Lyric & the Heartbeats

by Kole, Lana

  By the time the last note of the encore cut off, her vocal cords hurt and her feet ached, but god—she’d never felt anything like it.

  After years of dreaming of writing her own songs, of performing her own music, she’d finally gotten the chance. Then she’d dreamed of playing it live—of touring and sharing her music all over the country.

  At one point, she’d feared her dreams were nothing but petty wishes for a different life. Futile. Pointless.

  But as she waved to the crowd, their shouts deafening, and exited the stage only after the others had gone… she finally recognized it was real.

  Her chest ached.

  I did it.

  Happiness inflated her chest and pushed out all the oxygen until she struggled to take a breath.

  Emerson had been the last to exit the stage before her, and he turned around, the smile and words dying on his lips as he studied her. She didn’t know what he saw on her face, only that she didn’t want him to.

  “I need a minute,” she told him, and cut behind him to escape the busyness of backstage.

  She unwrapped the monitor cords from around her neck and unclipped the pack from the back of her pants. No one stopped her on her chase for oxygen in the air as she hunted for the exit door.

  Dull red lights and big blocky letters spelled her rescue, and she shoved on the push bar violently, needing an outlet for all the emotion thrumming in her veins.

  It didn’t help. But the blissful cool night air rushing over her, chilling the sweat on her skin, did.

  Quickly, she glanced around to make sure she wasn’t about to be mauled by crazed fans, and her shoulders relaxed a bit as she surveyed the empty loading area. The giant black and silver boxes that housed the plexiglass panels acted as a barrier, and Lyric breathed a sigh of relief as she ducked behind them. Those were the last to be loaded, so she had time before someone discovered her.

  Planting her hands on her waist, she paced a quick trail tucked behind a set of the giant boxes. The small but open space made her feel safe, and even though she could barely see the stars in the sky above, she was surrounded on all but one side, so no one would be sneaking up on h—

  “What are you doing?” a deep voice rumbled.

  She released a sharp squeak and spun around, the surprise on her face morphing to annoyance in a split second. Emerson.

  “I needed a minute,” she repeated, crossing her arms.

  Emerson mimicked her stance, testing the limits of his button-up as the muscles in his upper arms flexed. His forearms were bared by the rolled up cuffs.

  Maybe they needed to order him a larger size. Yes. Larger would definitely be be—

  “Why are you glaring at me?” she hissed as her gaze returned to his for a split second before she avoided his gaze again, cheeks flushing with heat that had nothing to do with the exertion of dancing around on stage.

  His features relaxed and he dropped his arms. “What’s wrong?”

  Lyric released her posture too and shook out her hands. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  His eyes bored into hers until she spoke again. “Being on stage—it was just a lot and I didn’t want to sit in the green room. I’m—”

  “Keyed up?” he supplied softly.

  Lyric cocked her head to the side, hands dropping to her hips as she considered his words. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it! I feel like I could run ten miles or write an entirely new album or—what are you doing?” she questioned as he stepped forward.

  Emerson didn’t stop until he was directly before her. She had to crank her neck back to look up at him, and something about his gaze made her want to squirm.

  She was pinned in, those big metal boxes stacked to her right and behind Emerson, the only exit to her left, a gap between the wall and the next stack of packing equipment.

  “Breathe,” he murmured softly, and her lungs inflated before she even knew she was following his order.

  Oh no, bad idea.

  With him so close, and his skin still damp with sweat from the show, his scent filled her lungs and fogged her brain in a way she hadn’t ever experienced. It was like a rainstorm full of danger and electricity, and she was afraid she was about to get shocked.

