Skylar #2
“I seriously can’t believe you did all this,” I say, wiping my mouth with my napkin. “It’s incredible.”
He’s incredible.
He lifts a shoulder. “I had a little help.”
“Storm?”
Nodding, he adds, “Along with one very confused bartender…and a pissed-off Chandler.”
Laughing, I pick up the crocodile and give his head a little pat. “You remembered Louis.”
His expression turns serious. “I remember everything that matters.”
Holy hell. This man is going to be my undoing.
The city hums below as the waiter clears the table. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm goes off and voices begin shouting, engaging in a heated exchange, but even that can’t disturb the serene ambiance.
I glance around in awe, feeling like I’m in a fairy tale that I hope never ends. “I can’t think of a more perfect birthday. Everything from the coffee and donut. The feet prisoners. The massage. The music box. Louis. The gorgeous dress and earrings. The rooftop. The cobbler and chicken.”
The fact he actually remembers my middle name.
“It’s been incredible, Memphis.”
He reaches across the table, his calloused thumb lightly grazing the spot on my wrist where my pulse is thumping. Even more so now.
“Happy five point five.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Finally, someone got my leap year age right.” I give him a pointed look. “The only reason it’s been so happy is because of you.”
He glances at his watch. “The night isn’t over yet. We still have a little over an hour left.”
What else could he possibly have planned at this point? A winning lottery ticket? The map to the fountain of youth?
Rising from his chair, he walks over to me, extending his hand. “Dance with me?”
“You don’t dance,” I tease, placing my hand in his.
“For you I do,” he murmurs, leading me to the middle of the rooftop.
I breathe in the comforting scent of Irish Spring soap and oranges as he holds me close and we gently sway to the sound of the violin emerging through the speaker.
I’m about to tell him that he’s my very first slow dance when the realization crashes over me like a tidal wave.
This is so much more than a beautiful dress, the incredible gifts, and an amazing rooftop dinner for my birthday.
The impact feels like a grenade going off inside my chest. “Prom.”
Goose bumps prickle my skin as he presses his hand to the small of my back, holding me tighter. “You never got to go.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I rest my head on his shoulder. If I open my mouth, I’m going to spill every single thing I feel for him and ruin the moment.
Fortunately, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” begins playing and I can’t help but laugh. “Storm doesn’t think this song is danceable.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Storm also has a unicorn tattooed on his ass because he thought he could challenge me when it comes to one of the best guitarists in the world.”
Good point.
My breath catches when he spins me around. I’m not sure how it happens or who started it, but somehow, we both begin headbanging to the chorus before making up the most ridiculous dance moves known to man.
It doesn’t matter that neither of us are skilled dancers or that Storm may have a point about this song not being particularly danceable.
I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. I’m legitimately having the time of my life.
Which is exactly why I urge Memphis to catch me and then hold me in the air like I’m the star of Dirty Dancing.
“This probably isn’t the wisest idea when we’re standing on a roof,” he grumbles.
“It’s fine,” I tell him, taking in all the buildings and the view of the city below. “I know you won’t let anything happen to me. I trust you.”
After I’ve had my fill, he sets me down. I link my arms around his neck as a familiar guitar riff permeates my ears.
“Purple Haze.”
I instantly smile. “It’s my song.”
I’m not quite sure what to make of the expression on his face. He looks uncharacteristically nervous. Vulnerable even.
“Actually,” he states as the song fades out and he picks up a guitar that was strategically hidden behind a nearby pillar. “This is your song.”
There’s a moment of hesitation…and then a deep, raw, haunting sound envelops me.
He’s right. This is my song.
I close my eyes, getting lost in a melody that wraps around you like a warm embrace while you’re crying every ounce of your pain out on a cold, hard bathroom floor.
That’s when I hear it.
When the darkness closes in
And you’re terrified the monsters will win
Run into my waiting arms
Where I’ll keep you safe from harm
And hold you tighter…
I go still. Memphis’s deep voice caresses the air, barely above a whisper as he continues.
When fear takes over
And panic has you running for cover
Run into my waiting arms
Where I’ll keep you safe and warm
And hold you tighter…
My throat constricts with emotion. Every word hits too close. Too deep.
Now close your eyes and go to sleep
Dream of violet skies as we dive into the deep
I know you’re scared…
but I’m not going anywhere.
