Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RILEY
I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting on the porch, lost in my head and occasionally plucking out random chords on my guitar, when Addison’s car pulls into the driveway.
She walks up the steps and smiles like she’s pleased to see me.
But also, like it’s entirely natural for me to be here.
Like this is something we’ve been doing for a long time.
“Have you been out here playing all day?” she asks as I stand to meet her.
“Not all day. I took a nap with Freddie on the couch.”
“Bet he loved that.”
“And I got some stuff ready for dinner,” I tell her. “There’s chicken marinating in the fridge and sweet potatoes and green beans cut up.”
She pulls me into her side and kisses my temple. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
I grab my guitar and we head inside. Freddie approaches her and arches his back in invitation as she crouches down to pet him, like this is their standard greeting when she gets home. It’s cute.
Straightening up, Addison says to me, “I hope you weren’t too bored here.”
I shake my head. “No, it was nice. It was refreshing, not being confined to my room at the inn, but also not having to worry about making small talk with random people. And I wrote a new song. Most of one, at least. But it’s... I’m really happy with it.”
“Can I hear it?”
Oh. I avert my eyes to the wall of vinyl. I can’t believe I mentioned the song. I should have known she’d be curious about it.
As we’ve gotten closer, I’ve opened up to her a lot more about how the songs that I’m most known for aren’t necessarily the songs I’m most proud of.
I’ve confided that my label has sometimes discouraged me from putting certain songs on my albums that explore themes outside of romantic relationships, because they think they’re “too deep” for my brand and my audience—which is insulting to both me and the fans.
I’ve shared a little bit of the new stuff I’ve been working on lately, and how I’ve been leaning into a different sound musically. Maybe even a different genre, though I’m not quite sure yet.
And Addison’s shown a lot of interest in my music and my writing process, which feels really good.
She’s been encouraging and supportive without blowing smoke up my ass about how good I am or trying to push me in a different direction.
That’s what I get sometimes with my label and the professional songwriters and producers I work with.
I can’t play her the song I wrote today, though. Not unless I’m ready to confess that I think I might be falling in love with her.
Forcing a smile, I make her a promise I’m not sure I’m going to keep. “I’ll play it for you when I’m finished.”
She accepts that without questioning me and makes her way into the kitchen. I follow her. “Should we have some wine with dinner?” she asks, turning back to me.
“Sounds good.”
She gives me a mischievous smile. “Should we open the bottle now?”
I laugh. “Sounds even better.”
While she goes to the pantry where I noticed a wine rack earlier, I hop up on her counter. She comes back with a bottle of red. “I don’t have any white ones chilled, so is this okay?”
“Fine with me,” I tell her, swinging my legs back and forth a little.
I watch as she grabs a corkscrew out of a drawer and effortlessly pops open the bottle. Which shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. Then she grins as she comes over to me. “We might need a taste test.”
Standing between my legs, she raises the bottle up to my lips. I obediently open my mouth as she tilts the bottle and pours the wine past my lips. I savor the velvety feel on my tongue, tasting hints of some kind of dark fruit like a plum.
Before I can give my approval, she sets the bottle on the counter beside my hip and hooks her hand around the back of my neck, dragging me down for a kiss.
She licks greedily into my mouth the moment my lips part for her, as if she’s chasing the taste of the wine on my tongue.
Her hands come to the tops of my thighs, gripping them like she doesn’t want to let me get away.
Ha! As if there’s anywhere on the planet I’d rather be right now than in this kitchen kissing her.
When we finally part after who knows how long—could have been minutes or days, I don’t care—she gives my thighs one last squeeze, then goes to a cabinet to pull out two wine glasses. She pours us each one, and we take them into the living room, where she tells me to pick out a record to play.
I choose a band I’ve never heard of. The gray album cover features a bunch of long-haired men standing amongst tall trees in a forest, and it’s giving me folk vibes.
As the haunting sounds of a violin begin to fill the room, I turn back to look at Addison.
She’s wearing frayed jean shorts with a short-sleeved olive-green shirt that’s just tight enough to accentuate her curves, and she’s taken off her shoes and socks, leaving her barefoot with her toenails painted black.
