Muses and Melodies (Hush Note Book 3)

by Rebecca Yarros

  “Yes, please.” I was going to combust right here in this chair.

  “Which one?”

  “All,” I managed to say. “All of it. Yes.”

  “Thank God,” he muttered, then kissed me hard and deep.

  I looped my arms around his neck and held tight as he stood, helping me to my feet. He took my mouth with sure, rhythmic thrusts of his tongue, mimicking exactly what we were headed for, and my body liquified.

  “I want you in my bed the first time,” he said against my mouth.

  “The first time?”

  “And maybe the second, even the third.” He kissed me between words as we stumbled out of the dining room and up the wide staircase. The moving part was all him, I was too busy kissing him back, unleashing the need I’d kept such tight reins on, to notice where my feet went.

  We made it to the landing of the staircase before he gripped my ass and lifted me into his arms. I locked my ankles around his waist and kept kissing him, groaning at the taste of orange soda and Nixon as he carried us up the remaining stairs and into his bedroom.

  I felt the bed at my back and unhooked my ankles, kicking off my slippers in the process. I should have worn better underwear. Should have broken out some explicit lingerie—not that I owned any. Nixon didn’t seem to mind as he yanked his shirt off and slid over me, bringing his hips to rest in the cradle of my thighs.

  I raised my arms, and he did the rest, sending my shirt to join his on the floor.

  “Lace.” He palmed my breasts, then lowered his head and sucked my nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue as he held it gently between his teeth. I gasped, spearing my fingers into his hair as he moved to my other breast and did the same.

  His hand slid beneath my back, and my bra came undone. It landed somewhere to the left.

  “God, you’re gorgeous.” From the look in his eyes, he meant it. There was only appreciation and hunger in his gaze.

  “You are,” I said, my voice thin as I trailed my fingers across his shoulders.

  He flashed me a wicked grin, then kissed a path across my breasts, taking his time with each peak as I arched beneath him. Then he moved down my body, stroking the curve of my waist with his hands, moving to my hips and thighs.

  His eyes met mine in unspoken question, and I lifted my hips with a nod.

  He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my pants, then drew them down my legs, leaving me in nothing but my underwear.

  “I’m going to devour you,” he promised with a hand on each of my thighs.

  “Only if you do it without your pants on.” I eyed his gray sweatpants and arched a brow. “Equal footing, remember?”

  He doubled down, taking off everything. Sweet Lord, he was a masterpiece. The weight he’d picked up in the last few months showed in every line of his muscles, to include the curve of a really nice ass. His abs weren’t just lean anymore, they were stacked, roped, tapering into a V that made my mouth water, and strong thighs—and whoa. Yeah, he was perfect everywhere.

  My gaze flew to his.

  “Now you have the advantage.” He parted my thighs.

  “I’d say you’re working with a pretty nice advantage yourself.” I lifted my knee, running it along the outside of his thigh.

  He laughed softly, dipping to kiss the inside of that knee, then slowly, methodically worked his way up the inside of my thigh. My breaths grew choppier with each inch he gained. At this rate, I’d be hyperventilating before he even got me naked.

  “So soft,” he said against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

  My hips rolled, urging him higher.

  Again, his eyes met mine, and I nodded, arching so he could remove the last scrap of fabric between us. My thong hit the floor, and a heartbeat later, his mouth was between my thighs, his fingers parting me wide for his tongue.

  “Nixon!” My fingers clutched at the covers, gathering fistfuls of fabric as my anchor. His mouth drove me higher, the pleasure so intense I gasped for every breath.

  “I could stay here all night.” He hooked my knees over his shoulders like he was going to do exactly that, then proceeded to push me to the edge of madness, licking and sucking at me until I was on the verge of orgasm, then backing down until I caught my breath.

  “Nixon,” I begged, rocking my hips as I rode that edge of knife-sharp pleasure, the tension inside me coiled almost painfully tight.

  “Zoe,” he replied, swirling his tongue around my clit, then stabbing deep.

  “Please!” I arched.

  “Did you want something?” He swirled again, and I whimpered.

  “You know what I want!”

  “What was that?” He gave me another long lick, and my hips bucked. “You taste so damned good.”

  “Nixon!” He really was going to keep me here, on the verge but not over it. If there was control to be had between us, he held it all, and the way he locked eyes with me, holding my stare as he flicked his tongue across my clit, told me he knew it. “Let me come!”

  Hunger so deep it bordered on ravenous filled his gaze as he sucked my clit between his lips and used that tongue to catapult me into the hardest orgasm of my life. I screamed—it might have been his name—as the first wave crashed over me, unleashing the tension he’d so carefully built. Again and again, it crested, lessening in intensity each time as he worked me down, until I was finally limp.

  Then he started again.

  It came quickly this time, the pleasure spiraling to a breaking point. I needed him inside me, needed him to feel the same way I did right now. “Nixon, I want you.”

  “You have me.”

  “I. Want. You.” I tangled my fingers in his hair, tugging lightly.

  He groaned, then prowled up my body. “Are you sure?” Every line of his body was taut, the muscles of his shoulders rock hard as he waited for my answer.

