Chapter 23

LEVI

Every innate part of who I was yearned to chase after Diana. When the studio door slammed in my face, I felt my future slipping through my fingers.

My desire for her to sing the songs, to sing for me, was insignificant compared to the years of trauma, depression, and loneliness she’d endured after her father’s death. That should have been the first thing on my mind when the idea popped into my head.

I knew it was a selfish request, but I’d asked regardless. Now, I was facing the consequences of losing Diana’s trust after triggering her anxiety in such a major way.

Each tear on her cheek pierced my chest as if those glistening droplets were crystal daggers. One by one, they’d fallen from her dark lashes and punctured my heart.

Like a fool, I stood by the door, knowing she was getting further away. Guilt glued my shoes to the floor and held me in place.

The rest of my body reawakened when I slammed my balled-up fist into the door, and pain vibrated through my knuckles. By the time I’d rushed out of the studio in search of her, the street was empty.

I could get in my car and go after her. She was likely going back to her place, and now I knew the way—

No. That wasn’t what she needed right now.

Diana was smart, but I’d caught her off guard and hurt her trust. She needed time to experience the full extent of her emotions and then ride the wave down.

I couldn’t rush in and invalidate how she felt with apologies she wasn’t ready to hear. A chance to calm down would benefit us both.

Music always cleared my head, but now it only made me think of Diana. Her natural perfume clung to the recording studio.

As I glanced around the space, I saw her everywhere; sitting at the soundboard, writing lyrics on the couch, staring at the guitar wall, or spread out over the piano. Her essence lingered on everything, and she was so well entangled in my mind that nothing brought relief from my agony.

Absence made the heart grow fonder, and I was already so goddamn besotted with her. What power did Diana Winslow hold over me?

That singular thought spiraled through my brain. Ideas spurred by that notion sparked and fizzled against the confines of my skull, needing to break free—I needed an outlet.

The arrow of inspiration struck true, spiking carefully through my heart, and seizing my ability to do anything else except create. Without another second of hesitation, I shook my head, ridding myself of Diana’s phantoms haunting my studio.

I flung myself into a notebook, scribbling with a pen as words and feelings flowed through me with the force of a roaring waterfall that poured onto paper. Outside, the sun disappeared below the horizon.

The lights of Los Angeles flared brighter than the sun, and the bustling city glittered with nightlife. Time ceased moving in my studio as I holed myself up and melted into hyper-focus, putting my feelings into a song.

Everything I felt about Diana and the hold she had over me became words, became a beat, became a song unlike anything I’d ever written before. Hunger and the need for sleep escaped me with the energy of passion and creation, carrying me through the endless hours of the night.

The thought of Diana carved into my mind and found a home. I’d risk everything to keep her there, in my mind and by my side.

No one had ever sparked this bright, bustling feeling in my chest before. I’d known since the moment I saw her backstage that I wanted her—fuck, I’d wanted her for so much longer—but I only then realized that I needed her.

That frenzy went beyond the triumph of a boyhood dream to sleep with his popstar crush. Before Diana, the thought of caring for anyone scared the shit out of me, but realizing how easy it was with her made me want to scream victoriously at the top of my lungs from the highest peak on earth.

By dawn, I’d finished my frantic new piece of music. I sat at my piano practicing the words and notes while praying to a god I didn’t believe in that Diana would return for work. She never showed.

At midday, I got an email from her manager Damien that she intended to work from home for the rest of the contract. The crushing weight of that development sent me reeling.

My limbs moved sluggishly, and my brain functions reduced. Hours of not eating or sleeping barreled toward me. The empty ache in my chest where my heart used to be worsened the severe exhaustion slowing me down.

Lethargically, I climbed the stairs to my private quarters above the studio. As soon as I flopped onto the black sheets of the bed, my consciousness slipped away. Dreams invaded my mind the moment my head hit the pillow.

Diana returned to me in the land of sleep. She was naked and smiling, a halo of golden light surrounding her. Thick waves of her purple hair cascaded around her shoulders and over her breasts.

When I reached for her, I found myself frozen, unable to move in my dream. Diana, however, could move.

The dream version of her swayed forward, drawing my gaze to the curve of her hips and the softness of her thighs. Despite being unable to move, my dick throbbed painfully.

Glowing and ethereal, Diana paused before me. She grabbed my face and pulled me in for a kiss that felt like a hot whisper in my sleep. I wished it was real, and I longed for her sweet mouth again.

Then she withdrew, blinking up at me with those dangerous jade eyes. Her little tongue darted out over her bottom lip, enticing and wickedly inviting. She then dropped to her knees at my feet.

Her wet, hot mouth pulled my cock over her tongue, stroking me expertly. My head fell back, and a groan of delight escaped my lips.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me.” But that wasn’t Diana’s voice.

My eyes flared open. The dream shifted.

Instead of bright golden light embracing me in warmth and love, everything morphed into a dark, vicious crimson.

Slick heat moved on my cock. I looked up. Now flat on my back, a woman rode my cock with her head flung back in ecstasy.

She moaned loudly—too loud and too performative, as if the act of making love was just that—an act. And when she glanced down, dark red hair swayed over her shoulders.

“Yes, baby, yes!” she screamed.

~Scarlett.~

“No. No. No. Not you!”

I jerked upright, tangled in shadows and sheets. Sweat coated my forehead, and my breath sawed out of me.

I lifted a trembling hand to swipe at my temples. When I kicked the bedsheet from my legs, an odd dampness in my jeans caught my attention. My hand dropped to the front of my pants.

I swung my legs off the bed and strolled into the adjoining bathroom. A white light flicked on, revealing the stain in the wall-to-wall mirror.

“Fucking hell. No!”

Stripping down, I discarded my clothes as if they were burning. Disgust flushed through me from the unsavory wet dream.

More guilt tainted my insides.

I showered and scrubbed my skin raw, as if it might erase the dream—the nightmare—from memory. Thinking of Scarlett like that sickened me, and climaxing in my dreams because of it enraged me.

Before the sun set that day, I knew I needed to get to Diana again. I’d throw myself on my hands and knees and beg her for forgiveness.

I had to apologize and regain her trust before I lost her forever.