  “Now tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

  Her lips parted on demand, as if he had more control over her brain to body function than she did. “It’s my mom,” she began. And then it all came tumbling out. “Because of her, I never ever thought I’d be writing my own songs, let alone recording and releasing them. But I just stepped off that stage. After playing for thousands of people who came to see me. Who came to hear me sing and perform and play the songs they loved so much they had to come hear them live. I did that. Me. And I feel so fucking… powerful,” she explained, palms spreading wide to emphasize the word. Her eyes grew even wider at her admission, arms falling to her sides. A slow smile spread across her lips. “I, an omega, did th—”

  Emerson threaded his arms beneath hers, wrapping them around her waist and pulling her up against him. He ate the smile and the words from her mouth as he tugged and sipped from her lips.

  Oh, god.

  The only two words she was capable of manifesting repeated in her mind like a mantra as she kissed him back. Lyric reached her hands up, framing his face before scratching lightly down his neck to knot themselves in his long hair.

  His hand at her lower back was like a brand, and it burned hotter as he pressed her harder against him. Against her navel, she felt the solid length of his erection. Then she was moving—no, Emerson was moving her. The brick wall was a cool pressure against her back compared to the heat burning between her and Emerson. His hands framed her hips before they drifted over the strip of flesh bared between the band of her high waisted stage pants and the hem of her cropped shirt.

  The top was built as a two-piece bralette with loose hanging fabric for the shirt, and it would be so easy for him to just slip his hands under the hem and—

  She whimpered as he read her god damned mind and the heat of his palms slid under the fabric to cover her breasts. Pleasure sparked out from her nipples to throb between her legs as he teased them against his rough palms.

  He groaned deep in his chest but swallowed the sound along with her own needy whine. His teeth nipped hard at her lower lip and dropped south, flicking the button on her pants and sliding the zipper down.

  Against her body’s needy demand, she covered his hands with her own and tore her lips away.

  “Henry said no sex,” she blurted, every cell in her body cursing her for stopping.

  His harsh breaths puffed against her cheek and he pressed a soft kiss there. “Henry said no sex on the bus. Does this look like the bus to you?”

  A giggle almost snuck past her lips, and she rolled her head to look up at him. “Well… no.”

  His hair was long and wild from where her fingers had ruffled it. She felt wild, too.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.” The answer tripped from her lips faster than she could catch it, and when his mouth slammed down onto hers again, she realized she didn’t want to catch it. No, she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to chase this goddamned high all the way to the finish line.

  Emerson had her pants undone and his hand inside the waistband in moments, and Lyric couldn’t have done a damned thing to stop the needy, high-pitched cry that burst from her lips and into their kiss as he slid two fingers against her clit and rubbed.

  A dark, delicious chuckle shook Emerson’s chest, and he reached one hand up to cover her mouth. He pressed just hard enough so she could feel the bite of the brick behind her.

  “You should rest your vocal cords,” he murmured dangerously, lips trailing up the side of her neck. “Besides, we don’t want anyone to find us, right?”

  Lyric nodded clumsily as best as she could, and when she couldn’t move enough to get her point across, she licked his palm sweetly. Emerson leaned away from her neck to stare down at her, and the smirky grin on his
face turned her into a puddle in his arms.

  Her hips rolled into his touch, signaling for more when she realized he’d only bound her voice, not her hands.

  She dropped her hands to his waistband, drifting her fingertips over his abs, memorizing the softer hills and valleys. But then the pressure on her clit shifted as he forged his touch even lower, his fingers nudging at her core.

  Oh god, oh god.

  Her silent mantra began again, and she licked his hand to encourage more. His palm was hot against her lips and cheek, his kisses cool and sweet on her neck. His breath skated across her skin before he sucked in a deep breath, filling his lungs with her scent, and his hips bumped closer of their own will.

  She cried out as he slid a digit inside her, the sound muffled, and she set aside her plan to explore him, lowering her hands to fumble with his button and fly frantically. As he crooked his finger inside her, she bit her lip to keep from crying out again, but the answering jerk of her hips was more than enough to signal her need.

