Make a map and show me
Where X marks the spot
Make a map and I’ll be there
I can be caught
Watching his beautiful mouth sing as his nimble fingers played, she couldn’t believe he had this voice, this ability to play a guitar and write an evocative song, on top of everything else he had: beauty, strength, ease, charm, sweetness. Uncommon good fortune.
Beyond a meaningless crown and a bad attitude, what did she have? How could this song be for her, a girl he fucked inside a wine tank?
His eyes lifted to hers.
I found you in the day
Without a star in sight
I need my North Star
Lead me with your light
Please make a map and show me
The way to your heart
Cause you’ve got my map and already
You’ve got a head start
You’ve got a head start
You’ve got a head start
You’ve got my map and already
You’ve got a head start
The bones of his face, she realized staring at him, were actually quite brutal—long nose, high cheekbones, a carved jawline that could cut concrete. It was the tanned, velvety skin, the plush lips and the devoted eyes that made him look...safe. That made him look loving.
“It’s beautiful,” she sighed as the song strummed away, not caring that she sounded like every groupie who would come after her.
“I’ve never written a song that fast before.” His voice rumbled out of him. “I think you’re my muse.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.” He rested his long arms over his guitar. “My North Star.”
She could feel her heartbeat in her fingers and toes as he stared at her. She wanted him to touch her. Instead, he gripped his left forearm with his right hand, and looked down into the shadows between his arms and the guitar.
“I’m not trying to get in your pants again,” he murmured toward his lap. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his arm. “I’ll wait as long as you want to show you—”
She launched off her knees and tackled him, grabbing him by his hair to bring his mouth up to her as the guitar thunked between them.
He grunted in surprise. And then opened for her.
She’d been starving for his mouth, and now it was there, open and talented beneath hers, twisting to give her pleasure. He tasted like pizza and wine and spice, some secret ocean spice she couldn’t get enough of, and she ripped her mouth away to bury her nose in his neck, to greedily inhale what she’d been missing for a week.
“Fuck,” Aish groaned. “Wait...” He had to push her away, his hot hand against her naked shoulder, as he pulled the guitar from between them and propped it against the bed. The instant it was steady, he grabbed as Sofia leapt, falling back among his covers. He caught her head in his big hands and brought her lips back to him, tasting them and then licking inside them, holding her mouth captive for what he wanted to do to it. Sofia had never felt anything better than Aish Salinger’s tongue stroking against hers. But she wanted to feel his fiery heat against her skin. She pushed against his chest, ripped out of his hands until she was upright and straddling him, and whipped her pajama top over her head.
“Jesus,” Aish breathed as he looked up at her. “Jesus.” In her frenzy, Sofia had forgotten that she was self-conscious about the size of her breasts, the small scoop of an A-cup with dark, tight nipples. Now she was in bright, fluorescent barn light, but when she tried to lurch down to him, he pushed her back, a hot hand against her sternum. It felt like he could span her torso if he spread his hand. He stared at her, and she knew she was panting and that her nipples were hard and she made her eyesight go blurry in case there was something awful on his face.
“You’re gonna make me blind,” he said. When she focused on him, he was staring into her eyes. He raised his other hand and lightly stroked his thumb over her nipple. “How do you say star in Spanish?”
“Estrella,” she said, trembling as he continued to stroke her nipple, her body growing wet with the thick feel of him between her thighs.
“Right. Estrella. Mi estrella. You’re so bright I can barely stand to look at you.” He let go and lifted up on his hands so he could tongue at her nipple, sweetly, delicately, making her shiver, before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled closer, brought the heat of him closer to the heart of her. He sucked on her and she buried her fingers in that soft, thick hair, rolled her hips to make him ease the ache.
“Your cock is so hot through your jeans,” she purred into his ear. “Like fire. Mi fuego. Que calor. You’ll burn me up from the inside.”
She bit his ear and he crashed her back on the bed, his weight holding her to the Earth. “Stop it,” he moaned, licking the words out of her mouth. “I’ve listened to Spanish my whole life, but when you speak it, my dick feels like it’s gonna explode.”
She’d never laughed before as she got naked.
He was velvet end-to-end, endlessly long and strong as he stretched over her. But any impulse to laugh ended when he kissed her belly button then determinedly slung her thighs over his shoulders.
She actually squeaked when she looked down, caught the resolute gleam in his eyes as his mouth hovered over her. He was separating her with those long fingers.
“You don’t have to... I don’t...” she murmured. “I’ve never...”
When he smiled and licked his bottom lip, she thought, Maybe I could...
“Tell me what...”
“I don’t know what I like...”
“Wet and tasty, cinnamon-sweet, do you like it like...ungh...”
“It’s never felt like this, I don’t...”
“God yeah, pull my hair, show me...”
“Oooh, there, your tongue, yes, yes, unh...que fuego, demasiado calor...”
“Deep, gonna tongue