  “More than sure.” My hands slid down the powerful ridges of his back.

  He nodded, then reached into his nightstand and brought back a foil packet. “I’m clean,” he promised. “I get tested every—”

  I kissed him quiet. I didn’t want to think about the reasons behind that testing—of how many women had come before me…would come after me. “I trust you.” I did. I’d spent every day of the last few months with him. He’d never intentionally hurt me.

  Unintentionally…well, that was an inevitability.

  He nodded and ripped the packet open, then slid the condom on with practiced ease.

  “And I’m clean too,” I blurted, my nerves getting the best of me as he positioned himself at my entrance.

  “I figured.” A smile ghosted his lips.

  “And on birth control.” God, he was right there.

  “I know.”

  “You know?” My hips rolled.

  He hissed, moving his hand to hold the curve of that hip. “I’ve seen the pills when we travel.”

  “I just made this awkward, didn’t I?” I cupped the side of his beautiful face and skimmed his lower lip with my thumb.

  He nipped the flesh lightly. “You couldn’t make it awkward if you tried. I want you too badly, just the way you are.”

  “Good.” I melted from the inside out, my muscles relaxing beneath his rigid frame.

  “Tell me you’re sure,” he demanded.

  “I’m sure. I want you. I want this.” I arched up and kissed him, rocking gently.

  “Zoe,” he groaned, flexing his hips and sinking into me inch by inch.

  I gasped as he filled me, stretching me tight until his hips met mine.

  “Holy fucking shit.” He panted against my lips, holding himself completely still within me, giving my body time to adjust to his size. “Zoe. I don’t even have words for the way you feel.”

  “I know.” He summed it up perfectly. There were no words for this, no way to describe the incredible feel of him inside me.

  I moved, and he took the hint, withdrawing, only to drive inside me again.

  We both moaned.


  His hips started a slow, deep rhythm I answered with my own as we came together again and again. Each thrust was better, sweeter, harder than the last.

  I was never going to get enough of this.

  He drove us toward that peak with steady intent, and even when I urged him to take me faster, he just grinned and drove deeper, adjusting the angle so I felt him in every nerve, every cell in my body.

  Only when my thighs began to tighten again did he pick up the pace, watching me with an intensity that pushed me higher, faster.

  “Nixon.” I clutched at his shoulders as I felt that familiar spiral of pleasure coming undone.

  “I love how you say my name.” He swung his hips faster, harder.

  I love you. I barely managed to keep the words behind my teeth as he reached between us and pushed me over the edge with his fingers.

  I flew, chanting his name as the orgasm pulsed through me in waves of color, but nothing compared to the look in his eyes as he watched me.

  “Zoe,” he whispered as he let go, chasing his own release with wild abandon, following me over before I’d completely come down.

  He collapsed, and I held him, savoring his weight, his gasping breaths against my neck, the shudders that wracked us both as we struggled to recover.

  Within a few breaths, he rolled us to the side, locking his thigh over mine and cradling the back of my head as our breathing slowed and heart rates lowered.

  “I think I might be dead,” he said a few moments later, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

  “Really?” I leaned back enough to lift my eyebrows at him. “Shame. I remember you saying something about a shower.”

  His grin was completely and utterly wicked. He carried me to the shower, and we started all over again. Who needed sleep?

  14

  NIXON

  I slept. Holy shit, I slept.

  The sun streamed through my bedroom window as my eyes opened, and a quick glance at my phone confirmed it. I’d slept through the whole night.

  No nightmares.

  No insomnia.

  Just Zoe.

  Zoe, who was still asleep in my arms, her back tucked up against me, and the sweet little curve of her ass pressed up against my dick, who agreed this was the best way to wake up.

  Not now, I told the unruly bastard. I’d been inside her three times last night, and she needed a hot minute to recover. I’d never been with a woman I wanted more the morning after than the night before, but here I was, fighting off the craving to take her again.

  The sun shimmered through her hair, dancing over every shade of red like a living flame as I slid my hand from beneath the silken strands. So soft. Everything about her was so damned soft.

  She was my opposite in every way. It went far past comparing the contrast of my inked hands on her flawless skin, or even the supple curves of her body to the hard planes of mine. Her heart and her mind were wide open, where mine were locked away for the safety of the general public. Her past was all picket fences, where mine was barbed wire. Her family was a step away from a sitcom, where mine wasn’t even suitable for HBO. She was diligent and goal-oriented, where my work ethic ebbed and flowed with the tide of my moods. She was as constant as the North Star, and I was fickle on my best days. She was my better in every single way.

  The only place we matched was in the bedroom—or the shower, to be fair. Hopefully, I’d get to test that theory later in the kitchen, the dining room…the list of places I wanted her was endless. Here, we were more than just compatible. I’d never lost myself in someone the way I had with Zoe last night. Never cared more about someone else’s pleasure than my own. Never spent the night sober, that was for sure.

  And yet, while that same fire of need was churning through me, demanding I wake her up with another orgasm or two, my heart was at peace just holding her.

  At peace.

  There was nothing more I wanted in this moment than the soothing fire of this woman.

