All The Wild Ones | Wildfire Series

Muscle Memory

GRAYSON

"What are you doing here?"

Nessa took slow steps toward me. She had on this dark red, flirty sundress with buttons up the front, and I wanted to undo every one of them. It had been a crazy first week of the semester, and I'd barely seen her. I'd barely touched her. I missed her.

"You're here," she replied simply.

"Is something wrong?"

The hint of a smile on her face told me nothing was wrong. But still, every inch of me was in alert mode. I thought she had class this afternoon. What was she doing here?

She shook her head. "Keep playing."

"Nessa..."

Something was up. And I wanted to know what it was. Her grin curled wider, though, and it reassured me. So I kept playing. It was a Bach prelude, repetitive but with just enough movement and drama to make me want to lean in when the chords shifted.

Nessa's presence materialized behind me. Weight rested on my shoulders. Releasing the keys, I reached up to grab her wrists, bringing her hands over my eyes.

"I've been trying to practice with my eyes closed. Find some trust in my muscles again."

Lips brushed the column of my neck, making a shiver run through me. "Yeah?"

I sank back into the song, playing it a few beats per measure faster than I was sure Bach intended. But I would bet a lot of money that he didn't have a hot girl looking over his shoulder when he wrote it, making his heart pound faster.

"Yeah," I said. "I've been working on trying to feel the keys. Blocking out anything but my fingers and the notes. But I get halfway through the song and end up cheating. Every time. I have no restraint."

A heavy pause. "I know that's not true."

"It is," I argued, momentarily slowing my fingers as I second-guessed the next note. "I keep peeking."

Nessa made a humming noise in the back of her throat. "Good thing I'm here then."

I smiled. "Kinda what I was thinking."

Nessa's hands stayed firmly over my eyes, but her lips wandered, leaning into the song and into me, proving she was just as in tune with the melody as I was.

And then she was gone. Her hands, her lips, her warmth behind my back.

Curious, I opened my eyes to find that Nessa had climbed on top of the piano. She twisted to face me, letting her legs dangle over the keys. It felt reminiscent of the gala, but Nessa slid across the top until she was in the middle. Directly in front of me. Each foot brushed one of my hands. She kicked her sandals to the floor.

Leaning back on her palms, Nessa looked down at me beneath her lashes, and I nearly lost it.

"No peeking," she said when she found me watching.

But then she spread her legs, and I had no idea why she thought I'd be able to look away. The space between her thighs was dark, hidden beneath the canopy of her flimsy dress. Shadowed valleys of smooth skin. I wanted to bury my face there.

I groaned. "Now you're doing the opposite of being helpful, Nessa."

"You missed a note," she said, ignoring me.

"How would you know?"

"You play this one a lot. Now focus, will you?"

Nessa had listened to me practice over the summer countless times. She liked to curl up in my parents' living room and read while I played. I didn't realize she'd paid that close attention, though.