of my neck, dropping lower until his thumb toyed with my hard nipple. I trembled beneath his teasing touch.
“Tell me you don’t want this.” Hot breath fanned over my cheek. “Tell me your heart isn’t racing as fast as mine.”
His hand shifted until the flutter of my pulse against his palm was unmistakable. He tugged one of my arms from around his waist, pried my drumsticks free, and pressed my shaking hand to his chest, where his heart pounded the same rapid tempo as mine.
“Tell me to stop,” he dared me.
I couldn’t. I was drowning in the incandescence of his hungry eyes, the heat of his embrace, the intensity of his blunt words. He caged me between the wood cabinets and the unforgiving wall, but I didn’t feel trapped. I felt alive, bright and shiny and ripe in the way only Laird Bronson could evoke. I drew my hands down his chest and slipped my fingers under the edge of his shirt, needing to ground myself with his solidness.
“Laird,” I breathed.
And that was all it took. His name. His eyes blazed and his mouth captured mine in a fiery kiss, while the hand holding the drumsticks lowered until I felt the gentle pressure of solid wood nudging between my thighs. With only a thin pair of shorts and my damp panties blocking him, the soft friction he started as he slid the sticks back and forth had me grinding against him, wanting more of his sweet brand of torture.
“I’ve got you, Reese.” He spoke against my jaw, his mouth nibbling a path to my ear and then down my neck. He nipped the sensitive skin and I shuddered, my nails digging into his muscled back. Laird braced himself with his free hand against the wall, while the other continued the onslaught between my legs. He used the unevenness of the drumstick heads to rub circles around my clit with a teasing lightness that drove me wild. Pleasure began to coil slowly, my breath escaping in jagged puffs as it built.
I pushed my face into his shoulder to muffle my soft cry while my hips rocked in counterpoint to his strokes, seeking more pressure. One of my hands dipped between us, cupping his hardness through his gym shorts. He throbbed as my grip traveled to the base of his dick and squeezed.
Two could play this game.
He growled and sucked the tender flesh on the side of my neck, using the edge of his teeth to scrape my skin. The hand holding the drumsticks moved faster but not harder. I bent my knees, trying to force the issue, and matched his technique, stroking him quickly but softly.
The drumsticks fell to the floor with a dull clatter on the cheap carpet, and his thick fingers replaced the lifeless wood. “I love how greedy you are.” His lips tickled my ear as he whispered the words. I slid my hand along his forearm, reveling in the way his muscles flexed as he touched me. I never wanted him to stop touching me. He cupped me with his hand and ground the heel of his palm against my clit, finding a rhythm that drew the coil even tighter, and I squeezed his hip in response as his name fell like a plea from my parted lips.
“Nothing better.” His pace increased, and one finger pressed up against the thin fabric. I knew he could feel my wetness right through it. I was soaked. “Nothing better than you saying my name.”
The edges of my vision blurred. Everything ceased to exist beyond his hand and the hot, achy anticipation building higher and higher. I was so close. I whimpered, my thighs shaking. He moved impossibly faster, and I bit his shoulder, hard enough that it’d probably leave a mark, but I didn’t care. Those perfect fingers stroked and twisted, and then he pinched my nipple, the sudden sting of it snapping the coil, sending me spiraling into my luminous release while I clenched his hand between my thighs. My toes curled inside my shoes, and no air left my lungs as a soundless moan pushed past my swollen lips. I trembled in his arms as I flew to the stars and back, weightless but unbearably heavy at the same time, while he held me close, supporting me when my legs threatened to give out.