  The sweet feeling of contentment swelled in my chest and melody came alive in my head, a yearning that transformed into gratitude. I pressed a light kiss to her bare shoulder, then slid out of bed as quietly as possible, grabbing my pants off the floor so I wouldn’t wake her with the sound of the dresser drawers shutting.

  Then I took my acoustic to the sunroom and settled into the song.

  Apparently, I’d found my muse.

  “What did you think?” I asked Jonas two weeks later, once I’d worked up the guts to email him the rough cut of “Merciful Fire.”

  “It’s good. Really good. Your hat is right there, honey—” I heard shuffling in the background as he helped his daughter.

  “Go sled. This can wait.” I was good with any reason that delayed this conversation, which was a first. Usually, I shared my music with zero reservations, but this one was different.

  “No, I’m here. We’re still waiting for Kira. Plus, I’m slightly afraid that if I hang up, it will be weeks until I hear from you again,” he added with no small note of censure.

  “Sorry. I’ll be better about picking up the phone,” I promised. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to my friends as much as I felt like I was different here—Nixon 2.0—and I was just as apprehensive of the change as I was protective of it.

  “Yeah, right. So, what does Zoe think?”

  I took him off speakerphone and lifted the phone to my ear, then leaned around the wall of the living room to make sure she was still engrossed in whatever contract she was currently negotiating.

  “Nix?”

  I sighed. “She hasn’t heard it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” I dropped onto the couch and stared out at the snow-covered Rockies. We’d gotten about a foot last night.

  “But…it’s about her, right?” he guessed, his tone dropping slightly.

  “Maybe,” I admitted gruffly.

  “Nixon, we’ve been friends for a long time, and unless you’re hiding a whole collection of sh—crap somewhere that I don’t know about, you’ve never written a song for a woman.”

  Silence filled the line.

  “Can I take that as a confirmation?” he asked.

  “Not if you’re going to get pissed.” I let my head fall back on the cushions.

  “I’m not. I just thought you didn’t…play with women on our staff,” he said slowly.

  “Play.” I scoffed at the way he flipped the language around just because he was a dad now. “Yeah, well, I’m not playing. Not with her. It’s…” Serious. Addictive. Perfect. Infuriating. More necessary than air. “It’s complicated.”

  “You’re telling me you wrote that song and you’re not playing?”

  “If you’re asking if I’m sleeping with her, then that’s none of your business.” What was between Zoe and me was private. It had been two weeks of easy, open communication, no fighting, and the most mind-blowing sex of my life.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “Daddy!” I heard Vivi exclaim.

  “Don’t repeat that to Mommy,” Jonas begged.

  “Mommy already heard!” Kira’s voice came through loud and clear. “Hi, Nixon.”

  “Tell Kira I said hi.”

  “He says hi,” Jonas muttered. “Look, I’m trying not to be that guy, when you’re obviously happy—”

  “Then don’t,” I countered. “She’s only on staff for the next two months. Once we’re through the Houston show, she’s leaving the Hush Note account and taking on her own bands.”

  “Oh.” His tone changed completely. “Good for her.”

  “Yeah. She works really hard. She deserves it.”

  “She does. And when you need advice, call.” There was some more shuffling and the sound of a door opening.

  “What makes you think I’ll need advice?”

  “Given what I saw at the Tacoma show, I think it’s safe to say that this is the longest relationship you’ve ever had—”

  “It’s not a re—” Shit, it so was a relationsh
ip.

  “And there’s bound to be a few struggles when she’s no longer assigned to be at your beck and call. She’s not like one of the girls milling around the dressing rooms, Nix.”

  “I know that!” I snapped.

  “Good. I gotta go, but you should play her the song. It’s pretty fu—phenomenal.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up with him just as Zoe walked in. She was in jeans and one of my hoodies—which hit her low on the thigh. Relaxation looked good on both of us. “All finished?”

  I sat up, tossing my phone on the coffee table to free up my hands. I’d learned fast that she was hands-off during the workday, but once she got through her daily to-do list, which was longer than my yearly one, it was play time.

  “Yep,” she said, flipping through the letters in her hands as she came closer. “Just going through today’s mail. Nothing big. Looks like just a few bills.” Her brow puckered. “This is weird.” That was saying something considering she’d been responsible for quite a few unsavory pieces of my mail in the last few months.

  “What?” I asked, gripping her hips and pulling her toward me. Everything could wait. I needed to hear her scream my name again in this room. The acoustics were incredible.

  “It’s from a law firm, but it’s addressed to you.” She flipped the envelope over, showing the forwarding sticker that brought it here. “Did you get sued again?”

  “That was one time, and it was bullshit.”

  She lifted her eyebrows at me. “You spray painted that woman’s house.”

  “True, but in my defense, I thought it was mine. And I was twenty-three. And drunk.” I leaned back and tilted my head to see the return address.

  “I’m not sure that makes it any better,” she teased.

  Howell and Johnson, Attorneys at Law. My stomach fell out. It’s not him, just a letter. Not him. Not him.

  “Have you ever been sued for paternity?”

  But it was in her hands, a thin layer of paper away from touching her—affecting and infecting her.