Page 44 of Last Chorus (A Perfect Song Duet #2)
CHAPTER FORTY
wilder
T he piano bench creaks as I sit with a huff and check my watch for the tenth time in the last five minutes. Unfortunately, I’m once again shown that my racing thoughts haven’t affected the rotation of the planet, which continues at a snail’s pace.
What the hell is taking so long?
Before leading the people I roped into Evangeline’s first birthday surprise to five different, memorable-to-us areas on the property, I made sure they knew to keep each visit to ten minutes or less.
Matt texted me over two hours ago when he saw her approaching him from the house, but I haven’t heard from anyone else.
Has she seen Martin yet? Rye and Lily? Her mom and Hunter? My parents ?
Unable to stay still, I spring to my feet and start pacing again.
If all she had to eat was the muffin I left for her, she’s likely starving by now. I should have had everyone give her little snacks instead of flowers. Or flowers first, then a snack when they gave her the next clue.
Pausing near a couch, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and groan. Maybe this was a bad idea. Just because she used to never shut up about her dad’s scavenger hunts as a kid doesn’t mean they’re still important to her.
I should have stuck with French toast and orgasms for her birthday morning and kept with my original plan of a surprise dinner party tonight. The party is still happening, but at this point I won’t have enough time to make the focaccia from scratch.
Five minutes later, I’ve walked around the studio another few times, reworked the grocery order in my head, and am halfway through scripting an apology for fucking up her birthday when the door of the studio swings open.
My stomach does a backflip.
I spin around.
The first thing I notice are the flowers I cut this morning, now an impressive bouquet. Then I see her teary, mismatched eyes. Finally, I take in her bright, gorgeous smile.
Air rushes from my lungs. Relief turns my legs viscous, gluing me to the floor.
“Happy birthday, Fairy,” I croak.
Evangeline closes the door, then sets down the bouquet and a small stack of yellow sticky notes. As she walks toward me, her smile softens, changes, until it’s my smile .
She’s every sunset and sunrise.
Moonlight on a moving river.
Wind in a desert canyon.
Music on the precipice of sleep.
When she jumps into my arms koala-style, I catch her with an “ooof” that makes her giggle. She peppers kisses all over my face, then hugs the shit out of me.
“Thank you, Wilder. It was perfect. I love you so much. You did so, so good.”
Warm, fuzzy bliss spreads through me. Melts my anxiety. Relaxes my muscles.
Huh. Guess I’m a praise princess, too.
“Isn’t that my line?” I rumble.
Her smile curves against my ear. “Not this time. Carry me to the couch, please.”
There’s a rasp in her tone that my body hears before my ears, sending a rush of blood south. I do as I’m told, dropping onto the cushions with her in my lap. She makes soft, happy sounds as she trails hot kisses over my throat.
When her hips start to move, I groan and grab her waist. “While I’m completely on board with this, I want to make sure you?—”
“Yes, Wilder.” Her kisses move over my jaw toward my mouth. “I know there are eight people waiting for us at the house. Our dads are making lunch for everyone, but we should probably hurry.”
“Say no more.”
Our lips brush, smiles meeting. Despite our words, our kiss begins softly, slowly. A tender exploration sprinkled with sighs. But when our tongues touch, fire meets oxygen.
We ignite.
My jeans are unzipped, my cock seized by strong, delicate fingers.
I pull off her baggy shirt, then tug the cups of her bra down to expose her breasts.
The decision backfires, immediately distracting me from my primary purpose.
I twist us to the side and lower her to the couch, then shimmy down to feast on her nipples.
I barely get a taste before she tugs my head up. Blinking in confusion, I take in her glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips that curve into a knowing smile as I watch .
“Inside me. Now. Kiss me as you fuck me hard and fast.”
I surge upward, claiming her lips. She opens to give me her tongue.
I suck on it, swallowing her thready moan as I fumble for the waist of her cotton bike shorts.
She tries to help, lifting her hips so I can pull them down, but ends up almost kneeing me in the balls.
Her gasp and my chuckle are joined by the sound of cotton tearing.
“Oops,” I mumble, tugging the now-loose fabric away from her body.
She fists my hair. Kisses me harder. Writhes beneath me, soft and warm and silky. Her legs frame my hips.
We move like music. We are music. Mesmerizing and melodic, electric and haunting. Transcendent.
As I sink inside her, I surrender myself to our song. To her. Only now when I give her all of me, she gives me all of her in return.
Every note, breath, and word.
Intro to outro.
First verse to last chorus.