CHAPTER 6
COVE
My nerves are shot. I’ve spent the last few days working with Langston while ignoring the giant elephant in the room. That poor elephant might as well be green neon with pink spots, but I’ve ignored the damn thing with a dedication I wasn’t aware I even had.
Normally, I hate letting things so big be ignored. I hate the pressure of it and feeling like it’s breathing down my neck.
But this is different.
If I acknowledge the kiss, I’m afraid it’ll happen again. It already takes all my effort to work with Langston and not lay my body at his feet like a naked sacrifice. I want him and I’m willing to admit that to myself but only in the quiet of my mind.
There is no way I can say that out loud and I can’t admit it to him.
The way he looks at me, his dark green eyes intent, focused, and full of heat is already almost too much for me to deal with. If I were to admit how much I want him and how memories of the way he kissed me has me waking up in the middle of the night achy and soaking wet, I know I won’t be able to resist him.
I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to work, successfully, as it is. The tension between us is off the damn charts.
I had never really understood the idea of cutting tension with a knife, not beyond the theoretical, but I’ve been living in that damn phrase for days now. My entire being is wrung far too tight; I really could snap at any moment, and I have a feeling Langston is right there with me.
Which is why I snuck down to the kitchen and then the small wine cellar in the dead of night. I’m not really a big drinker and I’m not one to drink hard liquor, but I need something to take the edge off. I can hardly fucking breathe as it is.
Even as I take my first sip from the glass, I feel guilty. Drinking while knowing Langston just went through treatment and is sober now has me hyper aware of every noise in this giant mansion. I’ve been proud of him; we’ve taken breaks when working together so he can do video meetings and therapy sessions. I really hope it helps him long term because writing with him, working with him, playing music with him has been amazing.
It would be a real shame for the world to miss out on his talent and his voice.
There’s something magnetic about him that is clear even when we’re just jamming together in the small studio downstairs. I can only imagine how that would be magnified on a stadium stage with all the lights and the screaming fans.
A shiver runs through my body at the thought. It would make me feel like throwing up—getting on stage—but I can easily see how Langston would thrive out there.
“Cove?”
The soft, tentative voice coming from behind me has me whirling around to face Langston, guilt eating me up from the inside out. His eyes dart from my face, which is twisted up in a grimace, to the wine glass in my hand and the bottle next to me on the island.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe out. I rush out quickly, “I’m so sorry. I thought you were asleep. I just wanted a glass of wine because all this tension between us has every nerve in my body and mind frayed, you know? Well,” I keep on babbling, “I’m sure you know because I’m sure you’ve felt it too. Ever since we kissed. When we shouldn’t have kissed. I mean, that was a mistake. Right?” I peer up at him, my heart thudding in my chest so hard that I can feel it pulse through my entire body. I push my words out, pushing him for an answer even though I’m not sure I want one, “Right? That kiss was a mistake.”
Langston’s jaw ticks and I clamp my lips tightly together. The way his dark green eyes shimmer in the low recess lighting above the dining table at the edge of the kitchen has me wondering what he’s thinking about. There are times when I look into his eyes and I can swear I can feel his emotions and then times when everything he is feeling, everything he is remembering, is locked down so tightly that I wonder if he even knows how to interpret it.
I swallow hard as I spin around and upend my glass into the sink in the island. My hands shake a little as I grab the bottle of wine and pour the rest of it down the drain as well.
Langston’s calloused hand grips my wrist, his voice a low drawl filled with sinful promises, “You don’t need to do that Cove. I wasn’t going to wrestle you for the bottle of wine. I’m good.”
I shake my head as tears fill my eyes. “I’m not going to drink in front of you. I shouldn’t have even opened this.”
His fingers are feather-light caresses as he moves his hand from my wrist down to where my fingers are gripping the bottle so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. He takes the bottle from me and sets it on the counter, the sound of it settling there ringing through the space around us. How is that so loud?
Is my heart beating as loudly as I think it is too? Can he hear it?