I don’t understand how she always looks stunning in the most casual clothes, while I need to rely on a team of stylists to dress and primp me to make me look perfect.
She plops down on the couch, and when I go over to sit, angling myself toward her, she scoops up my legs and pulls them across her lap.
As we sip our wine, she runs her free hand casually over my thigh.
She tells me about the band and how she discovered them by accident when they were playing in a small Chicago bar early in their career.
After a while and two glasses of wine each, we get up and go back to the kitchen to get everything for dinner in the oven. Addison sets the timer, then asks me with another mischievous smile, “Wanna go upstairs while we wait for it?”
I very much like that suggestion, but for some reason, I let out a nervous giggle. I do that way too much around her. She must think I’m ridiculous.
“We might not hear the timer go off,” I say.
She eyes me up and down, her gaze making my skin feel hot. “Then I guess we’ll have to test how quickly I can make you come.”
Oh fuck.
“Um. Yeah.” My cheeks are on fire. “Okay, upstairs we go.”
She laughs gently as she takes my hand, tugging me toward the stairs. She gestures for me to go up ahead of her, and I only ascend two steps before a light slap on my ass makes me jump. When I look back, she winks at me, and I laugh.
I really don’t want to give this up.
I try not to let thoughts of my phone call with my manager earlier and how he wants me to go back to Nashville bring down my mood as we step into her bedroom. I just want to be in the moment with her and ignore the fact that these moments are limited.
Maybe they don’t have to be, I tell myself. Although I’m not entirely sure I believe that.
And then Addison and I are both naked, and anything that doesn’t have to do with touching her or the way she’s touching me flies out of my brain.
I’m staying in the moment.
Lying underneath her, I hold her hips while she kisses a sensitive spot behind my ear that makes my fingers curl tighter against her.
Then she makes her way down my body, stopping to kiss every part of me as if she didn’t say this would be quick.
When she gets between my legs, though, that’s when she speeds it up.
She works me over with her fingers and mouth, eating me like she’s starving for it.
It feels incredible, but I want to make sure she gets off too. And since we’re short on time, I grab her shoulder and try to urge her up. “Hey, let me touch you.”
Her mouth and chin are shiny and wet when she pops her head up to grin at me, and the sight alone is almost enough to push me over the edge. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m already on it.”
Then she goes back to tonguing at my clit, and even though my body is starting to tremble, I manage to prop myself up enough to look down at what she’s doing.
I can’t exactly see much, but one of her arms is wedged under her body, and from the way her hips are writhing against the mattress, I realize she’s touching herself while she’s going down on me.
I drop my head back to the pillow and moan my approval. Fuck, she’s so hot.
The constant pressure of her mouth on my clit is just shy of too intense. There’s a difference between what she’s doing now and when she takes her time with me. And honestly, I enjoy it both ways.
As I get close, my hips start thrashing around without my permission. Half of me wants her to let up on me, while the other half wants her to suck my clit harder. I try to control myself, worried I’m going to crush her head, but she simply holds down one of my hips and keeps going.
Seconds later, I’m blindly searching for something to grasp onto, a way to anchor myself as I feel like I’m about to soar away. And then suddenly I’m coming, my hands fisting the sheet underneath me so hard that I yank it free from the mattress.
Addison crawls back on top of me and kisses me while I’m still trying to catch my breath. I manage to wrap my arms around her, and as I weakly brush my lips against hers, I can feel her hand moving quickly between our bodies, until she gasps into my mouth, and her body stiffens, then relaxes.
When her head falls down to rest on my shoulder, I twist my neck to press a kiss to her forehead. She lets out a satisfied sigh that I feel against my skin.
After another moment, she moves off me to lie on the bed. “Come here,” she says, reaching for me.
I start to roll toward her, but she shakes her head, encouraging me to lie on my other side so that I’m facing away from her.
The bed shifts as she scoots in closer behind me.
Then she wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me in tighter.
Her fingers splay across my stomach, and she kisses my shoulder before settling.