He’d imagine what it would be like to kiss me. Maybe bend me over his control desk in the sound room.
Comically, while he’d be pounding into me, I’d reach out to hold on to something—anything—and accidentally mess with all the settings. Then the next time he uses the studio and one of his artists sounds like a chipmunk, he’d remember how he’d fucked me and be distracted for the rest of his session.
He’d come find me afterward and would tell Kaylee to keep watching TV or to go play by herself, and unlike real life where we know that wouldn’t last long, she’d do it no questions asked while Ryder pulled me into the bathroom and got down on his knees for me.
His mouth would move over my hard cock, slowly and teasingly, because this is my fantasy world, and we have no possibility of being interrupted by a tiny human and could take as long as we wanted.
He’d want to take his time, go slow, but with him sucking on my hot skin and my cock nudging the back of his throat, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from fucking into his mouth over and over again until—
My eyes fly open, and shit. I got so lost in my fantasy, I came all over my hand.
So professional, Lyric.
Really.
About my boss, no less.
Not that he has ever felt that way to me. It feels more like we’re a team than boss and employee. We clicked instantly that day we met.
It’s why I made all the best-friend jokes.
For once in my grown-up life, making friends was as easy as picking a fight and then playing nice.
But essentially, what it comes down to is he’s my employer. I work for him. It doesn’t matter how comfortable I am around him.
Situations like this rarely work out, and legally, it could be a nightmare for him.
When Chord and Brenna started dating, they worked for the same law firm. They had to disclose they were seeing each other to HR so that it could be all tied in a neat, little legal bow and they wouldn’t sue the company if shit went down.
Ryder and I can’t do that. Our contract is between the two of us.
Being with me—even contemplating being with me—would bring a lot of legal hurt on Ryder, and that’s the last thing I want for him.
As the thrill of orgasm fades, it’s replaced with guilt and shame.
Because thinking about Ryder this way is wrong. Jerking off in his car is definitely wrong.
I might need to do the only other thing I can to ensure we keep our distance.
I shouldn’t let Ryder produce my demo, but there’s a lot of stuff about Ryder I shouldn’t do.
Hasn’t stopped me yet.
Chapter Thirteen
Ryder
After a long night of restless sleep, and not because of Kaylee this time, I’m convinced Lyric and I have screwed everything up even though nothing happened.
I dread the moment he’s going to walk in the door all morning. I drink three cups of coffee while I wait, and when he finally shows up, I’m a trembling, buzzing mess.
Then he just says good morning in his lazy Cali-boy way with his breathtaking smile, gets Kaylee ready for playgroup, and leaves again.
The first interaction wasn’t too bad, but knowing I promised him we’d be in the studio tonight has me still antsy when they get back.
I stare at my computer without actually working. For the entire day.
I decide to stay in the studio and try to get what I wanted done today in the few hours between them getting home and Kaylee’s bedtime, but it goes much like how the rest of my day has gone—with me thinking how the hell am I going to be able to resist kissing him if I keep working with him.
Yet, when he knocks on my office door, I’m so eager for it there’s no way I can send him away.
I’m excited to make music with him, and it’s possible I haven’t been this excited since I was on the other side of the glass.
“I brought you leftovers seeing as you didn’t make it out of your office for dinner.” He puts a plate of his infamous vegetable-filled spaghetti on my desk.
“Okay, I’m gonna need you to not be so perfect. Thanks.”
“It’s just food.” Lyric takes the spare seat next to me. “What are we recording tonight?”
I moan around a bite of pasta, only remembering now that I didn’t have lunch, and I’m starving. “I was thinking I’d like to hear one of your originals.”
I can’t help smiling at Lyric’s terrified face. It’s adorable that he’s nervous, but it’s something he’ll have to get over before he makes it in this business.
“Remember, everything is fixable. Take Cash’s song you love. It was shit before I helped him shape it into what it is now.”
His gaze flicks to mine. “Wait, you helped write that?”
“Ended up cowriting it with him. What? Shocked I can actually write a meaningful song? Check your pretention, Lyric.”
“Can I hear it again real quick?”
“You know you’re still going to have to show off your songs, right? But, sure.” I find the single on my computer and load it up.
When it plays back, Lyric’s intense stare makes my confidence waver a little bit, but I want him to see I’m more than Eleven.
I could have gone solo if I wanted to. It was my choice to step out of the spotlight, and even if Kaylee wasn’t an issue and I were given the chance to do it on my own, I wouldn’t take it.
I loved being part of a group. They were like my family for a long time, and although we’ve lost touch, if any of them turned up on my doorstep and asked for help, I’d give it to them no questions asked. If it weren’t for Kaylee, I’d jump at Harley’s offer to get Eleven back together.
“You cowrote this,” Lyric says, still in disbelief.
“Yup. I’m deeper than you think.”
“That’s what he said.”
I walked right into that one.
Lyric shakes his head. “No way am I showing you my originals.”
“Nice try. You’re not getting out of it.”
“Okay, but can I just say, I respect the hell out of you. I was wrong when I thought the image your label manufactured was the true you, and I think you’re an amazing musician.”
“Aww, flattery will make me so much nicer when I tear your song apart.”
Lyric breathes deep.
I laugh. “You don’t need to worry. Unless you don’t want to hear constructive criticism. Then we might have issues.”
“I’m good with criticism. Though if you call me lazy and cliché, I’ll show you how much of a double standard I have.”
“Hey, at least you were being honest, but no more stalling.” I get one of my guitars from the studio and hand it to him. “Song. Go.”
Lyric clears his throat and starts playing a melody on the guitar. He refuses to look at me as he strums and sings words that are so … Lyric. I try to keep my face emotionless as he plays through his song in case he looks up at me and gets disheartened because I’m pulling the look I want to. It’s not exactly a positive one.
Lyric has this amazing talent, but he’s so focused on sticking it to the man, he’s not seeing the potential of what he could be.
Maybe I’m giving off that vibe because he stops halfway through. “You hate it.”