“Songstress,” he whispers before kissing my neck right below my ear. I shudder at the unexpected contact. “It’s fine if you want a glass of wine. It’s fine if you drink the whole bottle. You’re not the one with the drinking problem. I am. I don’t live in a bubble. I’m not going to be able to avoid it for the rest of my life.”
My shoulders slump and I shake my head. “Doesn’t mean I have to throw it in your face.”
“You weren’t. You waited until you thought I was asleep. You didn’t throw a damn thing in my face.” His hand slides up my arm to my shoulder before turning me gently until I’m facing him. I have to tilt my head back to look into his eyes. The way his eyes bore into mine has my breaths coming out in needy little pants. “Our kiss was not a mistake. I’ve allowed you to have some space and haven’t brought it up because you seemed to be freaking out a little bit. I wanted you to be able to come to terms with it.” His eyes harden slightly, his voice filled with steel, “It was not a mistake.”
“But we’re basically co-workers,” I try and argue. “It isn’t right.”
“We’re co-writers and in that, especially in our business, it involves passion and fire.” My heart sinks with the idea that this is normal, and I could be just anyone. My thoughts must be written across my face because he barks out, “No. Get that thought out of your head. I’m not saying that kiss could have happened with anyone. That’s fucking impossible, Cove.”
“What?” My mouth opens and closes, my brain trying to catch up with what he’s saying, but I’ve got nothing. “What?”
Langston flashes a small smile, filled with adoration and amusement before he presses his forehead against mine. “There’s something about you, a light that I desperately need. I’m drawn to you. I was the first time I saw you. It scared the shit out of me,” he chuckles softly, “still does. But I’m not willing to lose it either. I want to explore it and, maybe,” he squeezes his eyes shut, “earn the privilege of keeping it in my life.”
“I,” I try and say something, anything, but can only breathe out, “wow.”
He pulls back from me and smirks. It should be annoying and frustrating, but it’s really sexy as hell.
“You can have a glass of wine,” he insists again.
“No. It’s not right or fair to you. You’ve only just started your road of sobriety. There’s no reason to put that kind of temptation in front of you.”
Langston’s eyes sweep down my body, a fire igniting in his eyes that is answered in a twisting fire within my lower abdomen. “The only temptation I see right now, Cove, is you.”
I swallow hard and try to ignore the effect his words have on my body. “I’m not going to make recovery harder for you than it needs to be.”
He narrows his eyes and stands up taller. “I don’t want you to look at me as less than just because you can’t have a glass of wine in front of me.” The man practically fucking pouts and it’s kind of endearing. And annoying. And frustrating.
“I’ll never think of you as less than. Not because of this,” I sass him slightly and his lips curve into a beautiful smile that makes my breath hitch.
“Careful,” he warns me, his face—and his gloriously soft and plump lips—move closer.
“My mom was an alcoholic,” I blurt out the words. My eyes go wide in realization of what I’ve just shared. “I just mean that I’ve seen it, firsthand and it’s not easy.” I look away from him, unable to meet his piercing gaze right now. “She never got better. She was never able to be sober for longer than a few months.”
“Songstress,” he chokes out.
I shake my head fiercely, “It’s okay. I’m okay. It was hard to watch and even harder to feel like my siblings and I weren’t enough reason for her to not drink. We would be, for a little while, but then the cycle would start back up again.” I lick my lips, needing a moment to compose myself.
Even though he watches me, he lets me have a few minutes. The silence around us doesn’t feel oppressive this time. It feels tingly and that it should be happening to anyone else in this whole damn universe.
Langston gently leads me to the living room and toward one of the giant sectionals which is just as comfortable as it looks. I swear the damn thing is huge and it feels like you’re lounging on a cloud. When he sits down and immediately pulls me down to sit on his lap, I’m torn.
Part of me wants to leap off him and run for the hills.
The other part wants to snuggle into him and soak up how good it feels.
“One thing I learned is that my treatment and my recovery is my responsibility. Only mine. You don’t get to take that onto your shoulders, Cove, ever,” he growls the last few words and I have no doubt that my panties are soaked.