I’ll build you a castle high enough to touch the stars
I’ll kiss away every mark and scar
I’ll hold you tighter
And never let you go…
A tear escapes down my cheek as he sings the final note.
Seconds later, a bell tower chimes in the distance, signifying it’s midnight.
My heart compresses against my chest. Not only did he write the most beautiful, raw, and deeply personal song I’ve ever heard—or will ever hear—he played it at 11:59.
The only fragment of time that falls between the 28th and the 1st.
He planned every single detail. Left no stone—hell, not even a tiny pebble—unturned.
“No one has ever written me a song before.”
He visibly swallows as he sets his guitar down.
There aren’t enough words in the English—or any other language—to convey just how much this means to me.
“No one else could have done it justice.” I hold his stare. “No one gets me like you do, Memphis.”
No one has me like he does.
He moves first, making a beeline for me with both decision and determination. The second we make contact, I’m lifted in the air for mere seconds before he lays me down on the now cleared table.
“Does that mean you liked it?”
“No,” I tell him honestly.
Disappointment washes over his features until my next words. “I’m in love with it.”
I’m in love with him.
There’s a distinct and crucial difference between the two. I know that now.
He cages me with his arms, palms planted on the table behind me, his body so close I inhale his every exhale.
His sexy smile ghosts my mouth, baiting…tantalizing. “Did you get everything you want for your birthday?”
And then some.
“Not yet,” I whisper coyly.
I barely have time to draw in a breath before his mouth catches mine and I’m sinking…
Tumbling.
Falling.
Because this feels right.
It’s perfect.
He’s home.
Rough hands bracket my jaw, kissing and touching me like I’m made of porcelain. Handling me delicately.
The same reverence with which he touches anything he loves.
“Memphis.”
That’s all it takes for the flimsy thread of restraint he was hanging onto to snap.
A groan sounds low in his throat as he cups the back of my head with one hand while the other grabs my thigh. The kiss deepens…devours. That give and take rhythm we’ve mastered so well turning me inside out until the only true thing I know is this.
Us.
He breaks away on a breath, his voice frayed. “Let me see you.”
It’s not a request. It’s a command.
I’m grateful the rooftop is secluded as he peels the purple fabric from my shoulders like he’s unwrapping a rare, precious jewel inside a luxury box.
He kisses every inch of skin he uncovers. My breasts. My stomach. My thighs. Until the dress is a pool of purple on the floor.
Once I’m in nothing but my birthday suit, he takes a step back and looks at me…really looks at me. There’s no room for insecurity because the desire and worship in his eyes make me feel like I’m a supernova.
“Stunning.”
Spreading my legs wide, I crook a finger, summoning him right where I want him. “Now.”
Agony and heat slash his sharp features. “Christ.”
That first thrust—charged and hungry—is gravity I can’t fight against.
I kiss a path up his neck, grazing the shell of his ear with my teeth.
“Take what you want,” I whisper, repeating the same words he always says to me.
His eyes flash with heat. I squeal when he tugs me until my ass is hanging off the edge of the table.
Setting a rhythm that pushes me to the brinks of pleasure I didn’t think was possible, I drown in him.
“Sky.”
When he says my name, it’s an oath. When I squeeze around him and he groans, it’s a prayer.
The table creaks with every thrust, threatening to crumble beneath us, but Memphis keeps his pace, driving me to the finish line.
My orgasm is a bomb detonating through my body.
He tenses against me as I dig my heels into his ass, sputtering a slew of swear words and some made-up ones into the night sky as a rush of liquid spills out of me.
Only after he knows I’m thoroughly satisfied does he give himself permission to join me.
When he does, it’s with my name on his mouth, like he’s surrendering to the same feelings and fate that I have.
The stars twinkle above us as I catch my breath, a silent witness to the secret and sacred connection between us.
I lazily run my finger down his back. “This was the best birthday I’ll ever have.”
His gaze lingers over my face like he’s memorizing the coordinates. He drags his thumb over my pulse in my throat, as though it were a metronome only he can memorize. “So far.”
His response unravels my insides.
He says it like we have a future. Like it wants one with me.
“Yeah?”
My voice is whisper-soft and full of hope. Like an abused dog who has finally found a human she can trust.
His answering smile is reassuring. Grounding. “Yeah.”
He searches my eyes like he’s searching the constellations for answers to questions that only he knows.
“It’s not just sex.” His words are like the rumbling of thunder. His gaze steady and unwavering. “It never was.”