Wicked Innocence (Wicked Innocence 1)

With my arm over the pillow, I squeezed it down hard over my face as my whole body began to ache. Oh God, oh my… I gasped, my legs clenching together, locking my fingers inside me as I teased myself against the pressure until I couldn’t take any more. My heart raced as I rolled over. I was desperately trying to compose myself, and at the same time, in shock that I’d just done that with him sleeping in the same room.

“‘Night, Micah.”

I froze as his voice filled the darkness, my heart pounding.

Holy shit.

A tiny smile spread across my lips.

“‘Night Sax,” I murmured, biting the inside of my cheek.

***

“How did you sleep?”

I stiffened at the sound of his voice. I’d woken up to an empty room. And now here he was and I was embarrassed about last night. I knew he’d heard my little performance, but did he know I’d been thinking about him? Don’t be stupid; he was so drunk that he probably doesn’t remember anyway.

“Fine,” I replied, taking possession of one of the lattes he was holding in his hands. Thank God he had coffee. “You? A little hungover this morning?” I teased.

“Nope, not at all. Slept like a baby,” he shot back, his voice smug. Bullshit. The heavy, dark circles under his eyes told me otherwise. “But it’s probably a good thing I don’t have to drive, though,” he added.

“Uh-huh. Just to be safe, right?” I teased.

“Yep,” he grinned, pushing past me.

I rolled my eyes. He was so hard to read sometimes.

He sat down next to me and glanced at my notebook. “What are you writing?”

“Just words, really. Words that sometimes work their way into lyrics.”

“Can I have a look?” he asked.

I hesitated. Nobody read my work. Ever. It wasn’t that I was worried it wasn’t good; it was just that it was so personal. I’d learned early on that the best way for me to process my feelings was to get them down on paper. Somehow, putting my thoughts into words made everything that had gone wrong in my life easier to process. I slid the book across to him with shaking hands.

He probably thinks I’m nervous because of who he is. If only he knew it was because of what he might discover about me.

He flipped through the pages in silence, his jaw twitching as he studied my words. My heart pounded. Why had I given it to him? It was like giving him a piece of me; a window to my soul.

“These are really good,” he murmured. “Have you worked these into music before?”

I shrugged, embarrassed by his praise. “I’ve played around, but I’m not that experienced with pairing music with lyrics.” Compared to him, I was a novice. I knew that he’d written most of the songs for Savage.

“These are really fucking good,” he said again. “I can teach you. How to pair your lyrics with music, I mean. There’s no better feeling than hearing the words you’ve written come to life.”

“That would be great,” I said shyly. “I’m nowhere near as good as you, but anything you’re willing to teach me, I want to learn.”

“There’s a lot I can teach you, honey,” he said with a smirk.

I blushed and looked back down at my notebook. “Do you still write songs?” I asked him.

“Sure. It’s my way of getting everything out, you know? It’s great for clearing your head. Kind of like keeping a diary.”

“Except you don’t share your diary with the whole world,” I mumbled.

“Who said you have to share your music?” He shrugged. “That’s up to you, but simply writing it can help you feel what you’re singing. It can help you connect with the words, because at the end of the day, if you don’t believe what you’re singing, why should your fans?”

I nodded slowly. I guess that made sense.