“I know, but there’s no reason to make it more difficult,” I try to point that out again, but he’s not having it.
“The drinking and drugs were a problem from the moment we hit it big, practically.” I still at his words, hoping he knows he doesn’t owe me his story. His nose runs up the column of my neck and he coos, “I want to tell you. Relax, Cove.”
“Okay. I’ll listen.” I want to tell him always ; that I’ll always listen, but I keep that inside for the moment.
“Conley was always the one seeking the next thrill out of the two of us. He was a daredevil for years, but then to add in the fame, recognition, and celebrity was like pouring gasoline on a fire raging out of control already. I won’t try and blame him and say that he took me along for the ride. I was a willing participant, but I also tried to pull him back from the edge.”
I wrap my arms around his waist, wanting to offer some sort of comfort in whatever way I can. It’s not enough. Could it ever really be enough?
“Losing him was hard,” he whispers the words. He swallows hard and the pain in his eyes has me tightening my grip on him. “Finding him when he overdosed,” my heart stutters, “devastated me. I spiraled and lost my way. The guys from SO tracking down was like being able to see a light at the end of a tunnel again. It was far away at the time, but it was there.”
“I’m glad they went looking for you,” I confess softly.
The way Langston smiles down at me has me wanting to kiss him, to take away the lingering darkness in his eyes as he thinks of the past, to bring a little light into his life. I hold back, for now.
“Meeting you was like bathing in light with no tunnel in sight.” Some of those shadows melt away in his eyes and makes me feel seen, really seen. “I don’t want you to change your life for my addiction or recovery.”
I shrug one shoulder. “It’s not a hardship and it wouldn’t be for anyone who really cares about you, who cares about your trauma and who wants to do right by you.”
“Has anyone ever done that for you?”
It’s such a simple question, but it throws me off. I shake my head slowly and admit, “No.”
“I will, if you let me,” he vows right before his lips crash down against mine.
He kisses me with a sweet promise on his tongue this time, one that takes my breath away and has me clinging to him with everything in me. I don’t want to let go. Ever.
Maybe it’s the night surrounding the mansion. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re all alone out here in the middle of nowhere. Maybe it’s just because it’s him and it’s me.
When he lifts me, I let out a huff of surprise as I wrench my mouth from his, my eyes wide with shock. All the cocky rock star in front of me does is smirk as one of his hands dives into my hair, holding me right where he wants me. The other hand glides up my leg and underneath the sleep shirt I have on.
When his fingertips graze my panties, I shudder and my thighs part for him on instinct. Because I want what he’s offering even more than I want to hear songs I’ve written on the radio.
“Cove,” he growls against my lips, “if you want me to stop, you need to tell me. If you don’t I’m going to make you come on my fingers and then I’m sweeping you off to bed so I can wrap myself around you as we sleep.”
“Please,” I moan, my back arching and my hips jutting forward. “I want this. I want you, Langston,” I moan.
“Fuck,” he grits out through his teeth as he moves my panties to the side. “I can feel how wet you are, Songstress. Fucking dripping for me.”
I nod. Or maybe I just make a keening sound in the back of my throat. Either way, before I can take a breath, he plunges two fingers inside of me while his thumb teases my clit. My entire body jolts at how good it feels.
I ride his hand as he fingers me, my body begging for more as his mouth explores every bit of exposed skin he can reach. With every twist of his wrist, every slide of his fingers, every nip of his teeth, I’m closer to the edge.
“Langston,” his name on my lips is a drawn-out plea and a solemn promise.
“I’ve got you. Cover my fingers in your juices,” he demands.
Stars dance in my eyes and music swells in my head—a sweet song built on a harmony that I feel in my soul—as I come for him. As my body shakes, the pleasure reverberates through me until I can’t take anymore, and I slump against his chest.
I should be freaking out, but I don’t have the energy.
True to his word, Langston carries me through the mansion and into his room where he gets me snuggled under the covers before he presses his front to my back, and I fall asleep surrounded by his warmth.