  She batted the folds of his pants away blindly and shoved them down his hips. From the angle he covered her mouth at, she couldn’t even glance down and see him, but she could feel him. Lyric wrapped her fingers around his cock, and he bucked into her touch at the same time he added a second finger inside her.

  Precum was leaking from the head of his cut cock, and she thumbed it away before stroking him, the glide easy and slick. He felt thick, and when she stroked knot to tip, she could tell he was on the bigger side as well.

  He pressed closer, trapping his cock and their hands between their bodies, halting her strokes.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “Be quieter.”

  Lyric glared up at him through her lashes and nipped his hand. His fingers flexed on her cheek before relaxing, his eyes so dark they were mesmerizing, and she hooked her calf loosely around his. She wanted him inside her.

  Her entire body shook at just the idea—it had been far, far too long—and her pussy squeezed around his fingers.

  He arched a brow in question, and once she tasted his skin again, salty sweet, he slowly withdrew his touch. As he met her gaze, he lifted his fingers to his lips and sucked them inside, one at a time, to suck her taste off his skin. She clenched around nothing, tugging her hands free to dig her nails into his hips, dragging him closer.

  She wanted him to do that to her—but another day. For now, she wanted him inside her. Wanted him to tame the fire burning inside her to its fullest before it consumed her.

  Emerson growled, a low, dangerous, sexy rumble as he jerked her pants to her feet, pulling one leg free. She sucked in a single, deep breath through her lips, the night air cooling the dampness his palm had left behind before he was back.

  His free hand hooked beneath her ass and lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist effortlessly.

  Her pants dangled from one foot, anyone could discover them at any time, and the unforgiving wall wasn’t the comfiest place to have sex, but all of those things just made the entire moment that much more intense. That much more memorable. That much more delicious.

  But not nearly as delicious as the nudge of his cock head at her core, the teasing burn and slight stretch as he entered her. Emerson slid inside so slowly she wanted to scream, but she settled for raking her nails from his back over his side, trying and failing to pull him deeper. He was taking this at his own fucking pace—a nice lazy stroll when she wanted to sprint.

  “Hmry,” she mumbled. Hurry.

  Whether he understood her or not was answered as he retreated his hips, the drag of him against her walls so full and intoxicating and perfect before he slammed right back in.

  Oh, fuck.

  Lyric bit her lip to keep from crying out, her hands tugging his shirt up to keep it out of the way and feeling every inch of his chest as he fucked her.

  “Fucking—hell—Lyric,” he grunted, each word emphasized with a thrust.

  He pumped into her, and each time his hips slapped into hers, she bit her lip harder, tried to muffle her own cries because no, she didn’t want anyone to discover them. This was their moment, this was what she wanted, and she’d be damned if anyone was going to interrupt it.

  Emerson’s breath puffed hot against her neck with each thrust, and knowing he was as desperate as her made her entire body thrum with need.

  But of course, the universe had to have its laugh.

  The loud screech of the metal exit door sliced through the night, and Lyric’s nails dug into his side as an icy cold dose of fear washed over her. It battled with the heat coursing through her body like clouds crashing in a storm, and she was torn between pulling herself free of Emerson’s arms to run or to fuck herself on him selfishly.

  Footsteps slapped over the ground and she nipped at his palm in warning.

  He jerked his head up at her, his eyes flashing with something she couldn’t name before he ground his teeth and stared at the boxes to her right. The metal handles jangled, and Lyric froze. All he had to do was pull, and that box would disappear, baring her and Emerson and—

  “Move those boxes, and you lose an arm,” Emerson growled.

  Asphalt scraped beneath the sole of a shoe as the person halted. Then the metallic clack as the box handles were released.

  “Uh… I’ll… come back,” he mumbled, before his shoes scraped against the ground as he took off.

  The storm raged. She knew they should stop, knew things had already gone too far. Emerson tensed, lowering his hand from her mouth and shifting as if he were about to pull out of her and stop.

  Protected.

