My eyes widen, and I’m not sure which part of that to address first. Recording our own songs? Going indie? With a big time producer like Brendan Brasher mastering the songs?
Finally, I go with what seems safest. “Your brother didn’t tell you your songs were shit.”
He looks up from his phone and shoots me a grin. “He didn’t have to. I could tell he thought so from his attitude the whole time.” A thoughtful look takes over his face, and he scratches his chin. “Or maybe he just thought I was shit.” With a shrug, he finishes up his message and gives the screen one final, definitive tap. “Either way, neither you nor I nor these songs are shit, and even with bad phone recordings my brother will be able to tell that.” He crawls back on the bed and gives me a kiss. “What do you think?”
Biting my lip, I look into his hopeful eyes. “Let’s do it. Reach out to your brother. Book some studio time. Schedule as many performances as you can. I’m tired of waiting. Let’s take control of our careers instead of hoping we get permission from someone else.”
He takes my lips in a fierce kiss and presses me back on the bed. Hooking one leg over his hip, he drives inside me in one stroke, ending our kiss on a groan. “That’s what I want to hear,” he rasps, his voice dark and gravelly.
His eyes are dark and hooded with lust as he stares into my eyes, rocking into me a few times before pulling out and fishing a condom off the nightstand. Rolling it on, he plunges into me once again, wringing a desperate cry of pleasure out of me.
Our joining is hard and hot and fast, and my orgasm drops on me like a ton of bricks, hitting me with the force of gravity. Colt’s right behind me, pressing me down into the bed, his lips fused to mine. “Too fucking right we’re done waiting,” he says as he peels himself off me. “Let’s do this.”
Colt’s declaration that we’re doing this launches us into another whirlwind of productivity. We spend hours rehearsing together in my apartment, filming take after take of the best songs from our live performance until our voices are raw and raspy and we have to stop and drink tea with lemon and honey.
He relaxes on the couch with me, mug in hand, a tired grin on his face as he lifts his arm for me to settle against his side. We’re both fully clothed, which is rare for us, but since we’ve been filming, clothes are a must. Well, I suppose we could do a naked hits series or something …
“What are you thinking about?” Colt asks, jostling me with his arm to get my attention.
I hold up my mug of tea so I don’t accidentally spill. “Hey!” I protest. “Watch it. This water was boiling not that long ago.”
He chuckles, blowing across the surface of his own mug and taking a sip. “Sorry. Clearly I wasn’t thinking. All this rehearsing and recording and rewatching endless takes has fried my brain.”
Sitting up, I tuck my legs beneath me and lean against the opposite arm of the loveseat so I can face him. “Good thing we’re taking the rest of the night off, then.”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “We are?”
I nod and sip my tea, making a face at the flavor. Tea’s never been my favorite, and I skimped more than I’d like on the honey because calories. But it’s soothing, and if we want to keep working tomorrow, I need it. “We are,” I confirm. “My voice is thrashed, and so is yours, and if we don’t want to end up with nodes, we both need to rest our voices.”
His blue eyes get dark, like a storm coming over an ocean. “So I guess I shouldn’t make you scream when we’re done with our tea?”
An irrepressible shiver of arousal skitters over my body at the sensual promise in his words. “Well …” I hedge, and his soft chuckle is just as wicked as his words.
Adjusting his position, he lands one large, warm hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze and resting it there. “But really. What were you thinking about before?”
I hide my smile in my mug. “How strange it is to be relaxing with you while dressed. But that I’m not sure naked videos are quite what we’re going for. It’s not exactly the right platform, and I’m not sure it’s on brand.”
This time his laughter is warm and amused, but his face grows thoughtful as his fingers draw circles on my kneecap. “Well, we could do it so we’re covered. We both have guitars, after all, and you’re small enough that all the important bits could fit behind it.”
“You too,” I shoot back with an unrepentant grin.
He throws me a glare and an I’m not amused half grin. “Ha. Yes. Me too. I never claimed to be bigger than a guitar body.” He makes a face. “That sounds like it’d be challenging to find someone who’d be willing to take that anyway. I mean, wouldn’t that hurt?”
Choking on my tea, I hold up a hand and wave at him to stop, while I try not to spray tea out my nose. “Oh my god,” I wheeze, trying to catch my breath. “Yes. That would hurt. You’re perfect. I love your dick. It’s the best. Are you reassured now? Can we