  Against her better judgment, she tightened her legs around his waist, and he glanced up, the question in his eyes one she only knew how to answer in one way, to lean forward and kiss him.

  That kiss was a shock to her system, the lightning in the storm that set things in motion, and Emerson rocked his hips back before canting forward, sending his cock deep inside her.

  She cried out, a wordless sound full of need—something she never thought she’d hear come from her lips. Emerson chuckled before he replaced the kiss with his palm, eyes wild and teeth gritted as he pounded into her. Each time his hips kicked into hers, a delicious pressure nudged—

  His knot.

  Her eyes flew open, staring up at him as she remembered one very important detail about alphas. She didn’t not want him to knot her, but she didn’t very well want to be glued to his cock for twenty minutes when she knew Henry would be looking to kick their asses more with every minute they delayed bus call.

  Emerson’s brows were scrunched, his jaw tight as breaths panted out between clenched teeth. His wavy hair brushed his shoulders, and would have tickled her cheeks with every movement if his hand wasn’t in the way. In that moment he wasn’t an alpha—not in the scary sense she’d always purposely avoided. Instead he was just a very sexy man on the verge of coming.

  “You feel—so fucking—good,” he groaned, the sound barely a vibration in the air. He shifted the grip on her ass, tilting her in a different way so that when he pressed his hips into hers on every thrust, his knot ground against her clit. Her eyes shuttered closed again.

  God yes. More. Please. Fuck—

  She wanted to cry and beg and shout, pleading for more, but instead she settled for tasting his skin again. The harder he fucked her, the sweeter her licks, until she was just lapping at his palm just to fucking taste him—like a reward.

  Everything fell away, their surroundings, even the murmured praises Emerson spoke into her ear—there was nothing but the pleasure until it finally crested, his thrusts growing erratic.

  She came first, splintering apart in the eye of the storm, pleasure swirling in and around her until it was all she knew. Her nails bit into his shoulders as she contracted around him, his hand tightening over her mouth. The rhythm of his hips skipped a beat and she found a bit of sanity in the storm, reaching down between them. She might not have ever had an alpha, but she damned sure knew how to make
one lose his mind, and she wanted him to come with her.

  Emerson’s head snapped up when her fist squeezed around his knot, caught between their bodies. The groan he released made her want to cover his mouth, but he tilted his head back and humped into her grip. Just as the aftershocks began lapping at her senses, he choked off a growl and jerked into her touch before stilling. He came in a hot rush, clutching her to him as the knot in her grip slowly faded.

  His choked growl turned into something softer before fading completely.

  “Holy shit, I needed that,” she breathed against his shoulder.

  As the storm settled, and Emerson gently put her down, she realized her words were true.

  She felt… calm. Sweaty and shaky and very much in need of a shower, but calm. The anxious energy she’d felt after walking off stage was completely gone. Lyric rubbed her cheek into his bicep, a smile curling her lips, and—

  Her eyes popped open as she froze.

  Lyric was scent marking him.

  After she’d fucked him at the back of the venue.

  After she’d lapped at his palm like a goddamned treat and begged for more.

  After she’d—acted like the perfect omega at the first touch of an alpha.

  Lyric pulled away slowly, avoiding Emerson’s gaze as she reached down to dress herself again.

  “Lyric, are you—”

  “Everyone’s probably still in the green room. I’ll sneak back to the bus and you can tell them I’m in my nest.”

  “Lyric, hold on,” he pleaded, but he made no move to grab her, giving her space and shifting away with his palms out by his sides.

  She didn’t know why that was even worse, but it made her chest ache as she slid between the gap in the wall and the boxes. With a last glance, she left the scene and Emerson behind.

  She just wished the scent and the memory would be as easy to erase.

  As Lyric basically fled their hiding spot, the venue door slamming loudly behind them, Emerson cursed.

  “Fuck,” he hissed, and pressed the balls of his palms into his temples. He threaded his fingers through his hair and drew in a deep, calming breath.